From behind the stage, Troia stood amazed, absently picking at the uncomfortable fringes of her navy blue dress. She had worn nice enough clothing, she thought, for the occasion, but none of the very public attention had been on her. Instead, her elder sister held the limelight.
Troia supposed that was a good thing. To the wider Man's World, Diana's wondrous little sister did not yet exist. This was the second extended trip away from Themiscyra' shores she had ever taken, in as many months, and equal parts of her hoped and dreaded that this would become a regular occurrence. Perhaps she would get a chance to make her public mark on the world too.
If they deserved it.
Diana dominated the clowns in the hearing room. A series of representatives created a council, the leader of which was a fussy man who almost looked to be as old as her mother actually was. A packed audience to the ceremony filled nearly every inch of square space, and despite the calls for no civilian cameras, Troia could see quite a few of those blocky phones taking video.
Diana stood on ceremony atop her own dais, having long since made the podium feel like hers over the third day of negotiations. She dressed not in her armor the color of the United States but instead in a traditional orange and bronze chiton. Her hair flowed in perfect curls, and not even the blind could doubt she had truly been blessed this morning by Lady Aphrodite and Lady Hera.
"… ploy by the Americans!"
"That's preposterous. They're our allies, you g-"
"Allies who have not shared the secrets to their island's wonders!"
"I am perfectly content with an office established in the American embassy, but not-"
"Did you not hear me? They are an unknown! Their ability to trade is suspect, their beliefs are… are barbaric, and they-"
The argument continued for several moments, without Diana having to say a word. She had a small smirk on her face, but she otherwise held her poise. The cameras were likely loving every second of this, and Troia vowed to find commentary of this online to see what the reactions would be.
Troia was, again, glad this wasn't her. She would have bitten off their heads by now and started a diplomatic incident worse than even this.
She waved her hand from off-stage, finally managing to catch her sister's gaze. Without a moment of hesitation, she gave a healthy bow of acknowledgment, and Diana responded with a subtle turn of the head.
"Councilors."
Diana's voice called everyone back to her. Perhaps it was a trick of the microphone, perhaps it was merely her reputation, or perhaps it was the divinity hidden within her. Even the most bickering of politicians ceased momentarily to listen.
"I can see that this discussion will not bear fruit today. Themiscyra has been patiently waiting for our cultural sister country to embrace us with a seat at the table, but it seems Greece-" Diana waved pointedly at the adoring crowd, "and her constituents are not ready. Perhaps we shall try again in the fall."
Several groans and boos erupted throughout the hall. The councilors glanced toward each other, toward the crowd, toward their notes, and toward their staffers. The old as Hades man leading the discussion had the gall to say, "N-now, let's not be hasty."
"Hasty?" Diana challenged. "This process has been grueling, arduous, and overlong. I respect your systems and the agency you have to manage them, councilors, but Themiscyra has long since been adopted throughout Man's World. Each of your nearest neighbors holds an official embassy, alongside a majority of European polities. The red regime of China established relations and an embassy before you. Considering the origin of our countries, it almost insults."
The only female councilor, a dark-skinned woman with close-shaven gray hair, raised a clipboard into the air. "We have extended an offer before, Wonder Woman, but your people did not accept it."
Troia remembered the story's retelling. Io, the Amazons' smith second-only to Hephaestus himself, explained that in the aftermath of the great war, Greece tried to establish lines of communication with Themiscyra. Greece had suffered financially and physically during the conflict, and the burden for the Amazons to step in to manage the rebuilding efforts came at great cost. The Queen forbade it, and Troia had not gotten her mother to explain the intent to her.
Perhaps those outside the island were not worth the hassle.
"My people, at the time, had been forced into the light before they were ready." Diana pointed a thumb at her chest. "Our queen foresaw a period of servitude for my sisters. I will not speak to whether she was right or not, but Themiscyra has made the decision to step into the public eye. We need not have your support to continue to do that."
Diana left.
She just turned and walked away.
The representatives of Greece's government had not expected that result, and honestly, neither had Troia. In her mind, this had been a foregone conclusion.
Until it wasn't.
"This is an outrage! You cannot-"
"Do not expect to recieve aid for your activities, Wonder Woman!"
