Friday,

December 12, 2025

City of Mount Olympus

Hermes  leaned against the elevator wall, his drooping shoulders and  dark-circled eyes reflected in polished metal. He looked like goat  droppings, no wonder after days of nonstop pleading with Monique. Late  last night, probably just to get rid of him, she’d at last agreed to  stay in Mount Olympus through the winter holidays before spiriting P. B.  off to her new post—WomanFront’s Beta Village in the mortal desert.  Hermes hadn’t slept well for days, wracked with worry about how she’d  manage to take care of a baby—their baby—while running a brand new  microlending bank.

Fifth  floor, sixth floor. His eyes blinked closed. Hermes shook himself  awake. Why, after fathering dozens of children over dozens of centuries,  had he been hooked by this one? P. B. wasn’t even half his, only a  quarter. The baby had a second biological father, an evil force known as  The Power, who’d recently been absorbed into the Chair of Forgetfulness  in the Underworld.

Seventh  floor, eighth floor. Must be a sign of age. Always before he’d flitted  from lover to lover, from invention to invention, perpetually liberated  from the present and driven by the urge to see what came next. Now he  rose early every morning (if he slept at all) to receive a chilly  reception from Monique and spend an hour with their son before work.

The  thought of P. B.’s baby eyes, fixed on his, was the only thing that  kept Hermes going. It was as if his son knew Hermes and all of Olympus,  Inc., was mobilizing to defeat climate change. If mortals ceased to  exist, so would the gods who served them. If they didn’t succeed and the  mortals drove themselves extinct, P. B. might never see his  five-hundredth birthday.

Ninth  floor. Continental Managers, also the Director of Armed Forces: Athena,  the bane of his existence. The elevator doors parted. The receptionist,  in deep conversation on her digital device, nodded and waved him  through. He could walk blindfolded to Athena’s private office; he’d been  there so many times. Veronica, the Olympus, Inc., CEO, had assigned  Athena the strategic piece of the War Against Climate Change. Summoned  to daily meetings, Hermes felt like her lackey.

A  wall covered with masks, Nyctimene (aka Tim) the owl opposite on his  perch, the Goddess of War and Wisdom at her desk in between.

“Good  morning, Hermes,” Athena said in a flat tone that made him feel like  she was describing a specimen under a microscope. “You look whipped.”

“All  in the name of progress,” he bluffed. “Waller has so many new  initiatives going it takes half a day to sign authorizations. Green  World Works has as many heads as the Hydra.”

Actually, that wasn’t true. The Hydra, a gigantic water snake, only had nine heads.

“And  your own projects regarding the fossil fuel industry on top of that,”  Athena added. The owl muttered a drowsy hoot from his perch.

Hermes  had made several trips to the mortal world lately, working alongside  inventors as an invisible muse, people who pursued carbon sequestration,  more safe and efficient nuclear power plants, biofuels, wind, solar. A  promising new technology, Living Breakwaters, was being implemented by  the mortal landscape architect Kate Orff. All of these could help  reverse climate change, but as far as being scalable in a short time  frame? Even in combination they were far from all that was needed. What  was needed was—

“Take a look at this dossier, Hermes, from our Secret Ops department.”

Athena slid a digital tablet across the desk. A file named east.cyril. and.edwin was on the screen.

“East  Fossil Fuels?” Hermes shook his head. He’d haunted their massive R  & D department just last week. “Those guys are impenetrable.”

In  addition to his on-site visit, Hermes had read everything he could find  online about the East brothers, the biggest oil magnates in North  America. Not only were they reported as major grantors to carbon  sequestration science, their personal lives were squeaky-clean. No  marriages, divorces, children or affairs. No gambling or boozing or  recreational drugs. One of them had been Secretary of Energy under an  American president.

The  corners of Athena’s eyes crinkled. “Not completely, as it turns out.  Reconnaissance picked up something we can run with. If we can infiltrate  their operation with someone highly intelligent, naturally inquisitive,  and skilled in both business and scientific method, someone who  inspires confidence and trust in an employer, we might find a means to  disrupt their exorbitant levels of fossil fuel extraction.” She raised  an eyebrow. “Does anyone come to mind?”

Someone  did, but Hermes wasn’t going to name her. He needed her in the Digital  Devices and Robotics Department, running experiments in the lab and, he  admitted to himself, lending moral support. Her six-month leave of  absence should have been over by now, but it had been extended, with CEO  Veronica Zeta’s approval, by two weeks so she could spend some idiotic  mortal holiday with the Bernstein twerp.

Athena  snapped her fingers, summoning the owl to her shoulder. She stroked the  bird’s feathers. Her silver eyes plunged deep into Hermes’.

“Hermes,” Athena said against his tight-lipped silence, “I’m sending in Cleo Petra.”