BLACK HOLE X-21
			    ENIGMA SECTOR

 	When Daggerdisc emerged from hyperspace, Gryphon threw the
forward view up on the big screen in the lounge for the benefit of his
passengers.  Three starships waited in a more-or-less triangular
formation; at the point was the enormous arrowhead shape of the GENOM
flagship, the Executioner-class Star Destroyer Vindicator.  Flanking
it to the left was the naval-style WDF Strategic Fleet flagship, WDF
Concordia, its hull thermocoat gleaming green against the black
backdrop of space; its squarish, compact hull was perhaps an eighth
the length of the Vindicator's.  To the right cruised a ship slightly
larger than Concordia, bearing a slightly comical resemblance to a
heavily armed wedge of white Cheddar.
	"Oh how cute," said Kei.  "It's a super-deformed Star
Destroyer."
	Redneck could only glare silently at this dire insult to his
new fleet flagship, for the vessel in question was none other than
CFF-114, CFMF Charlemagne.  Privately, he agreed with Kei's analogy --
he'd made it many times in his own head, since the Victory-class Star
Destroyers came out as an apparent ripoff of the Charlemagne's
predecessor class, the smaller Camelot carriers. That didn't mean he
liked having it confirmed by other people.
	"Well it is," Kei replied, noting his glare.
	Redneck sighed, unable to remain irritated in the face of such
bald logic, and smiled a tired sort of smile.
	It was only then he noticed, a bit beyond the ships, the patch
of swirling darkness in the dark: Black Hole X-21, looming and
foreboding.
	"Wow," said Redneck, his smile wiped off his face by a look of
astonishment.

		     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
			       presents

		UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT
			     -=TWILIGHT=-

			  THIRD SEAL: KYRIE

			 Benjamin D. Hutchins
			   Lawrence R. Mann
			       MegaZone
			   Kris Overstreet
  This particular version of the Norns created by Kosuke Fujishima   

   Other stuff cadged from the usual dizzying profusion of sources

                (c) 1997 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited                 

 	"Concordia, this is Gryphon, come in."
	"Reading you, sir.  Hold on, I'll patch you to the bridge
viewer."  The small screen on the corner console blipped, and Gryphon
was looking at a slightly fisheyed view of the bridge of the
Concordia.
	"Waiting for instructions as ordered, sir," said Saavik.
	"Commander Saavik," said Gryphon calmly.  "By the authority
vested in me as Commander in Chief of the Strategic Fleet of the Wedge
Defense Force Navy, I hereby promote you to the grade of Captain and
assign you as commanding officer, WDF Concordia, both effective
immediately."
	For perhaps the only time in her life, Saavik was taken aback,
and said nothing.
	Gryphon grinned.  "As for the rest of it, well... the command
structure above you is liable to be pretty chaotic for a while.  Just
trust me and your instincts, and everything should be OK.  Is the ship
ready for combat?"
	Regaining her jarred composure, Saavik nodded.  "All fighter
squadrons are on launch alert, all battle stations manned.  Damage
control and sick bay are standing by."
	"Good.  We probably won't need that level of readiness right
away, but better safe than sorry."  He tapped a few keys, and the
screen divided diagonally to include a panoramic view of the lounge.
"Larry, I'm going to bring in your people next."
	"OK," said R-Type.  Gryphon hailed the GENOM ship and asked
that the commanding admiral be patched in for a message from Dr. Mann.
	Blip.  Now there were three subdivisions to the small screen,
in a lovely diamond pattern.  The new screen showed a small
office-like room, a flag officer's ready room.  Behind the small,
orderly desk, sat a powerfully built humanoid with blue skin,
jet-black hair and softly glowing red eyes -- the GENOM Military Arm
Navy supreme commander, the Gamilon Grand Admiral Thrawn.
	"Thrawn here, Doctor.  I gather from your rather terse email
orders and Master Caine's sketchy information that something major is
afoot."
	"Indeed there is, Grand Admiral.  Thank you for coming; Rear
Admiral Overstreet of the Confederate Frespacers Mercenary Fleet will
explain the issue at hand once we have his people on line."
	"(Oh, thanks a lot,)" mumbled Redneck.
	"Hold the line, everybody; patching in the CFMF ship next,"
said Gryphon, and set to work handling the increasingly complicated
call setup.  "CFMF Charlemagne, this is Daggerdisc, Benjamin
D. Hutchins commanding, come in please."
	"Daggerdisc, this is Charlemagne," replied the voice of
Charlemagne's comm officer, Claire Lemno.  "We read you, go ahead."
	"Charlemagne, Rear Admiral Overstreet would like a word with
Captain Nakajima."
	"Hang on and I'll put it on the big screen."
	Blip.  The comm screen was now divided into quarters along
diagonal lines, the new window showing the center of an enormous
ship's bridge, focusing on a young-looking Japanese man and woman.
The woman sat in quiet anticipation in the command chair, while the
man stood stoically beside her.  "Good morning, Admiral," the man,
Commander Homare Nakajima, said.  "Charlemagne reports ready for
battle... and Aya's ready to climb the walls."
        "I am not!" Aya huffed.  "Admiral, are you going to tell us
why we're all here, or can we just go find something to shoot?"
        "Patience," Redneck said.  "Ladies and gentlemen, what I'm
telling Captain Nakajima applies to all of us here, so pay very close
attention.
	"Aya," said Redneck, trying to think of the right words to
convey the full impact of the situation to possibly the galaxy's most
notorious party and combat monster.  "You're going to have a rare and
special privilege: you're going to get to fight in the Last Battle.
The biggest, baddest, wildest, tear-ass fight in the history of
history itself.  These people will be fighting beside you, along with
a lot of others.  You are to work together with them, ALL of them,
against the common enemy.  Believe it or not, these people here -
especially the GENOM people - are our allies.  If they need help, give
it.  If you need their help, ask.  Obey orders from your superiors,
that includes me, Admiral Hutchins, and the overall fleet commander,
whoever he or she ends up being.
	"Other than that..."  Overstreet grinned evilly.  "... use
your initiative."
	There was a somewhat lengthy silence, as the people on all
four ships waited to see how the other people would react.
	Captain Nakajima managed to work out a quiet, "Excuse me?"
	"You heard me, Aya," said Redneck.  "The End of Creation is
upon us, the Ragnarok has come, and we're gonna fight in it."
	"You're not joking, are you."  The tone in her voice left it
obvious that she was not asking a question.
	"Nope," Redneck replied flatly.
	There was another short silence.
	A twinkle appeared in Aya's eyes, and her mouth spread into an
eager, beligerrent smile.  "... all RIGHT!" she declared.
	Saavik looked nonplussed, but offered no comment.
	Thrawn considered for a moment and then said heavily,
"Dr. Mann, is the man deranged, or has the universe taken on an
alarming penchant for literality?"
	"The latter, I'm afraid," R-Type replied.  "He's quite
serious, and quite correct."
	"If anybody wants out of this, now's the time to speak up,"
Gryphon interjected.  "I can't make anybody go along."
	Silence.
	"OK, then.  I need you three to slave your helms to
Daggerdisc's -- navigating to Asgard is going to be tricky and we've
got somebody aboard here who can do the job."
	Within a minute, it was done, and the four ships moved in
single file to a point just outside X-21's event horizon.
	"I hope the hell you know what you're doing, Skuld," said
Gryphon, and transferred control to the copilot's station, at which
she sat.  "But I know you do."
	She smiled.  "Thanks," she said, and placed her hands on the
controls.  "All ships prepare for Bifrost transition in
five... four... three... two... transition now."
	Daggerdisc's thrusters flared, and the small ship plunged into
the black hole, followed immediately by the other three, one after
another, on an exactly calculated course.
	Outside the windows, the black hole's starbow effect flared,
and the cockpit filled with colors.  Gryphon would never be sure if he
screamed or not.  Kei would later be sure that she had.  R-Type clung
to Yuri; Redneck clung to Washuu; Belldandy clung to Keiichi and Urd
clung to the game board.  You take what you can get in an uncertain
world.
	In moments it was over, the black hole swirled angrily behind
them and the four ships cruised serenely away.
	"Jesus H. Christ and all the ships at sea," Rear Admiral
Kristan O. Overstreet declared.  "What a RIDE!!"
	"Asgard," said Skuld, pointing.  Before them, improbably near
the black hole, was a greyish-white disk.  "It's usually
better-looking, but it's overcast... for obvious reasons."
	"Approaching ships, this is Asgard Control," the comm set
crackled.  "Identify yourselves or be destroyed."
	Skuld's finger stabbed the transmit key on the copilot's panel
before Gryphon could reach the main set.  "Stand down, Heimdall.  It's
Skuld."
	"Skuld?  Allfather be praised!  Are the others with you?"
	"Yes," she replied.  "We're all here, and we've brought some
friends to help us."
	"Mortal friends?"
	"Yes, mortal friends," Skuld replied irritably.  "What, did
you think I bopped over to Heliopolis and said, 'Hey, Horus, wanna be
in the Ragnarok just to confuse the Second World archaeologists who
find the Tablets of Eternity?'"
	"You don't have to bite my head off," came Heimdall's voice
after a few moments' pause.
	"Sorry.  Look, can we get the big ships into a parking orbit
and put them in touch with Njord?"
	"Sure, give me their hails and I'll take care of it.  What
about you?"
	"Give us a clearance for the Golden City.  We need to talk
to... well, whoever's in charge.  I take it the Allfather hasn't
turned up yet?"
	"No, but he phoned about an hour ago," replied Heimdall.  "He
was down in Vanaheim trying to talk the elves into helping us out.  He
apologizes for the panic; he was just in such a hurry he forgot to
leave a note.  For now, Frey's in charge."
	In the lounge, Urd slapped her forehead.  "Doh!"
	"I guess even the gods screw up sometimes," Washuu observed
wryly.
	"Somebody get me some Tylenol, I'm getting a migraine," said
Redneck.
	"Here," said Keiichi, proffering a couple of yellow and red
caplets.
	"Thanks, Keiichi."
	"No problem.  I never leave home without it."

