This is a work of gay-themed romantic fantasy. Some Chapters contain graphic descriptions of sex--not all between consenting adults. If reading material of that nature offends or upsets you, please click away now. Likewise, if reading this would compromise either of us legally, please kindly follow the above instructions. Nifty reaches a worldwide audience and you know your local laws better than I so, help a brother out and take some responsibility.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Forge
Brad heard his bedroom door click open, so he popped his head out of the bathroom to see who had entered without knocking. The young man was surprised to see Dennis Hardy, the new Dionysus, come in. He had a pair of steel-gray pants and a matching polo slung over one arm and carried a pair of black work boots. "Hey, Den-Den!" he called. "What's up? That stuff looks way too small for you."
"I had a long rather contentious talk with John Forge," the auburn-haired muscle man informed him. "It seems Hephaestus is feelin' a wee bit slighted over me monopolizin' yer time! He wants ye at The Forge--at least when I don't have direct need o' ye!"
Brad sighed. "We can thank Father Zeus' for that!" he said, stepping naked into the room. "No doubt his Majesty is going to want me in public as much as possible so Chester the Molester' can have closer access to me."
Dennis sighed. "D' ye know his plan, lad?"
"He hasn't said anything aloud or written down his plans, so I can't know for sure," the young man replied as he went to his dresser to find underwear and socks for the day. "Prometheus thinks Chet's presence is going to `trigger' me in some way so I'll respond with violence. Once that happens, Zeus has the excuse he needs to force me off the island!"
"Make sure that doesn't happen, me hearty!" Dennis said, "I've grown quite fond o' ye, boyo, an' I'd hate tae see ye be forced from yer home!"
Brad smiled as he wiggled into the barely-there black underwear he'd chosen for the day; he decided to turn his dressing into a "reverse" strip tease, slowly covering his body as he moved sensuously to silent music while the auburn-haired muscle stud watched with hot eyes. "Keep that up, lad," he growled, "an' I may make ye late fer yer first day at the Forge!"
"Oh, you wouldn't want to do that..." Brad teased as he lay on his back, bringing up first one leg then the other to put on black cotton socks. The young man made sure his well-tanned hairy legs were nicely displayed with rippling muscles as he slowly rolled the material over his large, well-shaped feet and up his muscular, hairy calves. He was rewarded with a nice "tent" in Dennis's sweats as he finally rolled off the bed and stood swaying in front of the God of Wine.
"You little tease!" Dennis rubbed his bulge suggestively.
"It's only teasing if you don't plan to carry out what you promise!" Brad told Dennis as he slowly shimmied into the steel-gray polo with the "Anvil and Crossed Hammers" logo of The Forge. "Consider this a promise for later!" he said as he made quite the performance of pulling on the snug gray twill pants. "I missed you last night..."
"But not Campbell?" Dennis asked.
"Campbell was being a whiny little bitch," Brad said, dropping his sensuous strip as he got himself into the black Doc Martens that was the expected footwear at The Forge. "Sorry, but I don't have a lot of patience for that."
"Ye don't hold back, do ye, lad?"
"What's the point?" Brad asked. "If I'm going to get beaten up for something I've done rather than keeping silent and being beaten up anyway."
"Do ye think I'm beatin' ye up me boy?"
"No," Brad replied. "I appreciate you putting up with my shit. I know I can be a lot to handle and I'm glad you're willing to deal with it!"
"Try not tae annoy Hephaestus," Dennis told him. "Zeus has primed him fer trouble!"
"Thanks for the warning!" Brad replied. "I'll be careful..."
It took Brad longer than he would have liked to be processed into The Forge; not only was he photographed and fingerprinted, but his retinas were scanned, and, though he was not informed of the fact, he knew he was also psi-scanned and recorded. I guess they are pretty damned security conscious here, he thought. But, then again, considering the tech-level at The Forge, they are probably constantly under assault; I guess I can't really blame them. Brad tried hard to be patient, and eventually he was let inside.
"Mr. Forge wants to see you--immediately!" an officious secretary told him. Brad didn't wait for instructions; he knew where he was going thanks to Prometheus's knowledge. Once he was in the waiting room, it took another forty-five minutes for Mr. Forge's secretary to announce his presence and let him in to see the big man himself.
