NEW AVALON ZETA CYGNI DYSON SPHERE 5 SEPTEMBER 2390 MegaZone, the Supreme Commander of the Wedge Defense Force, sat at his desk in the WDF Administration Complex in downtown New Avalon, feeling hemmed in and cheated. When he had resumed command of the WDF, he'd felt a grand surge of destiny, of a sort -- as if, after his chaotic, no-thought-only-reaction Exile, he had returned to his rightful place in the universe, and all would be well. It had been a heady moment. Here he was, then, almost two years later to the day, slogging through paperwork. What kind of cosmic gyp was this? You come out of the shadows and take your place at the top of the most powerful military force the galaxy has ever known, and they give you FORMS to fill out? Weren't there people to do that? Geez! The more he thought about it, the madder it made him. He was just about to pick up his phone, call whoever cared, and tell them he was going for a long walk and would they please forward his official mail to hell, when he noticed something. Sitting atop a precariously tall pile of material requisition forms from the Shipyards was a Federated Express standard delivery box, its blue, white and red color scheme standing out against the grey wall and white papers. Curious, Zoner got up from behind his desk and went to it, picking it up and turning it over. It was rather heavy -- too heavy to just be documents -- and something inside it slid and thumped when he turned it over in his hands. The airbill listed the shipper as one "Chaos Theory Laboratories, Inc.", right there in New Avalon, and on the top of the box was a prominent WDF Research Division holostamp. Why hadn't he noticed this being delivered? For that matter, why hadn't he noticed it earlier in the four hours he'd been here? Zoner took a knife from his pocket, slit open the packing tape, and opened up the box like a pizza box. When he saw what was inside, he nearly dropped it on the floor. It was a mask of a stylized human face, rendered in some sort of green, translucent gemstone, with a sharp triangular nose and balefully rendered eyes. It would have been singularly nondescript, had it not been for the eerie way it seemed to be looking back at him. "My goddess," he murmured, taking the mask and dropping the box to the floor. "How did this get in here?" He turned it over, noting the way the light shivered across the inner surface, feeling again the silent call it gave to him. Then, shaking himself awake, he put it down on his desk and picked up the box, looking for a letter, a note, anything which might explain how this lab came to have it and why they sent it to him. Surely they didn't know its origins and the way he figured in them... He picked up his phone and started to dial directory assistance, but was distracted as he did so by the mask lying on his desk, looking balefully up at him. It had been so long since he had felt the rush of chaos, the divine madness, wash over him -- so long since he had carried with him the discordant purpose inherent in the green artifact. The detective work could surely wait, couldn't it? His hand nearly trembled as he picked up the mask and turned it over; he shivered as he watched the opalescent light gleaming from within its reversed face. Holding his breath, he raised it to his face, waiting for the rush. And then, just as it began, he realized that it was wrong. Wrong, tainted, poisoned -- it welled up from the mask like the effluence of a sewer at the beginning of the rush, where the fresh and clean fragrance of Chaos belonged. By then, as the instant stretched wide and thin, he knew it was too late to stop, and just before his consciousness vanished, he cursed. He'd been had, taken for a ride like an amateur. As the combination of mask and man burst into a small hurricane of transformation, the windows of the office exploded, showering the streets below with glass. The green and black whirlwind which MegaZone had become spun down in the middle of the wrecked office, his hands clutching at his smoking face, and for a long moment there was silence. Silence broken by a low chuckle. The hands fell away, revealing a grinning green face with jagged sharp teeth and baleful red eyes; from the top of his head sprouted a shock of garish, orange-red, straw-coarse hair. He slavered for a moment, the tatters of his WDF uniform hanging from his body and smoking slightly. Then, eyes narrowing, he whipped a comb from his back pocket and ran it through the straw. Instantly, he was transformed. Tall, much wirier than he should have been, his clothing transformed to a chartreuse pinstriped three-piece with retro wingtip shoes, the glowing red coals of his eyes behind wire spectacles, the orange hair slicked back. But for the outlandish color scheme, he looked remarkably like that most terrifying symbol of Order: An attorney. As he strode out of the office, chuckling and whistling a little tune, it would have become clear to any observer who happened to see that he was anything but. Eyrie Productions, Unlimited presents UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT -=TWILIGHT=- FIRST SEAL: INTROIT Benjamin D. Hutchins Lawrence R. Mann MegaZone Kris Overstreet With (as ever) the gracious assistance of The Usual Suspects (c) 1997 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited SIX DAYS LATER When he