	Even in such dire circumstances, Skuld wouldn't let them land
without an overflight of the magnificent Golden City of Asgard, with
its baroque combination of gold-paved streets, grey stone castles and
city walls, red brick buildings, blue shingled houses, and massive
golden spires (some slab-sided or tapered like regular office towers,
some capped with bulbous cupolas like Russian churches, some sharply
pointed).  Their flight path led them straight to the center of the
city, which was built straight up the sides of a mountain, with the
great golden palace of the mightiest of all the gods, Odin the
Allfather, at its peak.  It was there, in the courtyard of Odin's
palace, that they landed, for the palace served as the center of
Asgard's government as well as its ruler's dwelling.
	As the company of adventurers walked down Daggerdisc's ramp,
some shivering in the sudden, unexpected cold, they were greeted by a
dozen men in grey and white winter-camouflage battle-dress fatigues.
On their helmets, small golden crests depicting helmets with horns
harkened back to the days when the warriors of Asgard had been
horn-helmeted, sword-waving, screaming Vikings.  These men, though
they moved with the precision and grace of well-trained soldiers, were
still massive and Nordic, and looked ready to fight; over their
shoulders, they had sophisticated rifles with folding bayonets, and
they still wore short Viking swords at their sides.  They flanked the
ramp's end, six on a side, and stood at rigid attention as two other
men, one about their size and the other dwarfing anybody else there,
and a woman waited at the end of the red carpet, the lightly falling
snow melting on their heads.
	One man was tall, blond, and Nordic like the soldiers of the
honor guard, and dressed in a similar uniform with a beret clipped
under his right epaulet.  He had no rifle; a holster on his belt held
some sort of handgun, and he had a long sword at his left hip.  He was
handsome, one might even say beautiful, and he smiled as he saw the
Norns disembark.  His blue eyes had crinkled lines around the corners
which were partly from smiling and partly from squinting through
sighting optics, and he had the thousand-yard stare of a professional
soldier.
	The other was enormous, seven feet tall and as wide as the
proverbial broad side of the proverbial barn.  He had shaggy
reddish-blond hair tied back in a ponytail and a thick, tawny beard
similar in color to that of Rear Admiral Overstreet.  He wore no BDUs;
instead he had on jeans (which couldn't really help but be tight
considering the size of the legs in them), combat boots, and a bright
red football jersey bearing the number 28.  Hanging from his belt by a
thong was a massive iron hammer.
	The woman seemed small next to the guy with the hammer, but
yet she had to be at least six feet tall herself; she was certainly no
shorter than the man with the beret.  She wore a different uniform: a
black button-front tunic and trousers with silver accents, black
patent leather jackboots with silver spurs and a peaked officer's cap
over a free, waist-long mane of spun-gold hair.  She had on leather
gloves and the collar of her uniform tunic was fastened at her throat;
the picture of elite military restraint.  The silver pin on the front
of her officer's cap depicted a winged skull; that symbol was mimicked
on the buckle of her Sam Browne belt, which held a large handgun at
her left hip, butt-forward.  She held in her right hand a long silver
spear, and she looked as if she knew how to use it.
	"VERTHANDI!" bellowed the red-headed giant, and in three
immense steps he charged forward to sweep the startled Norn up in what
seemed for a moment to be a bone-crushing bear hug, lifting Belldandy
clean off her feet.  "Thank the Allfather you're safe!  When I heard
you'd disappeared I feared the worst."
	Belldandy smiled as the giant released her.  "Thank you, Thor,
but I'm all right.  I just had to... think about a few things."
	"Morisato!" Thor cried, turning his beaming smile on Keiichi
and crushing him in turn.  "Little brother-in-law, how have you been?
You look good.  Belldandy's been feeding you well?"
	"Very well, as usual," replied Keiichi with a grin.  "You
don't look as if they've been starving you either."
	"If a man doesn't eat well, he doesn't live well," said Thor
with a firm nod.  "Who are your friends?"
	"Yes, tell us, Verthandi," said the blond officer with the
beret in his epaulet.  "Who are these helpful mortals?"
	"Well," said Belldandy.  "You know my husband, Keiichi
Morisato, of course.  This is Benjamin Hutchins, an old friend of
ours, and his wife, Kei Morgan.  This man is Dr. Lawrence Mann, an
executive with one of the largest corporations in Midgard - it's he
who's brought the huge starship to assist Njord's fleet.  Yuri Daniels
is a friend of theirs; she suspects her paramour may be caught up in
this awful mess somehow.  He's been missing since the day
before... before Balder died.  Kristan Overstreet is a mercenary
soldier who has brought some of his forces to help us, and Washuu
Hakubi is an old friend of Skuld's.  Everyone, this is Frey
Lightwalker, commander of the Home Defense Forces, and, well, you
recognize Thor Ironhammer, I'm sure," she said with a smile.
	"What can I say?" asked Thor with a craggy grin.  "I've got
that kind of face."
	The black-uniformed woman stepped up to the group, her spurs
jingling dramatically as she walked; reaching them she bowed, and
said, "General Ravenhair, your forces are in readiness.  The Valkyrior
await your command."
	Skuld smiled and took the woman's hands.  "Oh, thank you,
Hilde.  Are they all here?"
	"Every one, General.  Major Ironheart arrived this morning."
	"Wonderful news!"  Turning to the gathering, Skuld said,
"Everyone, this is Colonel Brunnhilde Silverspear, my aide.  What
about the Einherjar, Hilde?"
	Brunnhilde grinned, immediately doubling her already
considerable beauty.  "I decided to put ol' Butch in charge," she said
wryly.  "He'll either have 'em eating nails and spitting out
machine-gun fire by morning, or they'll all be dead again."
        Redneck blinked.  "Um, excuse me... did you say, 'ol' Butch'?"
       "Yes.  Say, did Verthandi say your name was Overstreet?  Maybe
you're related to ol' Butch.  His name is Overstreet too.  He's a hell
of a leader."
        Redneck exhaled heavily.  "Oooooh, just keeps getting better
and better, don't it?" he asked of nobody in particular.  "Don't
panic, don't panic."
	"Come into the Great Hall and we'll get started," said Frey.
"Your assistance and your forces are most welcome, but we must figure
out where you will do the most good."
	The group walked away from the landing bay, leaving Kris to
trail behind, muttering to himself, "...I always hoped he'd get into
Heaven, but I never imagined this..."
	Behind him, almost as an afterthought, three beams of blue
sparkles appeared, resolving themselves into the forms of Saavik,
Thrawn, and Aya Nakajima.  The three seemed momentarily disoriented,
having arrived late, and Aya barely caught a glimpse of the Redneck's
back as he followed the other into the palace.
	"Admiral!  Wait!  Matee yo!!" Aya shouted, running to catch up
with her commanding officer.  Saavik and Thrawn looked at each other,
nonplussed.  Thrawn shrugged, almost imperceptibly, and the two
followed at a more composed, albiet brisk, pace.