"You're late, Bondsman!" Forge snapped as the young man approached the desk.
"With all due respect--Sir!" Brad replied. "I went through the employees' entrance at the dot of eight and spent the next three hours proving I was who I claimed to be and being checked in, so your secretary could hold me for an additional forty-five minutes! You might want to talk to your people about streamlining their procedures and give the lady at the front desk clearer instructions on what you mean by `at once'!"
Forge had to smile at this. "You're certainly a feisty one!" he observed.
"I like to think of it as one of my better qualities, Sir," the young man replied. "When I know I've done something wrong, I have no problem admitting it, and I'll take whatever punishment is coming to me. If I feel like I have been falsely accused, I'll defend myself."
"That's good," the earthly incarnation of Hephaestus replied. "I have no patience with Caspar Milquetoasts. I'll certainly look into those things; but, tell me Bradley, why did you wish to be Bonded to Athena and myself?"
"I could have dithered for three days," Brad told him, "or run from Goddess to God trying to figure out which one would make me the best deal. I decided to go with you two since I thought you'd be the best fit for me, career wise. I'm equally-attracted to the Sciences and Engineering--maybe I could combine the two. In fact, I have a project in mind that you might actually find interesting..."
"Have you considered a career in sales?" Forge asked with a wry smile. "You're doing a damn fine job of selling yourself. So--what's this `project' that might interest me?"
"I think I can figure out a way to re-grow your missing limbs and maybe even your eye."
Forge's one good gray eye looked hard at Brad. "Kid--you aren't afraid to take the big swing; I'll give you that!" he said. "I'm interested--go on... My convoy got blown up by an IED in Kuwait during Desert Storm: when I became Hephaestus, I was able to make these bionic limbs; they're great, as far as they go, but nothing compared to having the real thing!"
Brad nodded. "Thank you for your service, Sir!"
"So, kid, how would you do it?"
"I know The Forge is working on neural-net mesh," Brad said. "That's showing real promise as a way to repair spinal cord injuries; I don't see why it can't be adapted to connect re-grown limbs." Having spent his downtime consulting what Prometheus knew about Thunderbolt Technologies research and development gave the young man quite the grounding in what the company had and where it was going.. "If we, and by `we' I mean I, can find a way to successfully combine that technology with the nondifferentiated biomass solution used in your 3D Bioprinters, then, at the very least, we can re-grow your arm and missing legs!"
"You think you can actually do this, kid?" John Forge was intrigued, and he found himself daring to hope there might be a chance he could be whole again; yes, his prosthetics (with the exception of the eye) worked wonderfully well, but none of them compared to flesh and blood appendages and organs.
"I won't know until I speak with people involved with both projects and start running holographic simulations with AIDIA," the young man replied directly. "I--think it has a good chance of working, but I'd hate to make promises... You know this is just going to piss off Father Zeus if I do manage to make it happen?"
"Indeed!" Hephaestus agreed. "His Majesty is going to lose his shit if he finds yet another God is trying to `transcend' his traditional role!"
"How do you feel about that?"
"Zeus can lick the sweat off my hairy nut-sack!" Forge told him bluntly. "This mortal body still has `phantom' pain from my limbs, and I have a constant headache when I try to use my eye. I doubt his Majesty would like to live like this; I don't see why I should, just to satisfy someone's neurotic need to stick to traditional roles! Zeus would be the first in line demanding we fix him if something happened to his body!"
"He'd probably go to Apollo first," Brad observed.
"True, and so will we! I want him completely `looped in' on this project." Then: "So, kid--how about some lunch? My treat!"
"So--you think the data-transmission rates between the bionic eye and my brain are causing my headaches?" Hephaestus smiled. The pair stepped through the frosted-glass doors of the executive dining room at The Forge. The place had an elegant, "men's club" vibe, with wood-paneled walls, comfortable wing chairs arranged around large circular tables with more chairs clustered near a full bar. There was even a wood-burning fireplace opposite a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the harbor; Brad was duly impressed.
"Kid, you are fucking brilliant!" Hephaestus said. "I've struggled with that since I built the fuckin' thing!"