designed his study in his home on Morgan Lane, Gryphon took special care to make it as welcoming and relaxing an environment as possible. His office in the shipyard was rather small, by his own insistence; it fit with his working style. It was small and square and cluttered, jammed to the corners with printouts and mementoes and random things. He had a couple of computers serving as terminals to the UPNS network, one on his desk and one on a small table, and both were constantly covered with papers and notes. The whole thing was wildly chaotic, which fit in with the way he liked things to be when he was working. At home, on the other hand, he was taking a different tack. He figured that his working life would be interesting and chaotic enough that he would need his home -- and particularly his study -- to be quiet and spacious, a kind of oasis against the stresses of the yards. To that end, he had deliberately designed it to be oblong and asymmetrical rather than square. It was L-shaped, with rounded corners. Visitors entered into the tip of the L's short leg through a set of large paneled doors from the corridor outside, and the visitor immediately found him or herself in a small foyer-type place. There was a coat tree standing by the doors, and three steps led down to the main floor, which was a pretty grey marble tile. Oak bookcases lined the walls, full of books ranging from technical specifications for the old VYF-1 Veritech experiments to Gordon Prange's studies of the Pacific War in World War II. The far wall, which formed the long back side of the L, was entirely a window, seamless klaster stretching out of sight around the bend. In the L's corner stood Gryphon's desk, a large and sturdy affair made of scarlet Salusian greelwood; it had been a gift from Her Imperial Majesty Asrial. This desk held the only computer in the room, a Sun Super SPARCstation XL-4, the top of the Super SPARC line, equipped with an F19091 FTL processor. The foyer, desk and computer in the short leg and corner of the L formed the office portion of the study. The rest of it, the long leg of the L, was more of a relaxation area. Its walls were adorned with various of Gryphon's favorite artworks, most of which, given his somewhat eclectic tastes, were not regarded as art. One of them, for example, was a theatrical poster for the 1994 motion picture "The Shadow"; where Kei had found it, he had no idea. At the end of the room was a large, clear pool of water, about ten feet in diameter and perhaps four feet deep, which was stocked with unusual and colorful fish. Gryphon and the occasional visitor would go and look at the fish when in need of a quiet moment. There were several comfortable chairs for reading. At this particular moment, he was sitting at the Super SPARC, hacking at the second draft of the proposal he intended to take to Zoner when it was completed, embodying all the best concepts he and Kei had worked out so far for the unilateral law-enforcement and public-protection organization they had conceived a bit over a year previous, during their journey to Earth after Kate was born. Outside, it was a crisp fall day, and he felt the sudden desire to go outside and play in the leaves. [Now that would amuse Martin,] he observed to himself as he got up from the desk and went to stand by the window, looking out. The view from that side of his home was always pretty, but right now it was particularly spectacular -- the leaves on the trees lining the hillsides were exploding into their usual autumn brilliance, and rolling down to the glorious, bristling collection of chrome and masonry that was downtown New Avalon, rising out of the valley to the south. Gryphon had always held a special fondness for autumn, but it had long been tempered with a touch of melancholy. Very few of his friends understood quite why fall depressed him slightly. Most who knew enough of his history made logical and erroneous parallels to the fact that the school year on Earth began in fall and assumed that he missed the simpler days when that piece of calendric trivia had applied to him. A few other attributed it to the general feeling of winding down and preparing for winter; this too was logical and wrong. Gryphon had no reason to dread the coming of winter; winter was his favorite season of them all. The real reason autumn slightly depressed Gryphon was because it reminded him of an old friend, one of whom he had lost track not once but twice in his lifetime, and Gryphon hated losing track of friends. He sighed, putting his hand against the window to feel the cold of the glass, looking out at the leaves and wondering where she was now. It is a documented scientific fact that nothing is a coincidence. Here's proof: Behind him, he didn't notice the surface of the fish pond bubbling gently, then beginning to glow. Presently a circular opening appeared in the water, its edge pushing back the startled fish as it expanded, leading down to a source of bright light. Out of that light a figure began rising -- and that was when he noticed and turned. Wary but not overly excited, Gryphon took a step back away from the pond, his hands open at his sides, eyes narrowed, as the figure rose completely up out of the pond and the water fell back into place beneath its feet. The figure hovering above his fish pond was a woman of considerable