	Arranged around the massive planning table in the Great Hall,
various officers of Asgard's armed forces, not very resplendent in
regular field fatigues, and a few other notables of the Golden City,
Asgard, planned the defense of their city.  Since the mountain was
part of a range nestled along a coastline, there were really only two
avenues by which the enemy could mount a grand-scale attack: the sea
side to the west and the great plain to the east.  North and south
were effectively blocked by the forbidding mountains; small forces
might raid from those directions, but an assault would have to come
from east or west.
	The prophecy claimed that the great battle would take place on
the plain, there was no doubt of that.  It made no mention of naval
forces, aircraft or spacecraft, which was ambiguous but put down to
periodicity, and defenses were planned accordingly.
	Frey's Home Defense Forces were charged with maintaining
security within the precincts of the city itself; anything within the
walls was their purview.  This also extended to the safety of the
rear-area field hospital to be erected outside the gates by the
Medical Corps.
	Frey's twin sister Freya commanded that Medical Corps, as was
made obvious by her snow-white uniform, blazoned on shoulders and
breast with the red cross.  She would administrate the aid station and
serve as its chief surgeon.  Much to Redneck's relief, Washuu had
volunteered her extensive expertise in this area and it had been
received with gratitude.  She and Belldandy would be the chief
physicians, and Keiichi had been enlisted into the HDF as part of
their guard.
	Asgard's watchman, craggy, weatherbeaten Heimdall Farseeker,
commanded the Asgardian Air Force, and his sky-blue uniform spoke
eloquently of that force's domain.  To him and his pilots would fall
the task of keeping the sky and space around and above the city free
of the enemy, and providing reconnaissance and early warning
information for the allied forces.
	Handsome, calm, youthful-looking Njord Seafarer was Admiral of
the Navies of Asgard; under him came the capital ships of the Asgard
Sea and also of the space above the planet.  Upon meeting Grand
Admiral Thrawn, he offered to divide his authority, a gesture of
utmost respect to this Midgard commander whose renown had reached
Asgard with the souls of warriors he had both commanded and opposed.
Thrawn politely declined, reporting himself and his vessel to Njord's
service as if he were no more than a regular captain of a regular
warship.  To Njord also would Captain Saavik and Captain Nakajima
report.
	One-handed Tyr Grimjaws was to lead the warriors of the
Asgardian Regular Army himself, with Thor and a few others fighting as
special operatives.  This constituted one of the two main arms of the
fighting forces on the ground; the Army would supply most of the
artillery and armor support required for the battle.  Into the group
of special operatives would go the remainder of the Midgard volunteer
warriors, unless the commander of some other division requested them.
	Skuld was by tradition and position the leader of the
Valkyrior, who served as the elite special strike force of the
Asgardian military.  She had changed for the planning session into a
uniform like Brunnhilde's, and was remarkably calm for a person of her
apparent age in her position.  She remarked with confident competence
when called upon to do so, and held her own counsel at other times,
taking copious notes in her curious, stilted shorthand on a regular
old note pad.
	Finally, as the chosen commander of the Einherjar, the army of
once-mortal warriors who had been immortalized in Valhalla, there sat
one General Arlin B. "Butch" Overstreet, who had been nothing less
than astounded to discover that his own son was one of the brave group
of warriors who had come all the way from Midgard with the Norns to
help fight the Final Battle.  The two had hugged each other warmly on
first sight; a gap of almost four hundred years and Butch's death had
not lessened the love between the two Texans.
	All these commanders and their troops would fight under the
overall guidance of the Allfather Odin, upon his return to Asgard.
	As they all came to the table -- mortals, gods, in-between --
the great door at the end of the hall opened, and, without fanfare or
announcement, the lord of the gods entered the room.  Everyone
immediately shot to their feet; Redneck squashed the momentary,
instinctive urge to kneel and bow as the All-Mighty entered, wishing
fervently for his dress uniform instead of his windbreaker-and-jeans
combo.
	Odin Winterbeard, Allfather, Ruler of the Gods: this was the
name the being in the doorway preferred, although he was known by many
others.  Other beings in the universe called, or had called, him Zeus;
Jupiter; Vathnu-Inato; Yahweh; Kru; Allah; Rao; Great Maker; the
Shaper of All Things; Marduk; Eliasinatak; so many others, the list
itself would dwarf the telling.  His exploits are innumerable, told
and retold, omitted and embellished, wherever there is sentience.
Some peoples attribute to him one son; some none; some many.  Some
call him a trinity, some a quintary, some an infinity of
unknowability; others say he is just a man, if wiser and possessed of
stranger power than most.  The only ones who are entirely wrong are
those who say he does not exist at all.
  By far the simplest name for him, repeated in many languages as
peoples around the universe boiled their beliefs down to its simplest
form, was the one Kris Overstreet had learned first:
	God.
	Redneck had never been particularly religious, but seeing the
Almighty just walk into the room, drop his battered grey overcoat on a
chair, and shake the snow from his shaggy grey hair made him wonder if
perhaps He didn't particularly mind.
	"Sorry about the mix-up, everyone," rumbled Odin, sitting down
in the great chair at the head of the table.  "Have a seat and let's
work this out."
	He was massive, although not quite as tall or wide as Thor,
and despite his somewhat advanced apparent age -- he looked to be,
perhaps, a vigorous hundred and forty to eyes accustomed to the
current two-hundred-year human lifespan -- he was still muscular of
build and his motions were deft and sure.  The black patch over his
right eye accentuated a sort of rakish handsomeness about his
weather-beaten face, and his shaggy white hair and beard would not
have looked out of place on a man selling pottery or ringing a bell in
front of a red kettle on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley.
	As everyone sat, he said, "Oh, yes.  The porter tells me the
Norns have brought with them some mortal helpers.  Frey, I understand
you met them on their arrival, would you do the honors?"
	"Of course, Allfather," said Frey, rising.  Going in the
random order in which the Midgard envoys were seated at the table, he
started with the nearest, seated to Njord's right.
	"Grand Admiral Thrawn, of the GENOM Corporation Military Arm."
	Thrawn rose, clicked his heels smartly together in the Gamilon
fashion, and bowed deep at the waist.  If he followed his people's
most common religion, he knew Odin as Kru the Conqueror, but he used
the title being spoken in common parlance as he said,
	"It is an honor and privilege to assist your forces,
Allfather."
	At Odin's smiling nod, Thrawn reseated himself, and Frey
continued: "Captain Saavik of the Wedge Defense Force."
	Saavik stood and saluted.  "My ship and I are yours to
command, almighty one."
	Again the smiling nod.
	"Captain Aya Nakajima of the Confederate Freespacer Mercenary
Fleet."
        Aya looked to Redneck, who nodded permission to speak. To
Odin, she said, "Glad to be under your command. When do we get to kick
butt?"
        Redneck stifled a groan.
	Odin chuckled.  "Soon, my eager friend.  Soon."
	Coughing slightly, Frey continued, "Dr. Lawrence Mann, also of
GENOM Corporation."
	Larry had never been a particularly religious person either,
most religions he knew having lacked a fundamental ingredient his
scientific side had always required.  Now, though, he had to admit it
was something he most assuredly had: Proof.
	"Forgive me, I'm not used to being in social circles like
this.  But I have many friends here, in great need..."  He glanced at
Yuri, who held his hand and smiled.  "...and anything I can possibly
do for them, I will."
	"Trouble Consultant First Class Yuri Daniels, of the Worlds
Welfare Work Association."
	"I'll do all I can to help," Yuri said, somewhat distracted.
The evil, foreboding feeling she'd been having for days was thicker,
stronger here, and so was the sense of a familiar presence, close by
and... wrong, somehow.  An indeterminate foulness whispered at the
corners of her consciousness, and if she tried to listen for it, it
would be gone.  Odin noted her preoccupation and, smiling, let it
pass.
	"Her partner, Kei Morgan."
	"Your troubles are over, Pop," said Kei with a grin.  "The
Lovely Angels are on the scene."
	There was a moment of horrified silence.
	Odin threw back his head and rang the rafters with his
bell-throated laugh.
	"I believe I really do feel better now!" Odin declared
roundly, clapping his massive hands once.
	Frey, seeing that Odin was not displeased, allowed himself to
smile, and continued, "Admiral Benjamin Hutchins of the WDF."
	"Gryphon, sir, if it's all the same to you.  I regret I wasn't
able to bring more of my fleet with me, but I was more concerned with
rather larger matters at the time.  I want nothing more than to fight
alongside your ground troops; Captain Saavik is more than capable of
fighting her own battles without her old admiral looking over her
shoulder."
	If Saavik had been psychologically capable of smiling in
public, she would have.
	"So be it, Admiral; and thank you," said Odin gravely, but he
smiled all the same, and Gryphon sat.
	"Professor Washuu Hakubi."
	"Those who know me can tell you I don't serve many masters
willingly," Washuu said with unaccustomed gravity and humility, "but
you have only to direct me, Allfather, and it will be done.  Such
skills and knowledge as I have are at your disposal."
	"Rear Admiral Kristan Overstreet of the CFMF."
	Redneck stood at his best possible attention, calling up with
considerable ease the feeling that he used to get while a WDF cadet on
review.  "Lord, my forces, and my own modest skills, are at your
disposal, to use as you see fit.  I only wish I could have brought
more."
	To both Washuu and Kris, Odin merely nodded acceptance; Butch
grinned and stage-whispered to his son, "Sit down, Kris, you sound
like you're runnin' for public office."
	Kris, blushing, sat down.