Then, quieter, "… we can't afford to deny assistance-"
A smirk mixed of amusement and confusion filled the young Amazon's face. Troia caught up with Diana a few minutes later, the two of them sitting on the edge of a rooftop half-a-city of Athens away. She wondered idly what this place might have been, thousands of years ago. A less decadent, less polished, less blessed Themiscyra, perhaps?
She was less than impressed with the modern version. Cars filled cramped streets, pollution choked the air, and there were hardly any great works left. The only animals that remained present in this gross environment were vermin, not because they were better loved but because they were perhaps the only true bits of nature that remained, untethered to leashes or cages.
Themiscyra had felt a cage to her, once. She could relate, and wondered why Greece wanted to lock them out of their country.
"Why do you think they resisted?"
Diana half-smiled. "We threaten them."
"… what?"
"We are the true inheritors of our forebears. Some of our oldest citizens remember this city when it was founded, Troia."
"Oh. Yeah. Add in the gifts from the gods?"
"Yes. We insult them."
"They insult us!"
Diana laughed. "Perhaps. Man's World is not without redemption, without worth, without character. Our blessings from the Olympians are not cause for us to believe our society is better, Troia."
"I know that." She looked away from Diana's piercing eyes. "It's just nice to know that someone out there is in our corner."
"That's the thing, sister. They believe the same is true for them."
"But it's not-"
"Is it?" Diana smiled. "In my life, I've learned not all gods behave the same way. They are not pious to the Olympians, but they are pious. That matters."
"So, what? All their gods are real too?"
Diana found her hand and squeezed it. "Why couldn't they be?"
ROME
MAY 14, 15:44 UTC +2
TEAM YEAR ZERO
The European countryside was lovely this time of year. Rolling hills, rushing rivers, mountainous peaks, clear beaches – all seen from a view the birds would envy. Between all of that were the cramped hamlets, pastoral villages, well-preserved monasteries, and twenty-first century marvels.
I'd had to die, survive a decade and a half on an alien world, fight in a conflict to save the future of that world, only to finally return to Earth with more freedom than I'd ever had before. I could take those trips to Asia, to Europe, to the Arctic, to the bottom of the ocean, to the Moon. Some in only a few short minutes of flight. It was almost too much of a good thing, to be so unburdened.
Any therapist worth their salt would tell me that I had little appreciation for a work-life balance, but it was difficult to not feel that every minute I spent lounging was another minute I spent not racing into danger. I had a world-wide reach – I could respond to a violent car chase in Taipei, in Sydney, in Cairo as well as I could one outside Laguardia. The only thing limiting me was the intentional choice to stay within one city as other heroes have done, but as time had passed, I was not sure that's the right move.
So, I forced myself away from the grind to spend some time apart from the heroics. To gauge how it felt. Was I the kind of person who needed to cling to a normal life as so many others have done? I didn't think so, but I still needed to sleep. Still needed to take time to eat, because flying that fast and shooting lasers was calorie expensive without taking energy from the environment. I couldn't be chasing after bad guys in every waking minute of every day.
The cyclical thoughts were driving tension into my shoulders by the minute. I was not here only for pleasure, but I'd take advantage of the break if I could.
Italy was far less like a boot from outer space than I expected. Two-dimensional map projections are always wrong, but it was entirely possible that in a setting where a flying man could move a mountain single-handedly, perhaps there had been some great event of 1782 or 915 or 1893 that re-shaped parts of the coastline. Probably not, but Atlantis had sunk after all. Anything could be historically possible in a world like this.
Boutique shops. Parks. That one trail through the Alps that might be where Hannibal marched the elephants. The seven famous hills of Rome, now a thriving modern metropolis hugging preserved ancient buildings. It was all too gorgeous, a reminder of how very human I felt.
A gelato stand not far from the Basilica sold to tourists, and I couldn't help but order my favorite flavor: pistachio. I swear I was not Italian in this life or the last, but that was strangely relevant to the purpose of the meeting I'd had scheduled for the day.
Still enjoying the delightful snack I'd ordered, I marched through the campus like I belonged. It had far too long since I'd visited a campus, and I still remembered my college years fondly. I'd studied the greats of philosophy and history – Zeno, Descartes, Plato, Herodotus, Josephus. I'd partied like the best of 'em, enjoyed the sports games, the watered-down beer, the Everclear pong… It hadn't been my primary scene, but I'd liked it all the same.