beauty. She was tall (had she been standing on the floor, Gryphon estimated that she would have been about his own height) and slender, with alabaster skin and long, straight obsidian hair reaching nearly to her feet, and tied back into an immense ponytail. At the front of her head a few wild sprigs of hair flew free, giving her a slightly disheveled look. Her face was Nordic, with a sharp, small nose and high cheekbones, and her wide brown eyes, as they opened, fairly crackled with intelligence. She was dressed in a skirt of some very pale pink material (nearly white) which was knee-length in front and dropped to the floor in back, and was lined and edged in red; a jacket of the same material, with similar red trim, large red buttons and rolled sleeves; low white boots and white gloves with rolled red cuffs. Around her neck was an ornate necklace of glittering golden rods which, upon closer examination, would prove to be isolinear memory rods. Hoop earrings suspended smaller rods nearly to both shoulders. The head of what appeared to be a croquet mallet protruded above her right shoulder from where the object was slung across her back. It was a few moments before Gryphon realized that he knew her -- had just been thinking of her. He was about to speak, but she saw him there just as he opened his mouth, and, recognizing him, flew to him. No -- flew -into- him, crashing into his chest and nearly knocking him down as she threw her arms around him and cried out his name. Thrown off-guard in more ways than one by this event, he folded his arms across her back and said nothing. There they remained for a long moment, until he took her shoulders in his hands and pushed her back to look at her. "Hello, Skuld," he said softly. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?" As he spoke, he looked at her carefully, noting the similarities and changes from the last time he had seen her, as well as the transient features of appearance which provide clues to a person's state of mind. She was pale, even for Skuld, and her eyes sunken and rimmed in red. The dark circles around -that- were so livid that for a moment she almost appeared to have been beaten. She was also somewhat dirty, something the Skuld he knew would never allow to happen. Behind the intelligence in her eyes lurked a terror so stark that he didn't need his ki to see it. All this he took in across the space of perhaps a second, during which Skuld attempted, unsuccessfully, to form words with her quivering lips; then he relented the pressure on her shoulders and she crumpled against him again, sobbing. He had been feeling a bit unpresentable, dressed as he was in a rather threadbare New Avalon Institute of Science t-shirt, a pair of ratty old sweats, and his crazy-quilt bathrobe, but that feeling evaporated instantly with the knowledge that something was wrong -- very wrong. "What's happened?" he asked quietly. "What's wrong?" Again she tried to speak, and again, she failed. Gryphon pondered for a moment, then shifted his position slightly and picked her up from the floor, cradling her in his arms as if she were still the child he remembered. She offered no protest as he carried her out of the room and down the hall to the house's master bedroom. This was a large, rectangular, and rather pedestrian room, finished in pleasant greys, with thick shag carpeting, heavy drapes on the large picture window, and a bed about half again the size of the traditional king-size. The covers on the bed were also grey, patterned with a nearly subliminal WDF sigil. He placed Skuld on the bed, covered her with the thick grey covers, and told her to sleep. As he retired to the armchair in the corner, he was somewhat surprised to see that she had complied. He considered calling somebody else and consulting with them about this event, but decided to wait until he actually found out what brought Skuld here. Obviously she wasn't here just to catch up with an old friend; something terrible had happened or was happening, and he wanted to know what before he involved anyone else. She might have come here hoping to find a confidant. So he waited, reading a book. Several hours passed. No one arrived home, which wasn't surprising. Kei was probably haunting the 3WA Center downtown, pestering Yuri and generally making a nuisance of herself, and Kaitlyn had, the previous day, embarked on the Grand Adventure of spending a week with the Rose clan at the country place on Vortigern's Lake. That was fortunate, Gryphon reflected, for if what was about to happen took him as far from home as he expected, he wanted Kate to be safe. He sighed, reflecting for only a moment on the somewhat unreal feeling of the divinity he named as his patroness having arrived in his study, and returned to his reading. Looking out at the expanse of the great city of New Avalon which lay beyond his office windows, Dr. Lawrence Mann, CEO of GENOM New Avalon and Executive Vice President in charge of GENOM's Enigma Sector operations, reflected on just how far he, the company, and the galaxy at large had come in the last four centuries. It had been one hell of a ride, and not much of it particularly pleasant, since GENOM had until just recently been on the wrong side of the moral line, and he had spent most of that time in a grim and bitter mood, caught between his loyalty