	Loki smiled.  "They're here."
	Marller look up at him from the side of his 'throne'.  "Who's
here?"
	"The Norns.  They have returned.  And, unless my senses fail
me, I believe they have brought some of MegaZone's friends along."
Loki's face twisted into a evil smirk.  "The fools really think they
can beat us... but we know better than that."  Loki's gaze slid across
to a figure chained to the wall.  "Don't we, Peorth?"
	Peorth, whom MegaZone had known as Eris, looked rather the
worse for wear.  Loki had treated her cruelly - he didn't take well to
competion, and since his departure Peorth had assumed his role as
trickster.  Marller, jealous and cruel as she was, had no small role
to play in her abuse.  Peorth was bruised and bloodied, her clothes in
tatters.  The manacles which held her to the wall had bitten deep into
her wrists when her legs could no longer hold her upright.
	When she spoke, her voice croaked, her throat dry and body
weak from days with neither food nor drink.  "What I'd really like to
do right now is talk to Zoner.  Can I do that?"
	"This is no Zoner, only me.  When will you learn that I've
crushed the will of that negligible mortal?  He counts for nothing
now - his body is merely a convenience.  He had tasted the powers of
Chaos, and therefore was the most suitable candidate to play host.
Aside from that, he is insignificant."
	"Don't underestimate him.  I have known him for ages.  He
would never give into the likes of you."  Peorth coughed roughly.
"You will never win this war."
	"I think you need another lesson in manners."  Loki strode
across the room to stand before her.  Holding out his hand he calmly
called over his shoulder, "My whips."
	Marller, grinning evilly, slapped the handles of a number of
whips into Loki's open palm.  Smirking slightly, Loki stepped forward,
Peorth only groaned and turned away.

	The plan was simple, really.  At dawn the following morning --
in approximately twelve hours -- the enemy was expected to attack.
The Asgardian plan was simply to array the Army, the Valkyrior, and
the Einherjar on the plain, the HDF within the walls, the Air Force
above, the Navy in the sea and up in space, and wait for them to come.
	So obviously the meeting didn't take long.
	At its end, the group broke up and headed for their positions.
Belldandy went to help Freya supervise the readying of the mobile
hospitals outside the gates and the support network between them;
soon, Washuu would join her there.  Thrawn, Saavik and Aya returned to
their ships, and the rest boarded large trucks and headed for the base
camp on the great plain to wait out the night.
	All but Kei, Yuri, Gryphon, R-Type, Washuu and Redneck; they
were invited to accompany Skuld to her workshop before departing, and
so they did.

	The shop was cluttered, as one might expect the workspace of
an engineer as passionate and brilliant as Skuld to be; it was
dominated by a massive worktable in the center, with a couple of
stools scattered around.  Tools hung on the walls, and a bench ringed
the walls, cluttered with bits of drawings, legal pads with diagrams
scribbled in blue ballpoint on them, and more tools.  A massive
computer workstation dominated one corner, and by the door was a row
of metal lockers.
	Washuu glanced at one of them; it had a diagram of a Kerensky
vortex with a few field equations and the scribbled notation, "DESTROY
UNIVERSE?  MODEL" next to it.  She suppressed a chuckle.
	On the bench lay a partly stripped, anthropomorphic suit of
power armor which Gryphon immediately recognized.
	"You remember it, do you?" said Skuld with a smile as she
pulled a white lab coat on over her uniform.  "You left it behind on
03F8."
	"I know," said Gryphon.  The last time they'd met had been a
century before almost to the day, on a planet without a name, only the
chart designation "03F8".  With Skuld's help, Gryphon had eluded
capture and gotten a head-start on his chief pursuers which he had
managed to more or less keep until he could clear his name in 2380.
	"Well," said Skuld, her smile deepening, "I have a use for it
now, if you don't mind."
	"Be my guest," said Gryphon.
	"I brought you here because I want to give each of you
something," said Skuld, looking slowly around the table and meeting
each set of eyes in turn.  "For standing by me, for helping me bring
my sisters back... for being friends when I thought I had none."
	No one dared presume to say something as inane as "Oh, think
nothing of it."
	Skuld spread her hands over the remains of the old battlesuit,
closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.  Her goddess mark glowed; so
did her hands, so did the suit, and parts began floating free from its
casing, rising into the space between it and her open palms-down
hands.  As they began to arrange themselves into some preordained
pattern, she began to chant:

"Stars of fire in void of ice
 their light is descending and this shall suffice
 to draw the light near
 and marshal it clear
 the power of Heaven bound to this device
 in the name of the future
 in sight of the past
 we are not the first
 we will not be the last
 this rod will light our darkest day
 the power of Heaven will not be swept
 away 
EOT."