"Thank you Sir," Brad replied humbly. "At the very least it's worth looking into; if you confine use of your right eye to telescopic, microscopic, and infrared vision and your headaches go away, then you're golden! You did explain that you feel like you are seeing things at two different speeds when you use your normal vision, right?"
"I do!" Forge replied. "It drives me crazy!"
"That's a very strong indicator your bionic eye is processing at the wrong speed," Brad said. Then he caught sight of Zeus, sitting with "Chester the Molester" at the best table in the room. "Oh fuck!" he sighed.
Forge followed the young man's gaze with his one good eye. "Who's that sitting with his Madge?"
"Chet Delavigne," Brad replied. "I call him `Chester the Molester' for good reason..." The young man used his link with Hephaestus to show him what Chet had done to him as a child.
"Zeus brought him to the island to make trouble for you?" Forge was growing angry. "Son of a bitch!"
Brad sighed. "Zeus is calling us over, and I don't see any way out of going over there..."
"He won't be here long," Forge said. "I promise you that!"
"Bradley!" Zeus said, oozing fake bonhomie, "how are you enjoying your first day at The Forge?"
"It was great--until Mr. Delavigne showed up..." the young man replied flatly.
"The kid is quite the ring-tailed wonder!" Forge said. "I'm sorry, Father Zeus--we can't stay; Bradley and I were in the middle of discussing a new project, and we're having a working lunch."
"Sit down!" There was an order in Zeusmann's voice. "I want to hear all about it! I brought Chet over to introduce him to you, John; whatever Bradley is working on, I want Chet to be right there with him."
"No!" Forge snapped. "That's not happening!"
"You are aware I run OlympusCo?" Zeus said threateningly. "What I say in this company--GOES!"
"Yes, Father Zeus, I'm well aware," Forge said with deadly calm. "You run OlympusCo--but I run Thunderbolt Technologies--and I'm also responsible for construction, utilities, and maintenance on Olympus Island! Piss me off, and I'll shut everything down! Wanna see who wins that fight?"
"You ungrateful little SHIT!" Zeus thundered. "How dare you threaten me?"
"How dare you bring a child rapist onto the island?" Forge shot back. "Brad is my Bondsman, and I am obligated to protect him as he is obligated to serve me! I wouldn't be much of a Patron if I didn't try to shield him from that man."
"Brad has always been such a--dramatic--boy..." Chet observed. "I didn't do anything to him he didn't want!"
"A seven-year-old child can't give consent, you fucking BASTARD!" Brad hissed. "You lied to me and later threatened me if I ever told anyone what you did! That's not consent!"
Chet turned his attention to Forge. "Has he sucked your cock yet?" he asked. "I taught Brad everything he knows! The dear boy was a bit reticent at first, but by the time I finished with him, he was quite the avid little cock-sucker! Really, if you haven't sampled him already, you should! I'd be happy to join you in a ménage--trust me, I know just how to push all our sweet boy's buttons!"
"I'll throw myself off Eos Bridge before I let that happen," Brad said bluntly.
"The boy is clearly disturbed!" Chester said. "I suggested his father take him to treatment--but considering what he was up to with his supposed gay lover's barely-pubescent son..."
"That's enough!" Forge said. "Zeus--I'll send reports about Brad's projects when and if I deem fit! Until then..." Chester vanished.
"Where did you send him?" Zeus demanded.
"He's standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona!" Brad said.
"Such a fine sight to see!" added Forge.
"Bring him back--AT ONCE!" Zeus ordered.
"You want him so badly, bring him back yourself!" the God of the Forge replied with deceptive calmness. Hephaestus brought out a pocketknife and nicked his thumb, squeezing a drop of blood onto the carpet. "You won't be bringing him back here though..."
"What did you just do?" the King of the Gods demanded.
"Prevented `Chester the Molester' from setting foot on anything Forge owns or controls," Brad smirked.
"I take `Bonding' very seriously, Father Zeus," the God of the Forge told him. "In exchange for eternal loyalty, we Gods must protect our Bondsmen--and that's what I'm doing. Chester Delavigne is neither an employee of Thunderbolt Technologies nor is he connected with any entity involved with the project Bradley is working on; therefore--he's not allowed! Simple as that..."