to the corporation which had made his continued existence possible, and his own nature, his understanding of right and wrong. But that was all behind him now. Largo was gone, destroyed by Gryphon himself, and the much more benevolent Buma known as Kwei- Chang Caine had taken the mantle of Master. GENOM and the WDF were no longer the bitter enemies they had been made to be because of Largo's machinations, but allies assisting each other in the peacekeeping of the galaxy. Dr. Mann's life, both personal and corporate, had taken a dramatic turn for the better. He was no longer the anonymous background figure he had always struggled to be in order to protect himself and those he knew, but a highly visible executive officer, with GENOM New Avalon under his complete control and the whole of Enigma Sector answerable to him. That put him very near the top of the corporate ladder; only one rung away, in fact, from the Big Chair itself. But the Big Chair belonged to Caine, and that was just fine with Larry. Being Sector Chief was plenty complicated enough for his taste. There was a brief time, back on New Japan in the 2330's, when he'd been very close to actually running the whole company, and it was not an experience he was particularly interested in repeating. Even with the help of Aki (or Jilehr, depending on her mood), his faithful ACI, the number of challenges in a day were sometimes overwhelming. Part of the problem was, of course, a backlash against GENOM for things it had done in Largo's name during the past centuries, as people started crawling out of the woodwork with complaints and lawsuits and such, emboldened by the Military Arm's defeat at Zeta Cygni. (It was not unlike, Larry noted ruefully, the backlash against the WDF which had started right after Sonset.) Dr. Mann himself seemed to have become the target of one of the leaders of the Confederate Freespacers Alliance, who had been sending a steady stream of notes to the office. Some were legitimate complaints, others (at least in Jilehr's opinion) just seemed to be for the sole purpose of being spiteful or annoying. And still others, he honestly could not be sure about. Case in point: To: Dr. Lawrence Mann, exec. VP GENOM Enigma Sector. From: Rear Adm. Kristan Overstreet, Tactical Fleet Commander CFMF My dear Dr. Mann: I write to you in reference to the appalling state of affairs regarding the quality of the latest shipment of replacement tactical sensor array networks which were intended to be installed in our currently operational starfighter squadrons. Not only did they prove totally incompatible with the older systems, but during the abortive attempt to install these units, a power surge apparently caused by a mismatch in voltage requirements fused the connections and caused a near-total lockup of all computers in the starfighters, tender ships, and carriers involved. Furthermore, since your sales representative specifically claimed universal adaptability to any existing interface system, I must file a formal protest regarding not only the shoddy equipment you are selling, but the blatantly misleading sales tactics GENOM seems to prefer using above all other methods. And furthermore, the complete, total, and utter lack of helpful response from both your Complaints department and your Consumer Support division leads me to actually wonder if the money of the CFMF would be better spent on products from the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation. After all, their approach to customer relations is extremely similar to that which GENOM Enigma Sector has demonstrated. I would appreciate the earliest possible reply with your suggestion as to how this exerable situation may be remedied. In the meantime, we've stuck a camcorder on the nose of all our ships, and we're going to hope the Kilrathi, Romulans, and Cardassians don't get wise. I look forward to your prompt reply. Sincerely yours, Rear Adm. Kristan Overstreet "According to the Freespacer database," Jilehr snorted from her window on R-Type's multiterm. "This guy's callsign is 'Redneck'. That sounds about right." "Jilehr, please," R-Type groaned, hoping that when he uncovered his eyes the message wouldn't be there anymore. No such luck, unfortunately. "Look, if these guys had even bothered to read the damn manuals they probably would have noticed that those sensor arrays wouldn't be compatible with their kind of fighters. Is it our fault their equipment is from the fucking stone age?? If you ask me, boss, this Overstreet asshole and his entire goddamn fleet should go fuck themselves. I say we put his ass in the killfile and tell him to find another company to complain to." "Jilehr..." R-Type sighed, his patience beginning to fray. "Be nice, please..." "Boss!" Jilehr retorted angrily. "You do *not* need this shit! He's doing this just to piss you off!" "And you're doing better than he is!!" R-Type barked testily. "Boss... *please*, *PLEASE* let me add this asshole to the killfile!" It was as close as Jilehr would ever come to begging. "JILEHR--" he started to yell, then caught himself, took a deep breath, and continued in a more normal tone. "One, we have no conclusive proof that the customer was at fault for this. Two, even if we did, and much as I hate to admit it... the customer is always right. Even when they're wrong. Yes, I agree this *does* seem like an impossibly large blunder on our part, but we're trying to make nice with the galaxy here, and that means we have to take our share of bullshit, just like every other company." Jilehr said nothing for a long moment, then growled "Fine, whatever," and went offline with a derisive snort, shifting back to Aki in the process. "Gaah..." R-Type groaned, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. This was one of the less enjoyable aspects of being a Vice President in a company with a history such as GENOM's. He was beginning to feel rather ill. Come to think of it, he had felt ill for several days. "Do you wish to compose a reply?" Aki asked, trying to be sympathetic. "There does seem to be a degree of urgency involved here." (A questionable urgency, to be sure, but it was there nonetheless.) "Uhh..." Larry wheezed. "Yeah... tell him... give the standard 'apology for this error on our part' speech, tell him I'm sick right now, and I'll get to his case as soon as I'm feeling better, probably tomorrow...... as a matter of fact I *am* feeling kinda sick right now." (It wasn't a lie, either; this had intensified an already unpleasant sensation in the pit of his gut which had been gnawing at him most of the day.) "You have the desk; hold any important calls and messages, the usual spiel." "And if Admiral Overstreet is not satisfied with my authority?" Aki asked, prompted by the ever-present growling voice in the back of her head. "Then tell him I'm terribly sorry for any inconvenience, but I am *sick*, so he will just have to wait if he wants me to deal directly with him," R-Type replied evenly, knowing it was really Jilehr who wanted an answer to that question. "And no personal opinions of character, please." "Of course not," Aki nodded, ignoring her other half's bitching. "Thank you," Larry said, getting up and pulling his coat and hat off the nearby rack with noticeable lack of enthusiasm. "I'm going home now." "The car will be ready in three minutes." *rrrrringgg* Larry groaned, wondering what exactly the universe had against him today, as the sound of the phone forced him back to consciousness. He briefly contemplated ignoring it and hoping that it would either stop ringing or Aki would take a message, but even as he was thinking this something in the back of his mind advised that he'd be better off dealing with it. Thus, he levered himself up off the bed -- where he'd collapsed immediately after arriving home -- and trudged over to the wall vidphone. "Hello?" he mumbled. The screen came to life, revealing the face of a raven-haired vision of loveliness. "Hi," Yuri responded quietly. She too looked a bit on the ill side, much as he did. "Hi yourself," he answered, straightening up a bit. "You don't look too good." "I don't feel too good," she replied. "Came home a little while ago. Stomachache." "Me too," he said, immediately sensing that there might be more to this problem than he previously thought. "Nervous tension?" "Nervous tension," she confirmed. "Angst?" (One more symptom to check.) "Could you come over?" (Exact match. Oh boy.) "I'll be right there." *click* There were a great many things about the city of New Avalon which made it one of the best cities in civilized space to live in. But ultimately it was the people that made life either pleasant or intolerable, no matter what the location. And Yuri Daniels made this place one of the best reasons to be here, in Larry's mind. In the time since he'd moved here, the time since they'd spent their first night together, their already intimate relationship had deepened even more, with none of the problems Larry had half-expected to be seen or heard anywhere. (Except perhaps in the yellow press, who were terribly confused because a scandal hadn't erupted over this "affair" between a top GENOM exec and the WDF Supreme Commander's SO.) The bond they shared gave each an almost instinctive understanding of the other's feelings and emotions, allowing them to know when it was time to be close, and when to stay away, with surprising accuracy. Of course, when one of them was suffering, and the angst was strong enough, the other was made to feel it too, and as the car drew closer to the Daniels residence, Larry began to have a clearer picture of what had been troubling both of them today. The absence of the Daytona helped reinforce this. Larry set the car down on the curb (despite assurances of having equal status in their little triangle, Larry still refused to park in a driveway he felt was Zoner's personal space), and made the short walk up the steps to the front door. Without hesitation he gave the doorbell a firm push, and waited quietly. The answer was not long in coming as the door rattled and swung open, and again he was confronted by that beautiful face. "Hello again." "Hi." And without another word or hesitation Yuri embraced him tightly. "M-m-m-my," he Porky Pigged, yet another sign of spending too much time associating with the Rose family. "You c-c-c-certainly are an affectionate p-p-p-pussycat all of a sudden." That got a brief giggle out of her, but it didn't seem to do much to help lessen their mutual stomachache. Yeah, this situation was shaping up to be Not So Good. Sighing, he resumed his normal voice. "Let's go inside before somebody accuses me of being a salesbeing." MegaZone disappearing