This was not the same vibe at all. Maybe it was the European difference, maybe it was the fact that I wasn't a student, but mostly it was the stares. College students were not the most observant folks, and I'd passed dozens in a few short minutes before anyone paid me any mind. But I did strike a strange sight, and when people started noticing that an unaccompanied child was moving across campus, they gave me second glances.
I wondered, idly, if some part of them thought I looked familiar. I knew I'd been on the news, but I doubted that I stood out compared to coverage of the famed Justice League's exploits. Merchandise, comics, tabloids – half the teen girls in America speculated that the Flash and Green Arrow were making out, while the other half hoped that Green Arrow and Black Canary would finally tie the knot. They were too distracted with the big names to pay much mind to someone like me, and I was content with that for now. I needed a reputation, but I didn't need to be crowded every time I entered a public space.
I used that anonymity to cross the campus relatively undisturbed until I finally arrived at the archaeology department. A rather large, important office amidst the city of Rome considering the importance of the city, but there was little in the way of security like I'd expected, apart from a front office clerk who couldn't be bothered to look at me with a second glance as he shuffled me to the back.
"Dr. Nassour, your… appointment is here."
The woman sitting behind the desk of the small office was white, despite her first name. Short red hair, green eyes, and a kind enough smile. Several pictures of her with her husband and young son adorned the walls, and they looked every bit a promising blended family. A British flag pin stuck in a corkboard filled with printed articles, photographs, and sketches. Atop her desk was a beautiful bronze nameplate that read: "Jane Nassour, Doctor of Philosophy in Archaeology."
She glanced up from her work station. A dust-covered scabbard with no accompanying blade sat beneath several viewing devices, cameras, and special lights, and she held a careful piece of cloth in one gloved hand. A computer monitor displayed diagnostics and data that looked quite impressive, for whatever this particular artifact might be.
Dr. Nassour waved at the clerk in acknowledgment, who muttered something in return in Italian before closing me into the office. I didn't hear retreating footsteps, so I wondered if he were listening and decided I didn't much care.
"You are not whom I thought you'd be. Your email did not mention your age."
Her accent – lightly British – stood out compared to the rest of the folks I'd heard speak in Italy.
"I didn't want you to think I was wasting your time."
The woman tilted her head. "I don't think you've proven that yet, young man."
"Honestly?" I considered the thought. "I might be. This is a shot in the dark."
She leaned against her chair. "Elaborate."
I strongly considered the approach before finally nodding. "You weren't the only request I sent. Linguistics, genetics, biology, chemistry, history – I emailed nearly every department chair of this university and two others in the area. You were one of two that wanted to discuss my theory."
Theory was such a strong word for what I was proposing, but I had little knowledge of how else to describe it.
"How far-reaching…?"
I nodded. "I know, I know."
Memes from my first life ran through my mind, of terrible History Channel shows. In a world like DC Comics, such wild theories of aliens seeding other worlds in ancient times may actually have weight.
"I cannot give you all the details, Doctor, but I have reasons to believe that there may have been alien influence on the Latin peoples. Perhaps even before then."
What else would explain the similarities in linguistics between Osmos V's greater culture and the cultures of Rome? Cassian, Horatio, Maximus, Lucrecia, Jula, Adrius, Sanitas, Triarchy – these were remarkably consistent names that have a similar-to-Latin bent. The truth could not be justified by some extra-dimensional "writer" – there had to be a reason, because the coincidences were far, far too massive. Seneca, Cato, and Gordia were names from history!
Physiologically, humans and Osmosians were remarkably close. Maybe there had been some cross-contamination at some point in the past. I thought it more likely that Earth had Osmosian visitors, rather than the other way around – a chance encounter with a species like the Aerophibians, and there'd be a group of Gifted capable of traversing the stars like myself. Neither Earth nor Osmos V had worked out space flight technology yet, to cross the stars.
Dr. Nassour did not follow my logic. "There is evidence of Indo-Europeans settling into the Latium-"
"No, I mean aliens."
"I-" She shook her head and pulled off her gloves. "This is a waste of my time."