"You'll rue the day you crossed me, Forge!" the King of the Gods growled.
"Not as much as you will if you cross me!" Hephaestus replied. "You wanna measure dicks with me on this one? I PROMISE you, your Madge'--I win every time! If you insist on having that useless creep involved in my project, I'll allow him to silently watch during group meetings! If he has any valid' questions, he can text them in; that's the best I'm prepared to offer you; take it or leave it."
"You'd do well not to pick the wrong side in this battle," Zeus glowered.
"And you'd do well to take your own advice!" Forge shot back. "You may be `King,' old man, but you aren't omnipotent--not anymore!"
Chet Delavigne swore as he picked himself up from some hot, dusty sidewalk in a backwater town in the middle of nowhere. "Where the fuck am I?" he snapped at a gawking yokel.
"You're in Winslow," the local replied. "How didja do that `appearing' trick? That was really good!"
The stranger briefly considered letting this individual know he'd been popped over by some pretend Gods on an island in Puget Sound but quickly realized doing that would likely end with him in jail or on psych watch in the local hospital. Instead Chet simply chose to ignore the curious stranger and consider his options.
He'd heard that his Bond would allow him to communicate with his Patron, but it seemed there was a distance-limitation to that ability since he was unable to reach Zeus. At least the town had cell service, although Chet found to his annoyance he was out of his network and would have to pay "roaming" charges. Still, there being nothing he could do about that, the man angrily punched in Zeus's number. "I need a pick-up!" he snapped when his Patron answered.
"You want me to send a plane for you?" Zeus seemed incredulous. "I'm sorry, Chet--that's not going to happen!"
"You OAF!" the man shouted. "Translocate me back!"
"I can't do that, Chet."
"What do you mean?" Chet was livid. "What good are you then?
"I'd mind your tone if I were you, mortal!" Zeus was truly angry.
"How do you expect me to get home?"
"Why do I have to do everything?" There was silence on the other end of the line except for the clicking of a keyboard. "Winslow doesn't have an airport, so you'll have to take Trailways to Tucson. You can catch a plane from there to San Diego and connect to Seattle from there!"
"How do you expect me to pay for that?" Chet fumed.
"You have credit cards..." the voice on the other end told him. "Use them!"
"I expect to be reimbursed!"
"Hey, guy," Corey said as he bounced downstairs naked. "How was your first day as an intern at the Forge?"
"Up and down!" Brad replied.
"Oh my God!" the satyr exclaimed. "Who did you boink at work?"
"Nobody--perv!" Brad replied with a smile. "Not that I wouldn't mind doing a little mattress dancing' with Hephaestus. That's right--I said mattress dancing'!"
"Everybody's out by the pool," Corey told him. "Drop your clothes and come on out! I'm sure the guys will want all the gory details!"
"So, tell me again why Zeus wants this `Chester' guy to hang around with you?" Campbell asked. "I don't get it!"
"Dude, I know `dumb jock' is your brand--but, sheesh!" Corey exclaimed.
"Listen carefully, boyo," Dennis told the red-haired satyr. "Bradley freed Prometheus, an' since then his Majesty has been convinced Prometheus is out tae take his throne! Father Zeus, alas, ha' since been doin' whatever he can tae make his fears come true!"
"Self-fulfillin' prophecy," Jean-Jacques commented. "So how did the `pitch' go with Hephaestus?"
"He gave me leave to start," Brad replied. "I have my own office, and we'll be meeting with Apollo first thing tomorrow to see if we can get him involved!"
"Do you think he'll object?" Brandon asked.
"I guess we'll find out tomorrow morning," Brad replied. "Apollo is great at curing diseases, but I suspect he'd just as soon not have to re-grow limbs if he had a choice! That takes a lot of power... If this works, it'll be better for everybody; I suppose it depends on how big a dick the God of Healing is."
The young man was reading alone in the library after dinner, and he'd gotten so absorbed in his book that he didn't hear anyone come in until Brad felt a large hand on his shoulder. "Lost in a good book, were ye, lad?" Dennis asked.
Brad noted his page then shut the book and put it down. "Yeah," he admitted, "I can still get lost in the printed page! Do you need something?"