	By the time she had completed the chant, pieces of the
internal systems and outer plating of the wrecked battlesuit had
indeed formed a rod under her hands, the inner parts coalescing as the
outer shell fused together, the intricate tracery of engraving-like
lines on its dull gray surface testifying to the interlocking outer
shell's geometric complexity.  It was perhaps five and a half feet in
length and an inch or so in diameter; a foot or so from one end it had
a bend in it, and it was capped by a curiously hooked end; the other
end was flat.
	As Skuld spoke the last line, she closed her hands around the
rod.  As she touched it, a wave of smooth, shining goldness flowed
along it in both directions from her hands, meeting in the middle and
spreading smoothly to both ends.
	The glow faded, leaving her standing, eyes closed, serenely
holding the curious artifact she had created in her hands.  Then,
presently, she opened her eyes, slid them sideways to regard Kei, and
smiled, holding the rod out to her.
	"This Cosmic Rod is for you," she said, "for the mercy you
showed me a century ago and the valor that burns in your heart.  I
welcome you and your partner to the Valkyrior, if you desire to join
us for the battle.  With this rod, you have the power of the stars to
draw upon; its full powers will only become available with time and
experience, but it will serve no other unless you wish it."
	Kei, wonder in her eyes, took the rod from Skuld and held it
gently, reverently.  A slow smile spread across her face as she did
so, and presently she took a firmer grip.
	"I'd be honored," she said.
	"So would I," said Yuri.
	"This is for you, Yuri," Skuld added, taking a box about the
size of a shoe box from the bench behind her.  "I've had it for some
time; I made it as an experiment once, and didn't quite know what to
do with it when I was finished.  I think it will suit you admirably."
	Yuri opened the box and drew out a firearm, sleek and black,
with an automatic action and a heavy barrel about six inches long.  It
looked to be a Mark III .22 target pistol, of the sort made for
centuries by the much-respected Earth arms concern of Sturm, Ruger and
Company.
	"In your hands," said Skuld, "its magazine will never be empty
and its bullets, though small, will always pierce the target you
intend.  Unless you wish it, it shall not fire for any other."
	"Thank you," said Yuri softly.
	"Professor Washuu," said Skuld, "to you I give this one simple
gift, the only thing I have you might have use for:
	"3x2(9yZ)4a."
	For a moment, it seemed as if the air in the room had
inexplicably thickened; then it passed, so rapidly everyone would have
thought it a brief hallucination, had not a glance around the room
confirmed that they -all- felt it.
	Washuu looked momentarily puzzled, then lit up like Wrigley
Field on a summer evening.  "Thank you," she said softly.  "If anyone
can know what that means to me, you do."  Then the brashness returned
to her voice all at once, and she crowed, "Hoo-ha!  Look out, laws of
nature -- here comes Washuu!"
	Skuld smiled.  "Don't get too cocky, Professor; it's just a
hint."
	"It's a place to start," Washuu replied firmly.
	Skuld chuckled.  "Happy hunting."  She turned next to Redneck.
"Here," she said, and she handed him an index card.  He looked at it
quizzically, for it had a number written on it, one he didn't
recognize and of which he couldn't parse the significance.
	"It's your father's telephone number," she said in answer to
his questioning look.  "When this is over, do him and yourself a favor
and call him now and again."
	"I will," he said, tucking the card away carefully.  "You have
no idea... just how precious..." Kris silenced himself, not trusting
his voice any farther.
	"For you, Dr. Mann," said Skuld, "I have this."  She handed
him a small brass object on a chain, which at first he took to be a
pocket watch; opening it, he was instead confronted with a small
holographic dial over which a pointer floated, indicating a spot on a
scale which started as green and curled around through yellow to red
and finally black.  At the moment, the pointer was well within the
green zone.
	"What is it?" asked R-Type.
	"It's a moral compass," Skuld replied with an impish grin.
"You're always wondering if you're doing the Right Thing; now you have
only to look and you'll know."
	R-Type didn't know whether to thank her, crack up laughing, or
blush, so he attempted all three simultaneously and ended up cracking
up everybody else as well.
	When they recovered, Skuld turned her soft brown gaze on
Gryphon and smiled.  "And for you, old friend, I have this."  She
reached into her lab coat's pocket and drew out a small metallic
object attached to a loop of sturdy black cord, which she handed to
him.  He held it for a moment in his palm, then wrapped his fingers in
the cord and held it up so that it hung free and the others could see
it: a small lozenge of grey metal about an inch by half an inch, with
a symbol that resembled a + with a slightly canted horizontal raised
from both sides.  This symbol, he knew, was the rune Nauthiz, Need,
the hallmark of obligation, of the pattern of destiny and the future,
and of Skuld herself.
	"It will bring you luck," she explained as he unwound the cord
and hung it around his neck, "and protect you.  It's a symbol of my
patronage and my love for you."
	This made him glance up sharply for a moment; then, slowly, he
raised his left hand and closed it in a fist around the pendant, and
nodded.  Nothing needed saying, so nothing was said.
	"And now we'd best get to base camp," said Skuld.  "It'll be
dark soon, and we don't want to get caught alone on the plain in the
night."  She opened one of the metal lockers, put the lab coat in it,
and reclaimed her overcoat and cap, then led the way out of the shop.

	They paused outside the workshop to await the truck that would
carry them to the front line; as they did, Larry drew Yuri aside.
	"I should head back to the Vindicator; I can probably be the
best help there," he said.
	Yuri looked troubled, but nodded.  Whatever her emotional
reaction, it was the most logical thing for him to do.  Trained to
defend himself, R-Type was nevertheless no soldier, and he knew his
limitations.  The bridge of the massive Super Star Destroyer was
likely to be the safest place for him.
	"You going to be okay down here?" he asked.
	"I'll be fine," replied Yuri.
	"You're sure?"
	"Yes," she said firmly.  "Go, I'll be OK."
	"All right," said R-Type.  He hugged her.  It seemed somehow
inadequate, so he hugged her again; she returned it with all her
heart, but it still seemed less than the situation really called for.
Circumstances wouldn't permit anything more, though, so he left it at
that.  "Please be careful," he said at last.
	"I will," Yuri replied, and turned to board the truck with the
others.  R-Type knew her too well to be insulted that she didn't look
back, and turned to leave himself.
	Behind him, as she boarded the truck, Yuri stopped and
muttered something before wheeling and running after him.  She caught
his arm and spun him into an embrace, kissing him passionately.
R-Type took a good fifteen seconds to parse what was happening, but
meanwhile instinct was in control and he returned the kiss with equal
passion.
	Without a word, Yuri released R-Type and backed away, spinning
on her heel and dashing after the truck, which had started to pull
away.  She didn't want him to see the solitary tear that had begun to
roll down her cheek.

        On their way to the front, the group paused at the aid
station, and Washuu prepared to leave.  Before she could exit the
truck, Kris laid a hand on her shoulder.  "Stay safe, Washuu," he said
quietly.
        "You too," Washuu whispered.  "What you said before... about
not being able to lose me... that goes double for you.  Don't lose
your head."  With that, she leaped up and kissed Kris full on the
lips, surprising him completely.  Releasing him, she chuckled,
"There's more where that came from when we get married!"  And with
that, she leaped out of the truck, red hair dancing into the gathering
twilight.
        "How d'ya like that?" Kris mused out loud. "Our first
kiss... on the eve of Armageddeon, our first kiss."
        "I thought you were engaged," Kei asked.
        "We are," he replied.  "It's been a very strange courtship."
        No one could argue with that.

	Later, they would give it a name: the Night of Despair.  It
was the deepest, darkest night on record.  Even had there been no
cloud cover, there would have been no stars or moon.  But there was
cloud cover, of a curious sort which remained unmoved by the howling,
keening, icy winds, which dropped seemingly limitless amounts of snow
and sleet, and which did not reflect the light of the campfires and
perimeter lamps as it should have.
	Camped at the foot of the great mountain of Asgard, hunched in
the bitter cold, waiting for the enemy to come and join them in the
greatest battle of history, the Asgardian soldiers found their morale
plummeting as fast as the sleet fell from the brackish angry sky.
Some fought it by seeking the companionship of their fellows, huddling
in silent groups and trying to sleep.  Some fought it by sleeping.
Some sought solitude, gazing into the dreadful weather as if trying to
see the red eyes of the foe gazing back.  A few surrendered to it, and
died from nothing more than sheer despair.

	Loki stood on a promontory overlooking the valley.  Sleet and
snow swirled randomly about him, as if the wind were unable to decide
which way to blow.  Apparently impervious to the cold and ice, he
peered into the swirling dim whiteness, and grinned.  This was his
night!  The morrow would bring battle, and inevitable victory.
Already his forces were massed in preparation for the coming war.  The
darkness of the night only fueled his, and their, fury and bloodlust.
	Loki turned to the bundled, shivering form to his rear.  "Can
you feel it?  Can you feel their fear and despair?  Tomorrow, Marller,
we will bring about the end of existence.  And nothing they can do
will prevent that."
	Though she didn't share his complete confidence, she felt
discretion was the better part of valor.  You didn't disagree with
Loki when he was in one... well... -any- of his moods.  "Yes, we will
crush them.  Your victory is inevitable, as the prophecies have
fortold."
	"Yes.  Tomorrow I will drink the blood of the Allfather, hot
from his veins.  But tonight - " Loki turned to face Marller and
leered.  "Tonight, I crave pleasure."  Loki swept the demoness into
his arms and carried her back to his fortress, their laughter carried
away by the wind.

