Beyond Big-G City

Beyond

Big-G City

(Book Three in the Small-g City series)

By S. D. Matley

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Copyright © 2020 by S. D. Matley

Digital Edition Published by

WolfSinger Publications

Distributed by Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the copyright owner.

For permission requests, please contact WolfSinger Publications at

editor@wolfsingerpubs.com

All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Cover Art copyright 2020 © Lee Kuruganti

Digital ISBN 978-1-942450-82-5

Print ISBN 978-1-942450-81-8

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the Alaskan Way Viaduct (1953-2019), Seattle’s double-decked elevated freeway that was part of State Route 99, home to Ralph in his structureling days, and the spark that made this series come to life. Rest in peace, old friend.

Acknowledgments

People make books. Lots of people.

Thanks to Margo Metegrano and Sienna Reid for sensory details about the Capuchin Crypt in Rome, Italy; to the Seawall Project Street Team, Seattle, WA, for information about the waterfront seawall; to Susan J. Tweit for recommended reading on climate change; to Carol Hightshoe and WolfSinger Publications for bringing this book to life.

I am forever indebted to Martin McCaw (whom I kindly refer to as the Line Editor from Hell) for his thorough critiques and revision suggestions on early drafts of Beyond Big-G City. Also to Bruce A. Matley (who left Earth on December 23, 2018) for his long and devoted history as First Reader, his love, and his unflagging support of my writing.

Author’s Note

This is a book about Greek immortals. As you may know, they support the mortal world behind the scenes through the corporation Olympus, Inc. It is the third book in a series, preceded by Small-g City and Big-G City.

About Olympus, Inc.

Olympus, Inc., was founded by Zeus, a Greek immortal of mythic fame, thousands of years ago. Zeus served as CEO of Olympus, Inc., until 2015 CE, when he was succeeded by Veronica Zeta, the youngest child of Zeus and his wife, Hera. Olympus, Inc., is headquartered in the City of Mount Olympus, the capital city of the immortals, also referred to as Big-G City.

What do these immortals do for us? Lots of things, really. You may have heard of Demeter, the goddess of agriculture and harvest. Every year she and her daughter, Persephone, bless our mortalgrown crops. You might also remember Poseidon, the God of the Sea, who looks after marine life and protects sailors and fishermen. Not so familiar is Clifford Essex, Director of Architectural and Computer Services. His job is to make sure ambitious but under-engineered mortal structures don’t fall down on our silly heads.

In short, Olympus, Inc., is a vast civil service organization. Why do the immortals do this type of work instead of lolling around, consuming ambrosia and talking about the good old days? Because they were created by the Titans to look after us. And who are these Titans?

About the Greek Immortals

The whole flock of Greek immortals started with Gaia (Mother Earth) and Uranus (Father Sky). The twelve children of Gaia and Uranus were Titans, who were primeval deities. Two of these children, Cronus and Rhea, are the parents of Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Demeter, Hades, Hestia and Stella. Cronus intended to keep control over all his children, but was overthrown by Zeus, Poseidon and Hades, who successfully conspired to murder him.

Due to the limited number of marriageable beings, brothers married sisters. Children came. Uncles married nieces, and so on. Almost any Greek immortal can legitimately call Zeus dad, uncle or brother. When mortals were assigned to their care, the Greek immortals made children with them, too. Depending on the throw of the genetic dice, a few of these half-mortal children inherited the trait of immortality.

About Big-Gs and small-gs

The Greek immortals are divided into two types: Big-G Gods and small-g gods.

Zeus and his siblings are Big-G Gods, a type of royal family, as are all of their full-blooded Big-G children and some of their mixed heritage children. Again, it’s a matter of how the DNA gets distributed. Small-g gods fall under the cheating definition of Greek immortals who are not Big-G Gods.

Until recently, Big-Gs typically ran the most important departments of Olympus, Inc. When Veronica Zeta took charge she reformed the corporation from a nest of nepotism to a meritocracy; now, small-gs can rise on the corporate ladder through talent, determination and a strong dose of luck. Small-gs also fill many support roles: rain gods and goddesses, robotics technicians, computer analysts, clerical workers, etc.