"I need ye tae pay up fer this mornin', boyo!" Dennis told him. The muscular auburn-haired God took Brad's hand and placed it on his crotch; the young man felt a firebrand just beneath the soft silk of the sleep pants. "See what ye do tae me, lad?"
"Oh, we can't have that!" Brad exclaimed. Then: "Is it going to be a problem with the satyrs if you entertain me tonight?"
"Jean-Jacques is entertainin' Campbell, an' Corey is keepin' Brandon company!" Dennis assured him. "Year all mine tonight, me hearty!"
A smile played across Brad's lips. "Well, I can't resist an offer like that from an old Pirate like you!" he told the God of Wine. "Where are we doing this?"
Dennis's bedroom was lit only by a parade of candles ranged about the room and a blaze crackling merrily away in the fireplace. The God of Wine stood naked with legs spread wide while Brad, just as nude, knelt in front of him as Dennis slowly fed the blond man his massive red cock. "Ye doin' OK, lad?" Dennis asked, stroking Brad's face and shoulders.
"Um-hmm..." Prometheus's knowledge showed him how to overcome his "gag' reflex, enabling the young man to swallow Dennis's entire length. Brad worked his throat muscles while his nose was buried in the tangle of coppery pubic hairs. Brad kept the throbbing tower in his mouth while he rubbed his own erection against the other man's hairy calf.
"Lad, you're amazin'!" Dennis groaned. "I need tae move now--I can't take much more o' this..." Brad adjusted himself and let the big man move at his leisure, thrusting in and out of his throat with increasing speed. "Get ready, boyo!" he panted. "I'm about tae shoot!"
Brad barely managed to get a breath before the big man shoved his cock deep into the younger man's throat and shot off several volleys of thick white man-cream before pulling out until just the head of his cock was in Brad's mouth.. Even the last shot was enough to overwhelm Brad, and thick white juice poured down his chin.
"Good lad!" Brad turned his face up so Dennis could lick his own cum off the young man's face. "Did ye like th' taste o' me, boyo?"
"Oh yes!" Brad panted. "Will you fuck me now--please?"
"I want tae eat yer ass first, boyo!" The God of Wine built a nest of pillows then propped himself up on it. "Now, lad, put yer sweet ass in me face!" Brad crouched over Dennis, giving the God of Wine easy access to his pink pucker, and the big redhead began plundering the hole with his probing tongue while Brad started sucking the still rock-hard cock bobbing in front of him. The young man ground his ass into Dennis's face while he sucked away.
"I think yer ready, boyo!" Dennis panted. "How do ye want it?"
Brad reversed direction then let Dennis guide his wet, gleaming erection into the grasping hole. He moaned as the mushroom head of Dennis's cock pierced his outer ring, but then the young man let his own weight take him the rest of the way down. "Yes, lad!" Dennis grunted as he thrust his hips up to get a little bit more of himself into the tight, grasping hole. "I'm gonna fuck ye now, boyo!"
The young man thrust down as the God of Wine pushed up into him over and over again. Soon Brad was sweating as Dennis's tumescent tower reached ever deeper into him again and again. "Oh God!" Brad moaned. "You're going to kill me--and I want it!"
"Yes, YES, YEEESSSSSSSSSS!" Dennis bellowed as he unloaded another volley deep into Brad's guts. Unable to resist his own orgasm, Brad showered Dennis's heaving, red-furred muscular chest with several ropes of creamy pearls. "That was wonderful!" the big man panted as Brad collapsed on top of him.
"Oh God," Brad moaned. "You're still hard..."
"Aye, me hearty!" the Pirate said as he rolled Brad onto his back. "I'm gonna plunder yer sweet `treasure' again an' again--an' ye'll love it!"
Brad was up early the next morning so he could make it to Ouefs!. The spot was a popular breakfast/brunch/lunch spot with locals and tourists alike; it was particularly famous, of course, for its egg dishes. The young man had made reservations for a table on the patio, but he still had to wait; people waiting to board the outbound ferry to Seattle were cheek-by-jowl with locals wanting to grab a hearty breakfast before work and both groups completed with loads of fresh-off-the-boat tourists from the mainland.
