ize chicken.

"And physical training," Mars said. "Well, there hasn't _been_ any
training, that's all. And that's bad."

"He is not being considered for your position," Vulcan said. "One
muscular brainless imbecile is enough."

Mars took a deep breath.

"Please," Hera said. "Continue the report."

The breath came out in an explosion. "All right," Mars said.
"Discounting the training end of things, and assuming that Hermes can
fix up the glandular mess, I think he can pass the physical."

Forrester wasn't sure that he liked being referred to as a glandular
mess. On the other hand, he asked himself, what could he do about it? He
stood quietly, wondering what was coming next.

His worst fears were fulfilled.

Venus stepped forward and gave her report. Basically, it was a codicil,
of a rather specialized nature, to the physical report. While it was
going on, Forrester glanced at Athena. She looked every bit as
embarrassed as he felt, and her face wore a look of sheer pain. Once he
thought she was going to leave the room, but she remained grimly seated
until it was all over.

Forrester couldn't figure out, when he thought about it, how the Gods
had managed to give him all these tests without his knowing anything
about it. But, then, they were supernatural, weren't they? And they had
their own methods. A mortal didn't have to understand them.

Forrester wasn't sure he was happy with that idea, but he clung to it.
It was the only one he had.

When Venus finished her report, there was a little silence.

"Any other comments?" Hera whispered to her husband.

"Ah, yes," Zeus said. "Other comments. If anyone has any other comments
to make, please make them now. Now is the time to make them."

He sat back. Morpheus stirred slightly and spoke without opening his
eyes or sitting up. "Sleep," he said.

Hera said: "Sleep?"

"Very important," Morpheus said slowly, "the candidate sleeps pretty
well--soundly, as a matter of fact. The only trouble is that he doesn't
get enough sleep. But then, no one on this entire crazy world ever
does." He yawned and added: "Not even me."

Forrester passed a hand over his forehead. He realized, very suddenly,
that he had come to a conclusion somewhere during the meeting. He was,
he told himself, definitely sane.

That left another conclusion. He was not dreaming anything that was
happening. It was all perfectly real.

And he was about to become a demi-God.

That in itself didn't