HEEL By PHILIP JOSE FARMER _Great cast! Stupendous show! If this didn't make history, nothing ever would!_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "Call me Zeus," said the Director. "Zeus?" said his wife, a beautiful woman not over a thousand years old. "What an egomaniac! Comparing yourself to a god, even if he is the god of those--those savages!" She gestured at the huge screen on the wall. It showed, far below, the blue sea, the black ships on the yellow beach, the purple tents of the Greek army, the broad brown plain, and the white towers of Troy. The Director glared at her through hexagonal dark glasses and puffed on his cigar until angry green clouds rolled from it. His round bald head was covered by a cerise beret, his porpoise frame by a canary yellow tunic, and his chubby legs by iridescent green fourpluses. "I may not look like a god, but as far as my power over the natives of this planet goes, I could well be their deity," he replied. He spoke sharply to a tall handsome blond youth who wore a crooked smile and bright blue and yellow tattoo spiraling around his legs and trunk. "Apollo, hand me the Script!" "Surely you're not going to change the Script again?" said his wife. She rose from her chair, and the scarlet web she was wearing translated the shifting micro-voltages on the surface of her skin into musical tones. "I never change the Script," said the Director. "I just make the slight revisions required for dramatic effects." "I don't care what you do to it, just so you don't allow the Trojans to win. I hate those despicable brutes." Apollo laughed loudly, and he said, "Ever since she and Athena and Aphrodite thought of that goofy stunt of asking Paris to choose the most beautiful of the three, and he gave the prize to Aphrodite, Hera's hated the Trojans. Really, Hera, why blame those simple, likable people for the actions of only one of them? I think Paris showed excellent judgment. Aphrodite was so grateful she contrived to get that lovely Helen for Paris and--" "Enough of this private feud," snapped the Director. "Apollo, I told you once to hand me the Script." * * * * * Achilles at midnight paced back and forth before his tent. Finally, in the agony of his spirit, he called to Thetis. The radio which had been installed in his shield, unknown to him, transmitted his voice to a cabin in the great spaceship hanging over the Trojan plain. Thetis, hearing it, said to Apollo, "Get out of my cabin, you heel, or I'll have you thrown out." "Leave?" he said. "Why? So you can be with your barbarian lover?"