without a trace was not usually any cause for concern. Indeed, it was expected half the time, as both his personal agenda and his WDF work regularly took him off on one secret mission or another. Hardly anyone would notice, thinking it another of the man's ongoing efforts to be secretive and mysterious, something he got a kick out of, as Gryphon had remarked more than once. This time, however, Yuri had a gut feeling -- literally, in fact -- that something was not right. Nobody she'd been able to contact could be 100% sure if his latest disappearance from the Central Office was planned or not, or what he had gone off to do. Of course, the fact that his office was totally destroyed and all the windows were blown out gave her pause... But not *too* much. He might have just freaked, though, admittedly, this was a bit much - even for him. All she was able to determine was that he had taken WarpZone with him, and he had left roughly 48 hours before. Everyone she'd talked to so far seemed fairly sure that he knew what he was doing (whatever it was) and he'd be back or report in when he felt like it. But Yuri wasn't convinced; you didn't live with someone for 300 years without developing a connection with them. She was becoming more concerned that this time something had gone wrong, something beyond his control, and he was in trouble, wherever he was. Larry listened carefully as Yuri related the story of her day's investigations, curled up next to him on the couch. Everything she had done had turned up nothing conclusive. "Finally I just couldn't take sitting there anymore," she finished. "So I came back here, and that's when I called you." "What can we do?" Larry asked, holding her a little closer. "I mean, he does do this from time to time..." "I know, I know," Yuri sighed, her frustration evident. The whole secretive-and-mysterious routine worked just fine until situations like this one cropped up and someone actually needed to *find* him. "It must sound stupid--" "Hey, hey," Larry replied, putting a finger under her chin and levering her face up so that their eyes met. "If you think he has a problem, then he has a problem." Yuri was one of the most rational people Larry had ever met, and she was not the type to indulge in unfounded paranoia, even where her lovers were concerned. "Trouble is..." he went on, more to himself than to Yuri. "How do we find out?" "I'm out of ideas right now," Yuri said sadly, looking down. "Shh, we'll think of something," he whispered, planting a small kiss on her forehead. She snuggled against him, taking comfort in the fact that he was here, that she wasn't totally alone. Loneliness was the sickness that had overcome her today; from the time Zoner had run in 2288 until their reunion a century later Yuri had suffered from that sickness, and she didn't want it any more. Larry stroked her hair absently as he looked up at the ceiling. He had a few ideas of what could be done to track Zoner down, but actually going about them without bringing undue attention to the matter could be a challenge. For that matter, even with what he'd heard, could they be sure he actually needed any help? Well, one thing was for sure: Yuri wanted her Zoner back, and she was going to get him back, even if Larry had to go out there and personally drag him back here... wherever 'there' was... Still looking up at the ceiling, he absently wished for a sign, or a hint, or something, from whoever happened to be listening up there at the moment. Yuri, for her part, simply wished she had both of her teddy bears here, disturbing as the image is, on the whole. Somewhere in there, they both fell asleep. /* Andreas Vollenweider "The Birds of Tilmun" _Book of Roses_ */ A cold, cruel wind whipped over the young goddess as she stood on a barren crag of rock which jutted out into the churning sea. Waves crashed violently against the rocks, sending massive sprays of foam and icy water into the air. She shivered against the cold, a cold which chilled not only the marrow of her bones but also the fire of her soul. The signs could not be denied. The three winters of blood had passed in Midgard, and the world was caught in the iron grip of Fimbulvetr, the three winters with no summers in between. There was no sun now, nor moon, nor stars. Only an angry sky filled with dark clouds, churned by the cold wind. Had Skoll and Hati taken their vengeance on the sun and moon then? Already the order of things was in turmoil. Could it be that the most ageless of bonds and fetters had already shattered, and Fenris was running free, preparing for his own terrible plans? Dear Allfather, could Loki be free as well? Fear screamed in her eyes as the sea began to churn all the more violently, and lightning began to crack across the sky and plunge into the water. Jormungand was coming. Why else would the sea twist and writhe in such fury? Jormungand... and Fenris and Loki... Ragnarok. She was deeply troubled, for it was impossible to deny. This was Ragnarok, the Destruction of the Powers... the Twilight of the Gods. It sent an icy dagger through the core of her being. She was Skuld, Norn of Being, goddess of the future... Ragnarok was the end of Being, the end of the future... the end of everything that she stood for. In short, it was the sum of her innermost, greatest and worst fears. She clutched her mallet