	In a position on the far left flank of the Asgard lines, Kris
sat and watched as the Charlemagne's regiment of Freespacer Marines
prepared entrenchments and fortifications, setting up prefab laser
towers and E-Web nests along the line.  In his hands, he held a small
electronic piano keyboard someone from the Charlemagne had been kind
enough to loan him, and his fingers plucked out snippets of various
melodies, all almost obscenely cheerful in the gloomy night.  Then his
fingers found a chord in B-flat, and progressed into an old Baptist
hymn which, in Kris's youth, had been one of his favorites.  In those
times of his life when he felt most troubled, he'd play that song, on
whatever instrument he had, to ease his mind.
	As he played, he began singing, first the two verses original
to the Baptist song, then making up lines as he went, lines about how
in the morning they would probably get hit hard, about the end of the
universe, about courage in general.  Finally, his ad lib lyrics turned
to the subject of love, and soon his own, and for three verses or so
he sang the praise of a woman who most of humanity had given up on as
either a wacko or a Saturday morning childrens' show character.
(Which she had been, for twenty years, but that was entirely beside
the point.)
	"I never knew that was a love song," a voice rasped behind
Kris.  He dropped the keyboard, spinning around to see a familiar
figure silhouetted against the firelight.
        "Hi, Dad," Kris muttered. "Just trying to cope, I suppose.
The cold, the night, the not knowing..."  Shaking his head, he
muttered, "That, and something else... it's hard to stay cheerful in
this environment."
        "I know," Butch said.  "I've already found a few of my people
dead just from depression- at least, as far as I can tell."  Looking
at the unusually quiet Freespacers working on their entrenchments, he
said, "You've got a tight bunch here, Kris.  I approve."
        "Yeah, they're all good people, in their mercenary criminal
bloodthirsty maniacal way," Kris chuckled.
        "Who was the song about?" Butch asked.  "Well, most of it was
about Washuu," Kris said, "we got engaged recently.  The earlier part,
where I subbed 'the Lady' for Jesus... that's Skuld.  I caught
religion in a hurry, you might say.  Hell, I want to worship her, but
I haven't got the first idea how."
	"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Butch smiled. "I mean,
when the Valkyrie showed up and told me I was going to the Golden
Halls, I thought I was hallucinating... and I'll tell ya, getting into
a drunken brawl with the God of Thunder gives ya a new perspective on
religious respect."  Smiling, he continued, "Look, Skuld won't expect
you to become a monk or something, just be yourself.  She's good
people when you get to know her, and she's a great Lady to serve.
Trust me, I know what I'm talkin' about."
        "Thanks," Kris muttered.
        The two stood motionless for a moment, and then Butch asked,
"Well, why don't I sit down, and you can tell me about what's going on
at home?"
        "I'd like that," Kris said, and the two men sat in the
firelight and talked.

	R-Type sat on his bunk in the No. 1 VIP stateroom aboard the
Star Destroyer Vindicator, pondering.  It had been a busy two hours
since his journey to the ship; he had briefed, been briefed by, given
pep talks to, and inspected the equipment of roughly everybody on the
ship, providing a reassuring corporate presence to boost the morale of
the troops.
	But now, as he sat on his bunk and listened to the quiet of
the ship all around him, he began to feel uneasy.  Below, the ship's
sensors could easily pick out the storm which was raging over the main
Asgardian encampment, and he knew what a miserable time those soldiers
-- some of them his friends -- must be having.  His mind drifted back
to something Keiichi Morisato had said to him on the flight to X-21,
in response to R-Type's asking him why he had come:
	"How could I not?  I couldn't just stay home and let other
people risk everything for my safety, or Belldandy's."
	Granted, Larry wasn't exactly staying home, but this warm,
comfortable cabin here on the largest and sturdiest ship in the system
was as close as he was going to get on this side of the black hole,
and he was beginning to feel rather guilty about it.
	He tried to put it out of his head, lying back on the bunk and
looking up at the grey composite ceiling.  This was the place where he
could best be of use, and this was where he would stay.
	But was it really?  He had served his purpose, appearing to
the troops and conferring with the flag officers.  Thrawn certainly
didn't need him looking over his shoulder on the bridge the whole
time, nor did Rayna Tangril need his help to prosecute the
space-fighter side of the battle.  There was no one here for him to
lead, and he hadn't the skills to follow.
	Despite the warmth of the stateroom, he was beginning to feel
cold, very cold.  Grumbling, he turned up the thermostat and returned
to the bunk.
	Why had he come here in the first place?  What did he think he
could accomplish?  He was an executive, not a soldier.  Oh, sure, he'd
been through the training courses for CORPDEF, he could probably hold
his own in a fairly even fight, but that wasn't his job.
	But it wasn't Morisato's either, he realized.  He knew now
where he had heard the name before; the man was a professor of
mechanical engineering at the Nekomi Institute of Technology.  Right
now, he was down there someplace, clutching a rifle he probably didn't
know how to use and freezing his ass off on sentry duty for the aid
station...
	"Tch," he declared.  "To hell with this."
	He got up and went out into the corridor, trying to remember
which way it was to the nearest armory.

	The door hissed open, and R-Type entered almost furtively.  He
could do anything he damn well wanted, he was the highest-level
corporate person on-site, but he still felt like a kid sneaking out of
his parents' house after curfew.
	So he almost jumped out of his socks when a familiar voice
said, "There you are.  Time, Kawalsky?"
	Adam Kawalsky, one of his two White Legion stormtrooper
bodyguards, stepped from behind a row of equipment lockers and looked
at his wrist.  "Twenty-one twelve," the burly man reported with a
grin.
	"Boom!"  Nico Feretti, the other guard, followed Kawalsky out,
grinning.  "Last action hero.  You owe me twenty bucks."
	R-Type found his fumbling voice.  "You... you guys knew... ?"
	"That you'd be coming here?  Oh, hell yeah," Kawalsky said.
"I figured it'd take you until at least 2130 to make up your mind,
though.  C'mon, we've got your gear picked out for you already.  Suit
up, it's gonna be cold."  Indeed, both Kawalsky and Feretti were
dressed in the layered white armor of White Legion icetroopers, their
helmets under their arms.
	"Good thing I at least make an attempt at staying in shape,"
R-Type mused as he shucked his suit and wrestled his way into the
form-fitting black body glove that formed the armor's first layer.
"Otherwise I'd look like a total goon in this get-up."
	Like old-time squires, Kawalsky and Feretti helped him fit
together the white-thermocoated impervium plates and composite weave
material that made up the rest of the armor, and hefted into place the
thermal unit that made up the backpack plate, which, while not heavy
to carry, was unwieldy to don.  Making sure the suit was secure, he
was glad he had their help; he was fairly familiar with regular
stormtrooper armor, but icetrooper gear was something he'd had only
cursory contact with.
	"OK, here's your weapons loadout," said Kawalsky,
businesslike.  "One D.4a blaster carbine, Mark II, selective fire,
with a barrel preheater attached for cold-weather use.  You have four
spare powerpacks in your equipment belt."
	R-Type nodded, checked the safety, and slung the weapon over
his shoulder.
	Feretti grinned and produced a weapon which resembled an
old-fashioned single-barrelled shotgun, with the barrel chopped back
to the wood and the shoulder stock amputated.  "One Bryar Model 4
blaster rifle, modified by yours truly.  It'll stop a 55-series Buma
at two meters and it's absolutely useless at ten, so use it
accordingly - and be careful or you'll break your wrist."
	R-Type took the weapon, turned it warily in his hands, and put
it in the belt holster on his armor.
	"Four Type 3 anti-personnel grenades in the belt," said
Kawalsky.  "Set delay, pull pin, throw.  You know the drill."
	R-Type nodded again.
	"Standard Wilson & Longstreet combat knife," said Feretti,
attaching the object in question via a magnetic sheath to R-Type's
right calf plate.  "If you get to where you have to use it, you're
screwed."
	"Thanks, I think," said R-Type.
	"Well, you can use it to cut the steak MREs, too," Kawalsky
pointed out.
	"If you're eating a steak MRE, you're screwed," Feretti
replied.  "QED."
	"The belt also has your standard emergency pack."  Kawalsky
brandished each item as he listed them.  "One Mk.45 hand stunner; two
power clips for said stunner; four days' concentrated emergency
rations; one drug issue - antibiotics, quadraphine, vitamin pills, pep
pills, sleeping pills, tranquilizer pills; one minature combination
Norse phrase book and Edda; one hundred credits in Zorkmids; one
hundred credits in gold; nine packs chewing gum; one issue
prophylactic; three, um. lipsticks?; and three, well, pair nylon
stockings...  Go figure."
	"Shoot... a fella could have a pretty good weekend on Vegas
with all that stuff," R-Type quipped, but his heart wasn't in it.
Then. after a pause: "Prophylactics?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.
	"Semper paratus," replied Kawalsky with a grin.
	"We ready to go?" asked Feretti.
	"I guess we are," said R-Type.  "Thanks for coming, guys."
	"We wouldn't be doing our job if we let you go alone, now
would we?" Kawalsky replied.

