One Nation, Under Jupiter

FEBRUARY 22, 2766

Anyone who's visited New Antioch's Temple of Apollo can testify to the beauty of the building. As the god of light, music, and poetry, Apollo's priests saw it fit to decorate the temple in a manner fitting for the deity that's brought so much beauty into the world. Past the temple's elegant marble exterior, visitors are treated to a palatial scene. The common man who comes to worship can sit in armchairs normally only reserved for the highest men in the state. In the center is a golden statue of Apollo, his signature lyre in hand. Soft music plays through the temple's speakers, lending the impression that the god himself is playing. The Temple of Apollo is decadent, beautiful, and funded by taxpayers.

If you tell the priests you want to see the oracle, though, they'll take you to a room in the back, one that's practically the opposite of the rest of the temple. The only decorations are a semi-circle of hard wooden benches, and a bowl on a table in the center. Any other objects would go to waste, as the room is granted only the dimmest illumination, coming from weak lights near the floor. It may lack the charm of the rest of the temple, but this is one of the few places, they say, where a man is allowed to communicate directly with the gods.

"How long do we need to wear these, sir?" asked Servius, tugging at his respirator. He looked almost like a surgeon with it on.

"The whole time."

"The whole time?!" he repeated. "Why?"

"Because we need sobriety!" I replied. "Who knows what kind of gasses they pump into this room? We need a clear head if we're to report this properly. Whatever it is that the oracle's crazy visions come from, I want as little of it as possible."

A priestess stepped forward into the light. Tradition mandates that only virgins can be oracles. This one in particular seems like she's barely legal. Her transparent robe let me see her whole body. Her face was smooth, yet with a slight pout to it, surrounded by a mess of black unkempt hair. She may have been dressed like a whore, but there was something in her face, trying so hard to look mature, to make it clear this whole affair was of the utmost seriousness for her.

"Are you ready to begin?" she asked, sprinkling an offering of unidentifiable leaves into the ceremonial bowl. I nodded in response, then turned towards Servius. My slave was watching the oracle with an almost perverse fascination, his eyes unblinking as the priestess prepared herself.

"Make sure you're recording all this," I whispered to him.

"Yes, sir," Servius said with a roll of his eyes.

"You should know this is an...unusual request," said the oracle, revealing the matchbook clutched in her left hand. "Most visitors come to Apollo for a single question, not an interview."

"Well, we appreciate...Apollo being willing to go along with it."

"Let us begin," she said. The oracle lit a match, then threw it into the ceremonial bowl, lighting the offering ablaze. She leaned forward, breathing in the fumes. Servius was getting closer to the bowl himself.

"Sobriety," I reminded, putting my arm in front of him. The oracle gave a smile of extreme serenity, the kind people only give during those rare moments when for once it feels like everything is good in the world. Then, she leaned her head back, grunting in agony. The priestess fell to the floor, violently convulsing, almost like she was having a seizure.

"Er...hello?" I asked, rising from my seat and taking baby steps towards the priestess. "Am I...am I speaking to Apollo?" The oracle looked up at me, then slowly struggled back onto her feet. There was a dead look in her eyes. She wasn't looking at me so much as through me.

"Yes," answered the oracle in a deep voice, trying her hardest to sound like a man. "It is I, Apollo, the lord of the sun. Why have you summoned me here?"