tighter as the flashes of lightning began to increase in number and violence, but its aura would grow no brighter than it already was. What?! Where was her ageless power then?! Certainly it was there... but it was strangely weakened. What, was her very life being sucked away with the coming of the Final Chaos? Her terror increased with each passing moment, and the anger of the sky and sea seemed to increase proportionally with her fear, almost as though Loki himself were taking his vicious delight in tormenting her to the edge of insanity before snuffing out her life. Then the sea bubbled and seemed to erupt upwards, and with a terrible hiss a huge black shape rose out of the abyss... the greatest of serpents himself. Jormungand. He twisted around, illuminated by the lightning crashing into the ocean around him, venom dripping from his mouth, and his gleaming eyes lighted on the tiny goddess standing on the rock, clutching her equally tiny mallet in fright. Skuld said in a voice that was choked with panic. Suddenly she knew she was not alone on the rock, but that which she sensed was not the presence of a friend. She wheeled and found herself faced by a huge wolf, and she could not miss the hole in the roof of his mouth where a sword had been thrust to gag him so long ago. Fenris snarled in the most evil of voices. And then the rocks behind him were no longer gray, but clotted with blood and gore, and littered with the bodies of warriors, gods, elves, and all the peoples of Asgard. Skuld took a step backward and nearly tripped over something, looked down, and it was all she could do to not scream uncontrollably when her eyes met the unseeing eyes of the eviscerated corpses of her sisters. Then Fenris sprang toward her. In blind fear she swung with her mallet, felt it connect. Fenris howled in rage and stumbled backwards, then sprang again, fire burning in his eyes and curling from his nostrils. Skuld shrieked and swung again, but this time something exceedingly painful ripped across her body. Her bloodstained mallet soared through the air and was caught by the wind and carried out over the ocean, where it dropped and sank into the abyss. Before Skuld knew what was happening pain seared into her body from both sides as she was caught and pierced by Fenris's powerful jaws. Fenris levered her around and held her small, writhing form upwards, out toward the gleaming eyes of his brother Jormungand, who had watched the whole exchange unmoving. Now he began to swim closer, as Fenris spoke to Skuld, sending pain shooting through her with every syllable: He released her then, and she crashed painfully to the rock, lying on her back, her blood pooling under her, eyes turned up towards the uncaring sky. Jormungand's eyes glowed brighter. Frozen and powerless, Skuld could only watch as he reared up higher, gathering venom in his mouth, preparing to send her into an eternity of agonized torment. Tears streamed from her terrified eyes as she tried to squeak out the names of anyone... *anyone*... she knew. But it seemed that as she spoke each name, the corpse of that person floated by... Jormungand's head dove down from the clouds, flanked by lightning, his mouth beginning to open. But it was useless. The corpses of everyone she knew surrounded her. Except one. Jormungand opened his mouth fully and a torrent of venom spewed forth, racing toward her face. Complete terror seized her then, and full in its sanity-destroying grip she brought the last of her strength into one final burst, opened her mouth, and screamed. Gryphon, who had dropped into a light doze in his chair, was jarred awake nearly two seconds -before- Skuld awoke with a shriek of unadulterated terror. Such was her fear that he could feel it without trying to do so, and it nearly caused him to cry out along with her before he mastered it and sprang to her side. She was bolt upright in the bed, clawing at the thick grey blankets, tears flowing from her wide wild eyes so rapidly that they were forming a solid stream. Gryphon pushed his way through the terror around her as if it were water, fighting to keep his concentration as the images of her dream buffeted his mind, until he reached her and enclosed her in his arms. The contact seemed to startle her, and for a moment she struggled to escape. She was surprisingly strong, but his grip was firm and determined, and in only a couple of seconds she realized where she was and what the arms around her really meant. When that happened, she seemed almost to crumple, settling into his embrace, and then she turned and buried her face in his chest. "Shh," he whispered, rocking her. "It was only a dream, Skuld... only a dream." He wasn't entirely convinced of this; it had, after all, been a dream of such vivid intensity that he had seen it. Of all the things he could do with his skills with ki, seeing into the dreams of others was a feat he had thought out of his reach, at least in this decade. Skuld wasn't convinced either. "No," she said between sobs. "It wasn't j-just a dream... it was a w-warning. I've... I've had that dream every time I've fallen asleep for the last week. And it always ends the same... so I knew... knew I h-had to find you... " "I... " Gryphon stopped. He wasn't about to tell this poor, terrified creature that he didn't think he could do a damned thing about it, even