Grabbing a cup of coffee from the urn, the young man found his attention drawn to a couple of locals chatting. "I don't understand it, Joe," the one man said. (Brad recognized him as a Seattle TV weatherman.) "My rain gauge must be off!"
"How's that even possible, Phil?" the other man responded. "You just look at the tube and check the amount, right?" The weatherman nodded. "Did it get moved somehow?"
"Nope!" Phil replied. "It's in the same place it's always been since we bought the house!"
"Maybe a tree has grown up over it?"
"I suppose," the weatherman said. "But I noticed I've needed to water my lawn somewhat more than in years past..."
"Me too!" the other man agreed. "I don't see how that's even possible considering how many times I've gotten soaked out here! Guess that's the price we pay for living on a Weather God's home turf..."
Prometheus's knowledge told Brad that Demeter had been ordering extra water for the local farms--in spite of the regular dousing Olympus Island got due to Zeus's "temper tantrums" and the regular weather of the Pacific Northwest. Brad brought out his phone and logged into the AIDIA app. "Good morning, AIDIA," he said politely. "I need some information please..."
"How may I assist you, Bradley?"
"I need monthly rain totals for Olympus Island for the past year, please..." A twelve-month graph appeared with a green line on his phone screen. "Now, leaving that first graph up, give the same information for the previous year..." A blue line appeared, and Brad quickly calculated there had been a drop of almost thirty percent in rainfall. "Can this be explained by climate change?" he asked.
"No, Bradley." The answer was blunt, direct, and emotionless as always. "Climate change and seasonal shifts do not reflect similar numbers in the surrounding regions to such an extreme extent."
"Oh--kay..." The young man ran this fingers through his sandy hair. "Save this for me please!" AIDIA did so and he thought hard. "One more thing--can you show me days when rain was reported via social media versus those measured by valid rain gauges?"
"Of course, Bradley." The data popped up, and the young man noticed quite a number of days where he remembered showers, but no rain was reported--like the day he came to the island.
"How is this possible?" he asked.
"I don't know, Bradley," came back the emotionless response.
The young man briefly considered Angela Kingsbury being the source of the anomaly but quickly discarded the idea; Prometheus's knowledge told him she wouldn't exercise her weather-control abilities until sometime after puberty; that, thankfully, was a while off. In addition, she was likely to cause MORE rain--not less...
Brad might have continued his research, but he was prevented by the arrival of Forge and Apollo. Of course, every eye in the room went directly to the two Gods; Forge, with his large size and obvious bionics, and Apollo, with his patrician good looks and Latin "flair," were likely to cause attention wherever they went. The manager brushed aside waiting patrons to see this party seated at the best table in the restaurant (and for once Brad didn't object). "Hey, kid!" Forge called. "Something wrong? You look upset..." The young man showed Hephaestus what he'd found. "Fuck me!"
Apollo, looking over the other God's shoulder, shook his head. "That makes no sense!" he said. "AIDIA must be wrong!" Dr. Paolo Solano, the current earthly incarnation of Apollo, was tall and slim but with an athletic build that was more of a runner than a bodybuilder like Forge. His hair was golden and wavy, eyes honey-colored, and his skin had a healthy glow.
"It's data not a matter of opinion!" Forge said defensively.
"Let me check another source..." Brad offered before things could get heated between the two Gods. "I'll check the National Weather Service data against our local `Weather Watchers' group site; it may not be a scientifically accurate as AIDIA and the NWS, but those nerds are pretty good records-keepers!"
He checked and showed Forge and Paolo the results. "Almost a thirty percent drop over the same period a year ago!" he told them. "All three groups agree: the Weather Watchers talk a lot about getting wet and wondering why the showers weren't recorded in rainfall totals..."
"How could that be?" Apollo wondered.
"Obviously," Forge said, "it didn't rain!"
"We have to tell someone!" Apollo exclaimed.
"Who would you suggest?" Brad replied. "Father Zeus? If you told him I'd brought this to your attention, he'd laugh you out of Olympus!"
"You should speak to Prometheus or Hecate," Forge said. "This is clearly magical in origin; maybe one of them has a clue..."
"I'll add that to my list of Things to Do!" Brad said, unable to keep the resigned tone out of his voice.