"An alien turned into a giant dragon a few months ago to fight something in Tokyo Bay. An alien from a planet in this solar system."
She nearly glared at me. "You think Martians influenced the Latin people? Boy, I don't know whom you've been talking to, but-"
"Not Martians, but someone. It's the only thing that makes sense!" I pointed to my own chest. "Hypothetically, what would explain a planet whose primary language follows many of the same conventions of Latin?" Osmotin was not written the same way, but it sounded much the same. "A planet with people who speak similarly to humans, who hold many of the same physiological characteristics. Hypothetically, would a logical conclusion not be that there may have been cultural or even genetic crossover?"
She stared at me for a long second, as though truly studying me for a long moment. The ridges around my eyes made me nervous – if she thought of them as anything other than pronounced eyebags or perhaps make-up, maybe this conversation would end differently.
"… I suppose such a thing is possible in the theoretical sense. Hypothetically," she muttered, trying to play along, "if such a species were to have the ability to travel the stars and interact, maybe influences could arise from those interactions. But practically, that cannot be the case for many reasons. Languages do not arrive in a vacuum – they're fluid, ever changing, and ever osmotic from other cultures."
"So, hypothetically, if alien artifacts were found that proved the connection somewhere in Italy, or perhaps in India, it could prove the connection?"
Dr. Nassour had a damn poker face. I could not read her expression, but this was -
Without warning, several people barged into the office and began shouting in Italian, ignoring me completely. I backed away, concerned, and locked eyes with the archaeologist. Alarm filled the room over something major happening, and my mind shifted to several potentially dangerous things. Nassour shifted her attention to her computer, opened the LexTech browser, and pulled up a news broadcast. Italian it may be, but the video feed was clear.
I excused myself.
This would not be the work vacation I thought it could be. I hoped that I'd intrigued Nassour enough to look into it, but if not, I'd keep asking around.
There had to be a reason.
ATHENS
MAY 14, 19:44 UTC +3
TEAM YEAR ZERO
Diana had left her to her own devices hours ago, to handle business Troia did not need to know. Would she have liked to know? Yes, of course, but she did not press the subject. League business was League business, and Troia had little reason to know more than what Diana could trust her to know.
That was how things always were with Diana. The crime-fighting, the crisis-averting? Those were all things that Troia wanted to know about, wanted to understand exactly why Diana cared about Man's World enough to defend it. She'd heard the explanations, but she had not witnessed them firsthand. Part of her wondered if she had been traveling to Man's World with Diana so often lately because the woman expected her sister to help her one day. But the larger part remembered Mother's words about the subject, and for decades, Diana had listened.
If things had changed, Troia was unaware of when or why.
Still, with no escort to head back through the Zeta Tubes, she had taken the time to explore the city. She had spent decades living on an island paradise, free from the ravishes of disease, hunger, death, and war. Athens, as a modern city, held examples of each of these things in spades. Hospitals filled with the sick or wounded. Shelters for the homeless and the hungry. Abandoned pets or animals left to rot in the streets. Stores filled with ammunition for the arms of mankind.
As much as these moments of her exploration pained her, she could not forget the positive examples of humanity she foresaw, such as laughing school children and that one dog that caught the… miniature discus. A frisbee? As great as these things were, she could not help but contemplate the bad.
This city was as rotten as Phillippa warned.
The contemplation of the state of humanity brought her to the one place she thought she might find answers. A place teeming with tourists, even amidst a cloudy day.
Grand columns in disarray, holding great classical works of art depicting the legends of her people and the once patron protector of this city. The palisade sat atop a hill overlooking the city, an example for all to follow throughout history. An example long forgotten, an example left to languish under the corruptive influences of mankind. There were stadiums for the pansy sports of today with better architectural integrity than the glory of the Parthenon.
Troia considered breaking from the convention and floating inside the space, monitored no doubt with cameras galore and other security features. She would reveal herself, but perhaps she might find answers. The structure was in such disarray that no one was allowed to walk in without special care and equipment, so tour groups followed long-tread trails around its exterior. To witness the once glorious building without destroying what remained.
The Amazon had to admire that they wanted to preserve what remained of the past, but the tour groups insulted her. Where was the dignity? Where was the piety? Where was the honor to Lady Athena and one of her most sacred sites? They flashed their pictures, ate their food, drank their drinks, without honoring her with any of the old ways.