	In their tent near the leading edge of the Asgardian
perimeter, Kei and Gryphon fought it by huddling and talking in hushed
tones.  They both knew they would never be able to sleep.  Their
conversation meandered for a while, but it all came back to worry over
Yuri.
	"I just wish she hadn't've insisted on taking a tent all by
herself," said Kei.  "This lousy night is miserable enough without
trying to take it on alone.  Who knew it was going to be this bad?
And she's so worried about Zoner already, and... "  She sighed.
"Fuck.  Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse."
	"If we both went to her at once, she'd probably get
defensive," Gryphon replied.  "You know how she can be when she gets
into a funk.  If you want to go see if she's OK, I'll be all right
here."
	"And leave -you- alone?"
	"I'm fine," Gryphon lied, trying to suppress the shiver that
welled up at the bottom of his heart if he so much as considered
facing the night without someone at his side.
	"You're lying," Kei replied.  "But you're right about Yuri,
this particular three would be a crowd tonight.  If only Larry
hadn't've gone back up to the Vindicator.  What was he thinking?"
	"Like you said, who knew it would be this bad?"  Gryphon
shrugged.  "Besides, he's a lot better off up there than down here,
and it won't help her if he gets killed trying to be a soldier."
	"True enough," said Kei.  "But -- "
	But what, Gryphon would never know, because before Kei could
go on, the keening wind carried with it to their tent an awful sound,
a high, clear, dread-filled wail which, for all its resemblance to the
scream of the wind, had all too clearly been wrenched from a human
throat.  It made the hairs on the back of Gryphon's neck stand
straight up as he sat bolt upright in the sleeping bag he shared with
Kei.
	"Skuld!" he cried, and it was not an oath as it sometimes was.
Somehow, despite the voice's almost complete alienation from its more
accustomed tones, he knew, as if she had stepped into the tent and
spoken normally, that it was hers.
	Kei sat up with him, and considered her husband as he sat
tense and torn, uncertain whether he should go tearing out into the
snow and find the goddess, find out why she had wailed so, or remain
here with his wife who might need his presence as much as he needed
hers.
	She touched his shoulder, turning him to face her, and said
calmly, "Go."
	"What?" he asked in reply.
	"Go," Kei repeated.  "Go, she needs you.  I'll go and face the
night out with Yuri, I'll be all right, in my own way; but Skuld needs
you."
	She looked as deep into his eyes as she could, all the way to
the bottom; closed her hand around the rune pendant he wore, and said,
	"Do what you need to do."
	Gryphon would not understand until much later how much insight
Kei's statement revealed of her.
	He covered her hand with his own, squeezed it once, kissed her
gently, and dove out into the howling dark.
	Kei remained where she was for a long moment, her eyes focused
a million miles away, her face inscrutable; then she shook herself as
if she had just come in from the snow herself, pulled up the hood of
her parka, and went out in search of Yuri.

	Loki lay in bed, Marller pressed against his side, her hand
toying with the hair on his chest, when he suddenly sat upright.
	"Did you hear that?"
	Marller looked unsure; she didn't want to upset him.
"No... what was it?"
	"A cry.  There, there it is again."  Loki grinned broadly.
"It is Skuld."  His grin became smug.  "Of course...  She knows there
is no future, and she despairs the greatest of all.  Cry, wail, and
scream, my little Norn; it will avail you naught.  Tomorrow belongs to
me.  After that, there is nothing."  He seemed to become newly aware
of Marller's play.  "But, there is still tonight."  His grin turned
into a leering smirk as she rose to kiss him.

	Yuri was in her tent as Kei had hoped, and despairing as Kei
had feared.  She looked up as her redheaded partner entered the
thermotent, slipping off her boots and dropping her borrowed parka by
the flap, from the book she was trying unsuccessfully to read by the
camp light.  The tent had, like most of them, an inner space about ten
feet cubed, with a bed built into the floor in one corner and a small
inflatable chair.  Kei plopped herself down in that and sat, silent.
	At length, moving with the deliberate slowness of someone
moving under water, Yuri marked her place in the book, put it aside,
and turned to Kei.
	"He's out there, somewhere," Yuri said, her eyes full, but not
yet overflowing.
	Kei nodded.  "I can tell."
	"Something terrible has happened to him.  He's in the hands of
the enemy.  He must have gotten word of this before us, somehow, and
tried to do something about it... "
	"He's alive, though," replied Kei evenly.  "You'd know if he
wasn't."
	"Yes."
	"If they have him, and he's alive, we can get him back.  Hell,
if they have him and he's not, it might not be over.  We're
-surrounded- by dead people, and most of them seem pretty lively.
What -is- death in a place like this?"
	"I want him back," Yuri said unnecessarily.
	"We all do," said Kei, nodding.  "And we'll have him."
	Yuri looked at her partner with surprise in her eyes.  "You
sound different," she observed.  "Calmer... or something like
that... "
	Kei smiled.  "Confidence, partner.  Pure confidence."
	Despite herself, Yuri smiled a little too.  "You've always
been the tough one."
	Remembering a thousand terrible, drunken, strung-out,
retching, shot-up, stab-wounded, broken-knuckled nights, Kei thought,
[Yeah... and you, you've always been the pillar holding me up.]  But
for now, she kept the sentiment to herself, and patted her partner's
hand.

	Skuld's tracks were filling already with snow, but they were
easy enough to follow.  They led up a trail which was fairly obvious
even snowed in, up the craggy side of the mountain and off along a
ridge line toward the sea.  With the dark and the snowfall, Gryphon
couldn't see the ocean, but he could hear it crashing against the
rocks far below.  It did nothing to improve his mood as he picked his
way along the ridge to a small promontory.
	It was with an abrupt shock that he realized he knew this
rocky point -- it had been here that Skuld had faced the Midgard
Serpent in her dreadful dream.  And here she stood now, at the very
edge of the rocks, howling at the wind.  Speaking to her wasn't going
to do any good up here -- with the winds the way they were, he would
have to shout at the top of his lungs to be heard from more than a
foot or two away -- so he walked carefully around the edge of the
promontory, moving slowly, not wanting to startle her.
	She didn't notice him standing next to her for a few minutes;
then she turned eyes hollow with despair and desperation to him and
said nothing.
	At the council of war, she had looked every inch a
professional soldier and warrior, every bit the leader of the most
elite fighting force in Asgard.  Now, dressed exactly the same, with
her hair blown into wild disarray, her eyes rimmed red, her nose
lashed bright pink by the wind, and the tracks of her tears frozen on
her cheeks, she looked smaller, like a frightened little girl wearing
someone else's uniform.
	With a cry no more articulate than any of the others, she
threw herself against him, seizing him as if he were a post and she
feared falling.  He locked his arms around her and stood, solid in her
desperate embrace, for several minutes, letting her howl against his
chest.  He felt like joining her, so he did.  No doubt an observer
would have found them absurd: the dress-uniformed Valkyrie and the
black-cloaked man, face to face in an iron embrace, their heads thrown
back, screaming at the wind.
	Gryphon let the scream die down in his throat and trail away,
running out of breath; as he did so, and drew in a lungful of the icy
air to replace it, he felt drained and cold and fearful as the roaring
wind pressed in close.  He and Skuld regarded each other for a long
moment; then he broke one arm away and, his other arm over her
shoulder, he took her back across the ridge and down the mountain,
away from the pounding black sea.