In addition, immortals of all ranks are deployed throughout the mortal world. Many work alongside us, undetected. They tend to be transferred a lot because they age the equivalent of one mortal year for every century. Not all immortals work for Olympus, Inc. Of particular note is Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, who runs her own adult-themed business empire, Love, Inc.

About the Big Twelve

Greek mythology names twelve Big-Gs as major gods who are sometimes disparagingly referred to by the others as the Big Twelve. All sources show Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Demeter, Athena, Apollo, Artemis, Ares, Aphrodite, Hephaestus and Hermes in the membership. The twelfth position is sometimes given to Hestia (Goddess of Home and Hearth) and sometimes to Dionysus (God of Wine). In short, it depends on the personal priorities of the list-maker. Plato connected the Twelve Olympians with the twelve calendar months but whatever honor was originally intended by the designation has long been forgotten. Still, some of the Big Twelve are known to throw their weight around when they feel slighted by (presumably) lesser gods.

About Structurelings

A number of small-g gods work as structurelings. This vocation initially involved dispersing one’s molecules into unstable architectural structures for reinforcement. Between 2010 and 2015, structureling work was computerized. Detailed descriptions of oldstyle structureling work appear in Small-g City, the first book of this series.

About Auras

Some immortals have the capability of seeing auras. This is particularly useful to those in the psychological counseling and medical professions. Immortals have purple auras and those who are Big-Gs have gold super coronas. Mortal auras are pink. When auras blacken or start to look moldy, illness is indicated.

About the City of Mount Olympus

In addition to Olympus, Inc., headquarters, the City of Mount Olympus is home to Athens U and Athens Tech. Hotels, shopping and cultural venues are in the center of the city. Residential neighborhoods and businesses make up the rest. Nearly all local transportation is by horse-drawn chariot. Immortals can travel to and from this city by flying in and out under their own power or taking a high-speed shuttle chariot to and from a charmed section of Athens International Airport, the same airport we mortals use.

Mortal and Immortal Synergies

With all this going to and coming from the mortal world, it’s no surprise the immortals pick up our customs and fads. The immortals have devised methods of digital communication from Mount Olympus to the mortal world, which has greatly improved the flow of day-to-day operations. Immortal import agents regularly visit the mortal world to procure luxury items that aren’t produced locally. However, citizens who spend most of their time in the City of Mount Olympus, where togas and sandals are de rigueur, have difficulty keeping up with mortal fashion.

The City of Mount Olympus is also home to The Power, a malevolent supernatural being who is incarcerated in a seventh basement cell at Olympus, Inc., headquarters. The Power, after tormenting Zeus and his family, was captured and imprisoned in the course of Big-G City, the second book in this series.

Month One

June 20-July 19, 2025

Friday, June 20, 2025

City of Mount Olympus

Hermes

Hermes, Director of Digital Devices and Robotics at Olympus, Inc., fretted as the elevator swayed up from his fourth-floor department to the CEO suite on the eleventh. He hated annual reviews, something Veronica Zeta had implemented when she’d taken over from Zeus. Once a year she met with her Directors one-on-one, to discuss performance and set goals.

Reviews annoyed Hermes and today he was downright edgy. Veronica had always sent his review file in advance. Not this time. The reason might be simple, a mere technical glitch or she might be running behind in her work? His gut disagreed; his gut strongly suspected Veronica was holding something back.

The elevator chimed and the doors rolled open. The vast CEO suite, a light and airy refuge studded with skylights and decorated with lush, green plants, appeared before him. The reception desk was vacant. Veronica’s assistant, Alexandra, was nowhere to be seen. None of this boded well, nor the fact he was late.

Veronica, herself, sat at her own desk half-way across the suite. Her posture suggested an iron rod. Formal as ever, she wore the snow-white, gold-edged toga of a CEO. Her fingers drummed the desktop.

Forward he strolled. Hermes threw back his head to sweep the hair out of his eyes. Hey, Ronnie. He flashed a slow smile and flopped into the chair across from hers.

Veronica extended her hand. Thank you for meeting with me today, Hermes.

Her dark eyes studied him. She didn’t say anything about his being late.

Hermes threw his hair back again. His shaggy surfer cut was longer than usual, no time or inclination to have a trim for two or three months. He set his digital tablet on the desktop.

Didn’t get your review file yet.

Here. She tapped the screen of her own device.