"You're a dear!" Apollo said. The young man might have been offended, but Dr. Paolo Solano had a certain charm that went well with his slight but very "la-ha!" accent; he clearly missed the memo from Zeus. "In the meantime, though, I understand you have something you'd like to pitch...?" Brad explained his idea to re-grow tissue using the neural nets and 3D Bioprinters to the God of Medicine. "Do you think it'll work?" the blond God asked once the young man had laid everything out over breakfast.
"Only one wait to find out..." Brad told him. "Research!"
"We don't want to start without first getting your approval, though," Forge put in. "Brad thought it wouldn't be advisable to step on your toes with this project..."
"Don't be silly, my boy!" Apollo exclaimed enthusiastically. "Research is always valuable--if it is only to tell you what won't work! Of course you have my blessing! I doubt we'll be able to market this off-island for a while, but it would be a damn useful tool to have--just in case!"
Back at work Brad found the way into his new office blocked by one of the senior supervisors. "Hey, Mr. Davenport," he said politely. "Can I help you?"
"You're quite the little go-getter!" the man said with a derisive sneer. "You go from `gofer' to project manager in two days! That's very impressive! I've been here nearly ten years, and I just got promoted to supervisor."
"What can I do for you, Sir?" the young man asked. Brad made sure to keep a properly-respectful, neutral tone and manner although he had a bad feeling where this was going.
"You can share your secret!" Davenport said with a conspiratorial wink. "Howdja do it, kid? Are you into `crips' or just a damn good actor?"
"Excuse me?" Yes, this was going exactly where Brad thought it would: straight into the ditch. Chuck Davenport was being a rude pig who clearly resented anyone doing better than him.
Davenport was on a roll. "Do cripples turn you on," he asked, "or do you just sell your ass to get ahead?"
"Brad sighed. "Mr. Davenport--this is completely inappropriate!" he snapped. He would have liked to say more, but this didn't bode well for him no matter what he did so he kept silent.
"We're just a couple of friends having a chat," Davenport said with a leer. "What's your secret! Everyone's talking about you and your meteoric rise! The least you can do is tell us how you did it!"
"I'd be happy to tell you..." John Forge could move with surprising stealth for such a big man with two metal legs and an arm.
Davenport whirled. "We'd all like to know," he said boldly.
"I'm happy to tell you!" Forge said. "Brad has access to all of Prometheus's knowledge; you probably already knew that. He came up with an idea to synthesize a couple of processes we already have into something new! That new product, if it works, could restore my legs, arm and maybe even my eye! Do you see why I moved him up now?"
"Yes, Sir!" the man was quick to reply.
"Davenport--we don't disrespect ANYONE who works here--let alone my Bondsman!" Ford snapped. "Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir!" the man repeated meekly. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to me," the boss snapped. "Bradley is the one who deserves an apology!"
"I--disagree..." Chuck said. "I think he's a cheap little slut who cheats to get ahead! Lots of people could do the same thing!"
"Why didn't they then?" Brad asked mildly.
"Um..."
"Fine," Forge said. "Report to my office--we'll discuss your demotion."
END CHAPTER ELEVEN
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Some of you are probably asking WTF is up with Zeus? Here's a challenge for you: I believe I've given you all the pieces to figure out the mystery, so have at it! The first person who guesses correctly and sends your answer to HonableRonable@gmail.com or RonVenable@hotmail.com will be awarded the right to introduce a character or create a scene which I will find a way to include in the story. You will, of course, be credited in the Author's Notes. Likewise, if you have questions, comments, suggestions or constructive criticism you can use the above e-mails and you can also use those if you wish to be notified when new content is released.
As always, many thanks and much love to my crack editorial team, "Marko the Magnificent", "Midwestern" Mark, "Jer-bear" and "Rockin'" Robyn who reigns in my tendency for run-on sentences! I couldn't do it without all of you.
Shout out to Taylor of the Scandinavian last name. Matthew the "Arts Teacher" and the "Mighty" Quinn: they sent me super-nice notes: I respond to ALL e-mails--even the nasty ones but, fair warning, my tone matches yours so think before you flame. Not that any of you have done that but still...
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