Troia pinched a piece of bread and tossed it lazily over the guard rails, where it landed in a heap of dust beneath one of its many columns.
"Does that count as littering?"
A man – no, a teenager sidled next to her. Dark hair, dark eyes, a slight lilt of Italian to his Greek pronunciation. Dressed in a sleek jacket and jeans, he carried a backpack over his shoulders and was the picture of every other tourist in the area. She easily clocked that he was not alone – a few of his friends snickered and pointed while the kid talked to her, thinking they were not noticed several yards away.
She could humor them. "What's a handsome Roman doing here?" He was handsome, in a too-pretty sort of way.
The teenager, rather smoothly, said, "Oh, not from Rome here. Actually from Sicily."
"Ah, right," she remarked with a smirk.
"Anyway," he muttered and lazily pointed, trying to be noticeably smooth, "I guess bread is bio-degradable, but why waste it?"
She smiled. "Oh, I didn't. Lady Athena and her attendants will be thankful."
He screwed his forehead. "Huh. I, uh, didn't expect to – uh – meet a-"
"Pagan?" She hated that word, and the snide derision filtered into her voice despite her best efforts. He frowned.
"Oh, I didn't mean to offend," he said, in recovery. "I just thought Pagans were blue-haired chicks with an Accutane prescription and permanently online. Not, uh, someone like you."
Troia, admittedly, did not know what some of those words meant, nor why he would string them together, but it did not sound particularly flattering. "I believe the tour is moving along."
He turned to meet her eyes as she started to walk away and then placed his body in her path. "You should head back."
"What?"
"… Listen. We got off on the wrong foot, I think," he tried again, a handsome half-smirk filling his features. "Call me Angelo. I wanna do something right by you, so take this money," he produced some from his jacket, "and buy something nice for yourself by the gift shop. My treat, and I'll let you teach me all about your, uh, Paganism later."
Troia took the money in her hand, counting the bills with a look of surprise across her face. It was genuinely a lot of money, for all that Man's World money was worth. "Why-"
"The rest of the tour is kinda crappy, but I owe it to my guys to finish it," he suggested, pointing to his friends who were trying hard to look like they were not listening. "You cut back, you'll skip all the lines, and you'll get whatever you want."
Troia glanced toward the Parthenon, the money, and then to Angelo's handsome features.
When in Man's World…
The Amazon headed back toward one of the few gift shops nearby, not caring at all about the trinkets that might be available. The tour was frustrating her anyway, and Angelo intrigued her if only because she wanted to know all about the Italy of today. The Italy of the past did not leave behind many good stories among the Amazons.
She would wait for Angelo until he returned, or until Diana called for her.
Fifteen minutes passed before she began to notice something was amiss. A yelp of surprise from a group of tourists outside alerted her attention, and she slipped through the sliding glass doors of the shop.
People fled in terror.
The Parthenon expanded, extended, curved inexplicably and without rhyme, nor reason. Columns became bent, twisted, spiraled – all stretched in odd patterns, swirling toward a central point. Screams carried, warbled across the space as a horrific sound began to emanate from the space where the building should be, undisturbed. Instead, the building warped into a truly horrific shape.
Troia moved.
The ground could not hold back her nature, and she willed herself into the air. Without much fanfare, she sped toward the top of the hill to get a closer look. The stretching, warping, tremble of a sound continued anew, and the temple began to suddenly and quickly condense. She scanned her eyes over the scene, crowds of people fleeing the area even as they studied her presence floating high overhead. They pointed, they screamed in surprise, they blamed her.
"Lady Athena, lend me wisdom," she thought.
Her attention centered on the truth.
A familiar figure in a thick, dark fabric mask stood with his back turned to her. In his hand was a glowing green object shaped almost like a triangle, its surface covered in runic, circuit-like designs. The figure swung the strange object in the air, the glow mimicking his movements with an almost delayed response, and then everything around him, including several other goons, began to contract into a single point.
Troia had no choice.
This was the Parthenon!
She raced forward and felt herself pulled, shaped, twisted, contorted, stretched, ambled in a thousand directions at once.
And then – nothing.