His eyes shifted to his tablet. Hermes read in silence, scrolled back up and read the review again. He looked up. And this is supposed to be my fault?

It’s an old law, Hermes. Her face was stone. When an immortal interferes with mortal technology—

Interferes? He shot from his chair and started pacing. "They’d still be rubbing sticks together to make fires if it wasn’t for my interference. How dare you—"

She rose and planted her palms on her desk. For Dad’s sake, control yourself! You’re the one who taught them how to use fossil fuels and you know the law as well as I do. If an immortal interferes with mortal technology, said immortal must monitor the use of that technology and minimize whatever harm comes from it.

He glared at her.

She glared back. Now, sit down and listen to me.

A white ray of sun shot through the skylight above Veronica’s desk, bleaching the color from the room. Hermes understood the big picture. If the mortals succeeded in destroying their planet and went extinct, it would be the end of the gods, too. The gods had been created solely to take care of the mortals. Their worlds mirrored each other in many respects. Temperatures were rising, slowly but consistently, in the City of Mount Olympus, too. Growing cycles had veered out of sync. Weather patterns changed more rapidly than some species of plant life could adapt.

Did you read the goals I’ve set?

Hermes nodded. She’d always invited his input before today.

The carbon dioxide levels in Earth’s atmosphere need to level off and come down. Weather and Agriculture will help you in any way they can, but they don’t have the time or resources to influence mortal behavior. You need to guide the mortals back from extracting and consuming fossil fuels at their present rate.

He pointed to the deadline on his screen. In two years?

Veronica arched an eyebrow. You’ve already had ten, as I’ve documented in your review. Earth is half a degree Celsius from the tipping point. If you don’t succeed in reducing carbon dioxide levels before that point is reached, it’s highly unlikely the mortals will survive another two centuries.

He burned to defend himself, but what was the point? He’d already put gargantuan effort into developing and testing methods for scientifically engineering the reversal of climate change but hadn’t reported this to her. Why would he, since every attempt had ended in failure? Now she was directing him to work away from his strengths, to pursue the problem from the behavioral angle. Hermes was a lot of things, but he was neither a lobbyist nor a psychologist.

Veronica’s expression half-shifted from stern to welcoming, achieving neither. See you at the party on Sunday?

The damnable engagement party. His own effort to smile went sideways.

Wouldn’t miss it.

Hermes stalked to the elevator, telling himself it really wasn’t that bad. But it really was.

Sunday, June 22, 2025

Persephone

Persephone threaded her way through the packed ballroom of the Odyssey Hotel. Hundreds of voices chattered, their tongues loosened with celebratory champagne. Another family party in the City of Mount Olympus. This one was in honor of Veronica Zeta and her fiancé, Clifford Essex. Absorbed in wondering how Zeus and Hera felt about their daughter marrying a small-g, Persephone tripped over her own feet and sloshed her Mai Tai on an innocent bystander.

Oops! Sorry.

She reached toward Aunt Hestia, with a cocktail napkin to sponge off the rum and pineapple juice. Hestia took her gently by the wrist. It’s all right, dear. My toga’s wash and wear.

On fire with embarrassment, Persephone turned away, her eyes anchored on the wall-to-wall carpeting patterned with waves. She bumped shoulders with someone, hard.

Sorry!

No worries, said her victim, a young man who resembled Poseidon. One of his countless sons, she supposed. All the children of Rhea and Cronus bred like rabbits, except for Aunt Hestia and…

She reached Hades, her husband, without spilling more of her drink. Why hadn’t he trimmed his beard like she’d asked him to? He was handsome in a barrel-chested, gruff kind of way but tended to let his grooming go to Tartarus, cared nothing about looking nice for his wife or about romance in general. Theirs was a childless marriage. Children, he said, were too expensive to raise. Persephone had a career of her own that kept her topside nine months of the year. Nanny fees alone, he’d argued, would be crippling.

Hades was talking to Hermes, as he had been when she’d gone to the bar. Hermes didn’t look well. His shoulders slumped and there were dark half-moons under his eyes. An attractive young woman stood beside him. She’d been introduced as his executive assistant.

Persephone forced a weak smile. I’m back.

Hades grunted and continued the conversation, the same business they’d been discussing when she’d gone to freshen her drink.