though that was, inside, what he was feeling. "I know, I know," Skuld said miserably. "I'm nothing but a c-coward... it's always been written that when the day comes the gods will line up shoulder to shoulder and die gloriously for the Allfather, and here I am... going to a mortal for help... but... " She shuddered with renewed sobs as her fear and sorrow re-established their hold on her, and she crumpled against him again as she whispered, "... I d-don't want to die... " "It's all right," Gryphon repeated, holding her tighter in his arms. "Nobody wants to die, Skuld." "W-will you help?" she asked him, her voice tiny. "I'll help you," he replied solemnly. "You aren't going to die. I swear it." "Th-thank you... please... please hold me... " "Until the mountains fall into the sea," he replied, "if I have to." She sobbed against him for a few more long minutes, as he rocked and shushed and comforted, and then she drifted off to sleep again. Gathering his mental warders around him, Gryphon laid her gently back on the bed, then stretched out next to her, maintaining his embrace. He had seen her nightmare once; now it fell to him to see if he could prevent it from returning. Larry was running as fast as he could, and yet the world didn't seem to move as he wished, like some invisible force was keeping him from getting over to the Daytona. But he had to get over there; he'd seen Zoner fall out of sight behind it, attacked by something. Zoner needed help, whether the big oaf wanted to admit it or not. He strained harder, and began to close the distance more quickly. Ahead of him he saw two figures running toward them, shouting Zoner's name just as he was. One was Gryphon, the other was a raven-haired young woman who looked annoyingly familiar but whom he couldn't identify. He ignored them. He had to get to Zoner. The sounds of struggle could be heard behind the car, and Larry thought he saw the big man trying to wrestle something away from his face. he yelled as he vaulted over the car and landed right in front of the struggling man. Something was indeed trying to attach itself to his face: a rubbery mass of brown and green which looked like it was well on its way to covering his entire head. Panicked, Larry reached down and tried to get a grip on the monster, to pull it off, but before he could do this, Zoner's head snapped up. His face was completely covered by the brown and green mass, except for his eyes and mouth. The former were full of shock and fear, and then the latter opened wide and emitted a shrill scream. And suddenly Larry was awake again, panting rapidly. He felt a short, rapid breathing against his neck, and looked down to see that Yuri's eyes were also open, shock clearly visible. Sensing that he was looking at her, she turned her gaze to meet his. For a moment he wasn't quite sure what to say, as the nightmare began to slip away from his consciousness. Yuri solved that problem by speaking first: "Did... did you see...?" "Uh... greenish-brown thing?" he ventured. "On his head?" she asked her own question by way of confirmation. (Uh oh.) "Did he scream?" Yuri just nodded mutely. Good goddess... they'd had the exact same dream... "Whatever this is," Larry half-whispered. "We've gotta do something and do it now." "But *what*?" Yuri asked, doing her best to bite back the small wave of panic which was beginning to rise despite her efforts to control it. Larry thought very hard, for several long moments, recalling what fragments of the vision he could. "I think," he turned to her. "We better go talk to Gryph." As he slept, Gryphon dreamed as well -- his mind roaming back to happier times in a disjointed, splintered, stream of consciousness way. Years ago -- 2149, deep in the heart of the Golden Age -- himself, on sabbatical, a guest professor at a tech college on the planet Tomodachi, teaching military history. It looked like it was going to be a lonely year; Kei was on Meizuri teaching at the 3WA Academy. Rain and thunder and surprise as a young student, hapless and well-meaning Keiichi Morisato, turned up dripping wet on the doorstep of the converted temple he had rented with a most unusual burden and a strange story to tell. It had been an interesting year. And Skuld had been there. She was younger, then; she appeared perhaps thirteen to an observer. Young and playful, and fun to be around; one of the only non-adults he had genuinely liked during that period of his life. Her sisters as well -- sweet and kind Belldandy, who doted so on Keiichi, and mischievous Urd, with her thousand and one unworkable schemes and her sometimes unfortunate passion for wine... ... yes, it had been a very long time. His mind drifted as a dreaming mind will, wandering out of memory and into speculation. As he slept he wondered about the significance of Skuld's dream -- she was the goddess of the future, after all, and if anyone's dreams could be premonitions... He knew of others who could see the future. Very rarely, Yuri and Kei could, although their visions never made any sense at the time. Takanaka had seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of destiny, if not actual events in the future, and he had always claimed that Gryphon too would find himself knowing these things, eventually. At the time, Gryphon had not believed him. Now, he wasn't so sure. FIRST SEAL: END