This adventure, my attempt at guessing what might have happened in Atlantis's third season, carries on from where my story Back to the Future left off. There will probably be a few references to the friends' escapades in this story, but it is not essential to have read Back to the Future (though you are most welcome to).

It seemed bizarre to be here at the harbour once again, naming a ship with the air of having done it all before – asking for the blessings of the gods on a rather fragile piece of carpentry, splashing wine on the side, declaring its name to be the Argo...

She was a beauty of a ship: a tall and proud mast with grand sails, the white cloth striking against the cloudless sky; the bodywork was, in a word, impressive, fashioned under the hands of the most talented ship-builders in Atlantis; and the nameplate had been struck with the utmost care – a ship fit for a King and Queen, for its crew included such important figures among its number.

Jason and Ariadne studied the handiwork and said that they liked what they saw.

They had said that before, when the first Argo had been named. The second Argo was better than the last, stronger and more resilient; but Jason could not help but wish that the first had survived, that it had never tossed them into an unexpected and ultimately heartbreaking adventure, itself breaking on the rocks; he wished that they hadn't had to sneak into Atlantis under the cover of darkness, and then just as furtively go to the boatyard for this secret naming-ceremony, in order to start the mission that should have been started days ago: that to save Atlantis from the growing influence of Pasiphae, somehow back from the grave and more powerful than ever before.

After their initial joy at being back in their own time, their hearts had sunk when they learnt that a day and a half had passed since the Argo sank, and that in this time the entire city had been subdued by guards under Pasiphae's influence. Their unanimous thought, however, had not been about the former queen, but about Daedalus, Icarus's father and the foremost reason for them leaving the future so soon: Daedalus, who yet remained in this dangerous city; Daedalus, whose skills and knowledge would perhaps be invaluable on such a quest as theirs; Daedalus, who was as close to a father as any of them would have on this journey. Through some sneaking around and exploitation of those who were, secretly, still loyal to Ariadne as queen, they had managed to smuggle him from the place under the very noses of the guards, and lead him to their camp in the forest.

The harbour was outside, thus far, of Pasiphae's sphere of influence, and so it had been easy enough to hold this quiet ceremony to prepare one of the best ships for their quest. They would set sail the very next day, bound for Colchis, where the Golden Fleece was kept that would, they hoped, be Pasiphae's downfall and the key to peace at last in Atlantis.

'Someone's coming.'

This hissed warning by Hercules made everyone sit up straight, rubbing the approaching sleep from their eyes, and reach instinctively for the assorted weapons that lay about them. Jason jumped up, a sword in his hand, his keen eyes searching through the semi-darkness for the source of the quiet rustling that betrayed footsteps some distance away, but coming towards them. They all rolled up their cloaks and blankets, stood, slipped behind trees, watched, waited...

A figure was walking slowly and cautiously among the pines perhaps a hundred yards away. A woman... A woman with a bow in her right hand and an arrow in her left, ready to attack should there be need of it... A ruggedly beautiful woman whom Jason suddenly recognised even in silhouette, with a shiver running down his spine that always struck him when the forces of destiny were at work in his life. A name came to his lips and sprang unbidden into the twilight: 'Atalanta.'

The woman, now within earshot, looked up, saw Jason's face and then his torso emerge from his hiding-place; she smiled, came closer; and Jason knew that he was right. The woman was indeed the same archer and healer whom he had met – when? A long time ago now, but he still remembered clearly his encounter with this mysterious young woman. And had she not said that they would meet again?...

'It's fine. It's a friend...'

Slowly, cautiously, his friends showed themselves, still armed but lowering their weapons when they saw that the woman knew Jason and seemed to be on his side. Pythagoras and Hercules then realised who she was, and put up their hands in greeting, inviting the woman closer and to the safety of the grove in which they had camped.

Atalanta came forth, a striking figure in the dying light, hair tumbling about her defiant face and shoulders broadened by the exertion of wielding her chosen weapon. Her dress was short – too short, perhaps – and practical, though it did look as if it had lost a battle with a hedge. A quiver was about her shoulder, stuffed with brown-flighted arrows; she slid the arrow in her hand into this quiver as she approached, and then sat on a wide root, setting her bow beside her and studying the little company.

'It seems our paths cross once again,' Atalanta said with a smile at Jason.

'You said they would,' replied Jason, not knowing quite what to say.

'They told me I would find you here,' Atalanta went on. 'I heard about the mission to retrieve the Golden Fleece and came to offer my services on this honourable quest.'

'Who told you?' Jason furrowed his brow.

'A friend...' Atalanta paused, looking around at the faces staring at her.

Seeing that she wasn't going to elaborate, Jason spoke briefly with Ariadne in a voice only she could hear, and then addressed the huntress thus: 'I would accept your offer, on the condition that you pledge unflinching loyalty to the rightful rulers of Atlantis and all that they stand for.'

And Atalanta drew a short sword from a scabbard about her belt, knelt before the still-standing Jason and offered him the blade, her head bowed respectfully. 'I do swear fealty to the rulers of Atlantis and to all that they stand for.'

'And in front of such witnesses I accept your pledge, and invite you to join our quest,' replied Jason, inviting her to stand, and smiling at her, though his eyes still studied her carefully, searching her own eyes for any flicker, wondering who exactly she was and quite why he had asked somebody he didn't know at all well to come with them to Colchis. But she was a healer – she was blessed with the power of the gods – and the greatest archer that the world had ever seen, so... She would be useful, certainly. Loyal? Probably... He weighed this all up before nodding to the others and saying to Atalanta that she would definitely be very welcome. After all, they needed as many allies as they could get.

He consulted with Cassandra later; and the latter, though not wont to giving predictions on demand, said that the gods were in favour with this decision, and that with Atalanta on their side they also had the support of the goddess Artemis, which was always a plus.

'And may her hands be ever steady,' Cassandra said then, a little cryptically, with the flicker of a smile, before sinking back into the bizarre trance that so often took her far away from the land of mortals.

Theirs was a strange crew. At the prow of the ship stood Jason, his hair ruffled and his face bright as he at last voyaged forth to complete his quest and bring peace to his beloved Atlantis – rescuing the city that had once rescued him. Scurrying about the deck were Icarus, Hercules and Atalanta, the three of them armed, busying themselves with Jason's orders and the ropes that hung down from the mast, raising the sails and turning them to the wind. Pythagoras was on lookout duty, perched in the crow's-nest halfway up the mast, his keen eyes seeing further than most, though he looked only across the sea, hardly daring even to glance down. Daedalus and Ariadne were in the galley, making dinner as best they could on the rocking ship as it set out towards the horizon, and chatting all the while: Daedalus was unusually cheerful in the fresh sea air, and much appreciative of this attention by none other than the Queen of Atlantis, in truth a polite, kind and satisfyingly normal young woman. And Cassandra sat at the back of the ship, deep in meditation sometimes, sometimes staring out at the sea with watchful eyes and a mysterious smile on her face.

And the second Argo set out at last on its quest, drawing a lazy line of white spray out from the harbour at Atlantis into the wide open waters beyond, towards Colchis and the second stage of a vitally important, if undoubtedly dangerous, mission.