Those bastards are robbing me blind and it’s not just the lost revenue, expenses are up, too. Charon’s on salary now, says he won’t run the ferry for the fares alone, what with international currency fluctuations. Now that he’s an employee I have to pay fringe benefits, too. And don’t get me started about Cerberus. That dog might have three heads, but he eats like he’s got six stomachs!

Persephone sighed. Ever since she’d arrived in the Underworld, she’d been sneaking treats to the dragon-tailed dog who guarded the gate, short-circuiting Hades’ plan to keep him lean and hungry.

Hermes cleared his throat. I don’t suppose you’ve looked at the security system proposal I dropped off the last time I came by?

In addition to Hermes’ work at Olympus, Inc., he was also the guide to the souls of the recently dead. The souls that came to the Underworld, anyway. Other gods from other pantheons escorted their dead to other places. The contracts, signed between neighboring immortal groups millennia ago, were frequently amended. Hades had recently taken on a new classification of mortal souls: football hooligans. He’d been confident the increased fares would result in a tidy profit but, given the amount of damage the hooligans inflicted even in death, the venture had yet to break even. Hades needed someone to blame. His black eyes narrowed at Hermes.

Clean out your ears, man! Haven’t you been listening? I don’t have funds for capital expenditures.

This wasn’t true. Persephone knew enough about their finances to suspect her husband was the richest of all the Big-G Gods, from the rights he held to underground minerals and gems alone.

And I don’t have time to invent anything new for you right now, Hermes snapped.

Hermes’ executive assistant (her name was Cleo, Persephone remembered) placed a hand on her boss’s arm. He shook it off and glared at her. Her deep blue eyes, tilted up at the outside like a cat’s, glared back.

Excuse me, Cleo said and headed toward the bar.

The rumble of conversations around them surged. Someone shouted Look! Pan, the God of Shepherds and Flocks, flew near the twenty-foot ceiling. Drunk again, judging from his irregular flight pattern. His wildly curly hair twisted upward like horns and he wore only a loincloth. Persephone tracked the potential barf bomb as if she were watching a fly.

If he wasn’t immortal, I’d kill him, muttered Hermes, who was Pan’s father.

We’ve got plenty of room, Hades said. His jest fell flat.

I think I’ll try to find Mother, Persephone said, embarrassed by his feeble attempt at humor.

Why should I be surprised? Hades bellowed. Same story every summer. Damn, woman, I’d think you’d have seen enough of Demeter during the spring. Never mind that I made a special trip topside for this wretched party. The hotel is costing me a fortune.

Persephone tapped a conciliatory kiss on her husband’s cheek. Won’t be long.

She slurped the dregs of her Mai Tai and shouldered her way through the crowd, her ungainly progress punctuated with Sorry! and Excuse me! It was hard to imagine the graceful bearing of her youth. Living under Hades’ dour dictates in winter and slaving for Mother the rest of the year she’d grown clumsy with servitude.

Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest, was easy to spot in any crowd from the sprigs of wheat that decorated her coiled braids. She was at the champagne fountain, arguing with the server. Demeter’s lips formed the words not from the Champagne region. Persephone decided to rejoin Aunt Hestia’s group instead of listening to Mother’s criticisms.

Toes crunched under the soles of her sandals.

Sorry! Persephone looked down at Zeus. Sorry, Dad!

Zeus, the perfect host, smiled and patted her shoulder. Nice to see you, Persephone. So glad you and Hades could make it to the party. He turned to the tall goddess standing alongside him. Isn’t that right, my love?

Hera was striking in her signature blood-red toga. Silver hair cascaded down her back. Her smile was frozen, her attention focused on the ceiling.

The little jerk, Hera hissed as Pan swooped overhead. How dare he be such an ass at Ronnie’s engagement party?

Hope for the best, my dear, Zeus said, hope for the best.

A game started in Persephone’s head: who at this gathering would she most like to see drenched in Pan’s high-octane vomit?

Ganymede, the eternal cupbearer, approached with a silver tray loaded with champagne flutes. Zeus took two and handed one to Hera. Persephone accepted the other and cashiered her Mai Tai glass. Briana, the groom-elect’s mother, plucked one for herself and one for Clifford’s father, Ralph. They were both tall and well-muscled. Persephone recalled the couple had taken early retirement from their grueling careers as structurelings.