	Washuu inspected the equipment in the operating theatre for
the fifteenth time as the wind howled outside and sleet clattered on
the roof above.  Protoplasers, boneknitters, and scalpels (in case the
power cells in the other tools wore out) all lay in their proper
place, as did the clamps, gauze, hypodermic needles, et al., ad
infinitum.  The surgical gloves lay perfectly sterile in their trays,
awaiting those surgeons in the staff, such as Washuu, who didn't have
access to healing magics.  The operating room was in perfect
readiness, down to the very last detail.
	Washuu expected as much; she had set up the arrangement
herself.
	Sighing, Washuu found a seat and curled up on it, thinking
over the situation. Here she sat, with nothing at all to do until the
battle began (after which point she would have all too much to do).
Meanwhile, Kris sat up on the front line, probably staying up thinking
and worrying about tomorrow, preparing to face possibly the greatest
host of evil the universe had ever seen.  He was risking his life to
battle gods... and she was sitting back here behind the lines, as safe
as she could be anywhere now.
        Part of her wanted to go up to the front, even now - any
creatures of the night foolish enough to try to stop her would get a
surprise.  She could just walk right up to the lines, surprise Kris,
and stay with him when the attack came.  She knew he wouldn't send her
away.
        But she couldn't do it.
        The doors to the operating room parted, and Belldandy walked
in.  "Keiichi is asleep," she said. "I've made some tea, if you want
it."
        "I'm not thirsty, thank you," Washuu replied.
        Seeing Washuu's troubled face, Belldandy said quietly,
"Washuu, what's troubling you?"
        Washuu sighed.  "Bel, you're looking at the biggest coward
currently on this planet."
        "Oh?  What makes you say that?" Bel asked gently.
        In response, Washuu sighed and said, "I should be up with
Kris, on the line... not here waiting, not doing any good..."
        Bel smiled in her infinitely comforting way and said,
"Washuu-sensei, what could you do up in the lines that you can't do as
well back here?"
        "I could fight," Washuu said firmly.  "I could be with my
fiancee, comfort him..."
        "Now, Washuu," Belldandy said, "Kris asked you to stay back
here so he wouldn't worry about you, right?"
        "Yes," Washuu said, "but I can't help worrying about him."
Staring off into her own memory, she continued, "Other times, I
wouldn't worry so much.  It's extremely hard to hurt Kris, or me,
permanently, but here, now...  And Kris has spent centuries as a
warrior... where I've spent millenia hiding in my private little
universe watching the years go by.  I'm so sick of hiding... but I
don't know what to do..."
        Curling up in a small ball on the chair, she whispered, "I'm
scared."
        Belldandy knelt down and hugged the small woman, saying
quietly, "Kris will be just fine, Washuu.  And the two of you will be
united as you wish, in time.  In the meantime, you have your tasks,
and he has his.  You can go to him if you want- certainly no one will
stop you- but is it what is best for the both of you?"
        Washuu sighed.  "No. I've got enough raw power to go up and
fight, but I don't have the skills, the mindset of a warrior.  And
Kris wouldn't be able to fight himself if he thought I was in danger.
But dammit, I don't have to like it!"
        Belldandy grasped Washuu's shoulders gently, stood her up and
walked her towards the door.  "Let me put you to bed, Washuu," she
said, "tomorrow we will all need all the rest we can get."
        "Yes, ma'am," Washuu said quietly.  As they walked from the
operating room to the scrub room, Washuu noticed Keiichi, wearing a
suit of icetrooper armor, slumped on a bench, asleep.  R-Type had
ordered a full icetrooper kit be issued to him, civilian or no, to
provide him the best possible protection without needing special
training.  Despite the armor, Belldandy had draped a small blanket
over him.  In his hands he grasped the hilt of a longsword he probably
had no idea of how to use; a large metal shield was propped against
the bench, and an automatic rifle lay at his feet.  Belldandy stopped
a moment and bent down to kiss him before she led Washuu away to a
proper bed.
        Even asleep, Keiichi still tried to protect his goddess.
Washuu sighed and wished she could do the same for her Guinea pig.
        If I get out of this alive, she promised herself, I'll learn
how.  I swear it.

	R-Type and his guards set down their shuttlecraft with slight
difficulty, even allowing for the vicious weather; Cygnus Spaceworks'
Lambda-class executive shuttle was a hardy creature, and Adam Kawalsky
a deft pilot.  Leaving it parked in the White Legion staging area,
they trudged wordlessly through the snow toward the Asgardian Army
part of the camp, three more anonmymous icetroopers on the plain.
Around them, the preparations were almost complete; Colonel Otto
Skarne and his troops were dug in, the blaster mounts emplaced, and
the AT-ATs and AT-STs ranked for the attack.  Most of the troopers had
retired to their field barracks to try and grab a few hours' sleep
before the predawn alert.
	The watch officer at the Asgardian part of the camp admitted
them without trouble; the enemy they were preparing for was not subtle
enough to attempt infiltration anyway.  The subterfuge had been in
bringing them to this point.  He directed them to the appropriate tent
when asked, then resumed his restless scanning of the distant dark
horizon through his rangefinder binoculars.

	Yuri looked up in surprise as the flap of her thermotent
zipped open again.  One visitor in an evening such as this was
unexpected, but two bordered on weird, unless possibly Gryphon had
come in search of Kei.  But no, it was a trio of GENOM icetroopers,
anonymous and faceless in their white armor; two of them wore red
shoulder pauldrons, but other than that they all looked identical.
	"Wrong tent, fellas," said Kei, pointing.  "Yours are over
there."
	"Huh?" said the middle one.  "Oh, the uniform."  He reached up
and removed his helmet, smoothing down his rumpled hair.  "My name's
Larry Mann, I've come to rescue you."
	Yuri didn't know quite what to say, but it was a rare day that
Kei was left speechless:
	"Aren't you a little suit for a stormtrooper?"
	Kawalsky stifled a snicker; Feretti didn't bother.  R-Type
glared at both of them and angled a thumb stiffly behind him;
dutifully, they turned and exited the tent, sealing the flap behind
them.
	"If this is a bad time," said R-Type, "I can come back."
	"No, no, that's all right," said Yuri, finding her voice at
last.  "I thought you were going to stay on the Vindicator."
	"I was," replied R-Type as he worked his way out of boots,
chestplate and gloves, "but I couldn't stop thinking about what a
rough night everybody must be having down here, and how selfish of me
it was to hang around in that nice warm Star Destroyer,
and... and... and stuff."
	"Eloquent, as always," remarked Kei.  At R-Type's half-hearted
scowl, she raised her hands in surrender.  "Sorry, sorry, I'll be
good, or should I leave?"
	"No, stay," Yuri said, putting out her hand and taking hold of
Kei's arm before she could get up and leave.  " I -- "
	Yuri stopped, her eyes unfocusing.
	"Er?" said R-Type, confused.  "Yuri?  Are you OK?"  He took a
couple of steps closer, mindful not to step in the puddles of melting
snow his boots had left, and crouched down catcher-style, putting his
fingertips to Yuri's cheek.  "Hey, what's -- "

	Fire.
	Blood.
	A cackling apparition with a grinning green face.
	A magic circle.
	A pillar of white fire.
	And a long, loud, agonized scream, coming from a big man
caught in that fire, his face peeling away in a thick strip of green.

	Yuri fell back against the pillows; Kei slumped back into the
inflatable chair; R-Type toppled backward and sprawled on the tent
floor, knees up and arms flung out.  They stayed that way, insensate,
for quite some time.
	At length, R-Type gathered his wits, folded his legs and sat
up, holding his throbbing head.
	"What in God's name was that?" he demanded of no one in
particular.
	Kei blinked, coming out of her own catatonia, and shook her
head, reaching to help Yuri sit up again.
	"Our little-known, seldom-seen, always-inconvenient prescience
at work," Kei grumbled.  "Sometimes I think I'd rather just be
flatscale than have a psi power as annoying as that.  You must have
seen it because of your empathic link to Yuri.  Did you touch her when
we tuned out?"
	"Yes, on the face," R-Type replied, catching his breath.  "How
did you know about... stupid question, never mind.  What... what did
we see?"  He tried to recapture the scattered fragments of vision as
they danced and melted in his memory, mocking him like the tatters of
an interrupted dream.
	"MegaZone," Yuri said, in a tone somewhere between a hushed
whisper and a strangled moan.
	Green face... burning... screaming.
	R-Type felt his own face go pale.
	"Easy, Yuri," Kei said, heading off the crying jag that was
welling up in her partner.  "You know as well as I do that we never
interpret right what those goddamn flashes mean.  Don't jump to any
conclusions."
	"He was on fire and screaming, Kei!" Yuri declared.  "I'd say
the conclusion is pretty obvious."
	"Mm-hmm, and that's just why it might be wrong.  Besides,"
recalled Kei with a small, wry smile, "he's been on fire and screaming
before, and it hasn't hurt him much."
	Yuri hated to chuckle at that, but she couldn't help it.
R-Type didn't particularly like himself for finding it amusing either,
but he did.
	Soon, they were all roaring with laughter, and essentially,
they laughed themselves to sleep.

			   THIRD SEAL: END