Michael Swanwick's Periodic Table of Science Fiction

Promethium

144.9128

Foresight

"No thank you," Prometheus said. "I don't smoke. It leads to lung cancer,

heart disease, emphysema, and any number of pregnancy-related health

problems."

"I didn't offer you a cigarette!" I declared.

"You were about to." Prometheus rattled his chains complacently. "I know

these things."

"Actually, the reason I'm here," I said, "is to?"

"?ask me just a few questions for the readership of Mythology Today. I

know, I know." He sighed. "Yes. No. Yes, of course. He's my own

brother?how did you think I'd feel? Of course. Never. Well, you folks

looked so wet and miserable that I couldn't help feeling sorry for you.

Yes. I never look back?that's simply not my 'thing,' if I might be

forgiven the vernacularism. No, never. I try to maintain a philosophical

frame of mind. Also, I'm a vegetarian."

"Wait!" I said, scribbling madly. I lost track. Which questions was I

about to ask?"

"If you can't be bothered to keep track yourself, why should I?"

"Well, for the sake of our readers, if nothing else. There's a great deal

of sympathy for your plight?chained to this mountain, tormented by an

eagle that eats by day your liver which, fiendishly enough, grows back by

night. That, and the fire thing. We're all very grateful for fire."

"Like heck you are. I employ a clipping service. For every headline

reading 'Fire?What a Marvelous Thing!' there are a hundred 'Nuns and

Innocent Children Killed by Fire!' and the ilk. You're wasting your time

talking to me about gratitude. Come to think of it, you're wasting my

time whatever you say."

I had to admit, the guy was beginning to get my goat. I glanced about at

the bleak, night-clad mountain. "You had something better to do?" I asked

sardonically.

"Yes. Working on my memoirs, for one. Looking forward. Thinking about the

heat-death of the universe. Having my liver eaten. Oh, there are a

million things to do!" He turned his gigantic head away from me and

stared nobly up at the stars. Then, with a sidelong glance at me, "Any of

them preferable to be bothered by a second-rate hack like you."

"Damn it, you could at least pretend to be polite!"

"I don't see why," Prometheus said coldly. "The article you're going to

write will be downright snotty."

Then it was dawn, and the eagle came again and began to eat his liver,

and of course there was no talking to him then. So I left.

Down from the mountain I stamped, fuming with every step.

Gods, what an arrogant creature! No wonder he was chained on that cliff!

I'd've done it myself. Zeus was probably just waiting for the excuse.

Damn right, my article was going to be snotty!