Ralph also tracked Pan’s uneven swoops under the ballroom ceiling. He grinned at Zeus. Care to make a wager?

Zeus chuckled but didn’t answer.

Persephone nodded goodbye and eased toward Hestia’s circle near the bar. The Goddess of Home and Hearth made a space for Persephone and gestured toward a gorgeous woman in a red mini-toga, the famous spokesperson of Marriage and the Media.

Persephone, dear, I’m sure you’ve met Candy Smith?

Not in person. Persephone timidly extended her hand. She felt like a fading flower beside this full-blown rose, her own corn-silk colored hair pale in comparison to Candy’s mane of strawberry blonde. I’m a fan, though. Starved for relationship advice, Persephone had read all the self-help books published through Marriage and the Media.

Candy Smith smiled and pumped Persephone’s hand. A herd of golden bangle bracelets tinkled on Candy’s wrist. Pleased to meet you.

Candy worked for me long ago, before she married, Aunt Hestia said. She and her family live in Seattle now. Doesn’t that sound nice?

Persephone nodded and took a mouthful of champagne. She’d never visited Seattle, but everyone on Mount Olympus had heard of the city where Veronica and Clifford first met. And there was something else. Something about a highway and a tunnel…

This is Candy’s husband, Jim. Hestia nodded at a tall, balding man with thick-lensed eyeglasses. A golden-haired toddler was balanced on his hip. The two of you are cousins, I think.

How not thought Persephone. It was such a tangle of relationships in the Big-G family. There hadn’t been many immortals at the start. Brothers and sisters had married out of necessity. Almost everybody here could rightfully call Zeus brother, father or uncle.

You know the others, Hestia said.

Persephone glanced around the circle. Athena was aloofly beautiful in her golden dress armor. Ares smiled and nodded. She’d worked with him a lot this past decade, since he’d relinquished his God of War responsibilities and taken up agriculture. Short, pudgy Hebe, Goddess of Youthful Beauty, completed the group.

Whoa!

The cry came from Ares, who abruptly looked toward the ceiling. Hebe held a cocktail napkin to a wet patch on the front of her pale pink toga. She shook a fist in the air.

You little monster! Hebe screamed. Pan flew in lazy circles above the crowd, laughing. You dropped your champagne on me on purpose, you creep!

Ares smirked. You’re lucky it was only champagne.

Athena, who was rumored to be chaste, covered her eyes. I wish he was wearing undergarments. The owl perched on her shoulder hooted softly.

Not much to see, sniffed Hebe.

Ma-ma!

A female toddler yanked on Hebe’s toga.

Not now, Aster, Mama’s having a migraine. Let’s find Papa and tell him we have to go home, now!

Mother and daughter left the group.

Athena lowered her hand, eyes cast down. Is he gone?

Ares laughed. A sight more terrifying than battle, sister?

Athena directed the Department of Armed Forces and was presently engaged in the War Against Hunger. Delivering food and medical supplies to mortals who’d been forced to leave their homes by warring factions was a major part of this effort. The thought of crops she and Mother had blessed going to waste or being sold on the black-market depressed Persephone.

She glanced around the ballroom for a refuge. In a dimly lit corner she spied Heracles. His considerable bulk loomed behind a potted plant. Persephone excused herself and threaded through the crowd in his direction, acutely aware of the poor figure she cut in last millennia’s toga amongst the fashionable, festive revelers.

She looked up into the fronds that covered his face. Hi, Clee. Hiding out?

Hi, Seph, he whispered. Security.

She didn’t quite believe Heracles, whose job was protecting the City of Mount Olympus, would be on duty at a family party but she let it pass. For all his size and strength, he was as shy at these gatherings as she was. They often drifted together on such occasions. She nodded toward Veronica and Clifford who were circulating through their guests.

They make a handsome couple, don’t they?

Veronica looked like a princess, tall and regal. Thick, dark hair cascaded down her back and her elegant rose-hued toga was edged in gold. Clifford loomed alongside his fiancée. He beamed down at Veronica with obvious tenderness.

Heracles sighed. Must be nice to choose your own spouse.

Persephone sighed, too. Neither of them had had the option. She’d been abducted by Hades through trickery. Heracles had