Copyright © 1986 (revised 12/98). All rights reserved.
Loki's dwarf rolled its eyes and moaned pitifully as the sub leveled off at periscope depth. With stubby fingers the gnarled, neckless creature pulled its yellow-stained beard and stared up at the creaking pipes.
A thing of dark forest depths and hidden caves, Chris Turing thought as he watched the dwarf.
It wasn't meant for this place.
Only men would choose such a way to die, in a leaking steel coffin, on a hopeless attempt to blow up Valhalla.
But then, it wasn't likely that Loki's dwarf had been given much choice in being here.
Why, Chris wondered suddenly -- not for the first time.
Why do such creatures exist? Wasn't evil doing well enough in the world before they came to help it along?
The submarine's engines rumbled and Chris shrugged aside the thought. Imagining a world without Aesir and their servants in it was as hard as remembering a time without war. He sat strapped in a crash seat listening to the swishing of icy Baltic water just behind a tissue-thin bulkhead -- and watched the gnome huddle atop a crate of hydrogen bomb parts. It drew its clublike feet up away from the sloshing brine on the deck, scrunching higher on the black box. Another moan escaped the dwarf as the Razorfin's periscope went up, and more water gurgled in through pressure relief lines.
Major Marlowe looked up from the assault rifle he was reassembling for the thirtieth time. "What's eating the damn dwarf now?" the marine officer asked.
Chris shook his head.
"Search me. The fact that he's out of his element, maybe? After all, the ancient Norse thought of the deep as a place for sunken boats and fishes."
"I thought you were some sort of expert on the Aesir. And you aren't sure why the thing is foaming at the mouth?"
"I said I don't know. Why don't you go over and ask him yourself?"
Marlowe gave Chris a sour glance. "Sidle up to that stench and ask Loki's damn dwarf to explain its feelings? Hmph. I'd rather spit in an Aesir's eye."
From the left side of the cabin, Zap O'Leary leaned out and grinned at Marlowe.
"Dig it, daddyo. There's an Aes over by the scope, dope. Be my guest. Write him runes in his spitoon."
The eccentric technician gestured toward the Navy men clustered around the sub's periscope. Next to the Skipper stood a hulking figure clad in furs and leather, towering over the submariners.
Marlowe blinked back at O'Leary in bewilderment. The marine seemed less offended than confused. "What did he say?" he asked Chris.
Chris wished he weren't seated between the two.
"Zap suggests that you test it by spitting in Loki's eye."
Marlowe grimaced. O'Leary might as well have suggested he stick his hand into a scram-jet engine. One of the marines crammed into the passageway behind them made the mistake of dropping a cartridge into the foul water. Marlowe vented his frustration on the poor grunt with rich profanity.
The dwarf moaned again, hugging his knees and pressing against the sealed crate.
Wherever they're from, they aren't used to water. And these so-called dwarfs don't like submarines.
Chris wasn't exactly partial to this one, either. But nowhere else in the world was much safer. In late 1962, very little time remained for the Alliance Against Nazism. If anything could be done this autumn, to stave off the inevitable, it was worth the gamble.
Even Loki -- bearlike, nearly invulnerable, and always booming forth laughter that sent chills down human spines -- had betrayed nerves earlier, as the Razorfin dropped from the belly of a screaming bomber, sending their stomachs whirling as the arrow-sub plummeted like a great stone into Neptune's icy embrace. The fall seemed endless. The crash and shriek of tortured metal, when they hit the sea, was even worse.
And yet, almost anything seemed an improvement over the long, screeching trip over the Pole, skirting Nazi missiles, skimming mountains and gray waters in lurching zigs and zags, helplessly listening, strapped into place, as the airmen swooped their flying coffins hither and yon... praying the enemy's Aesir masters weren't patrolling that section of the north tonight...
Of twenty sub carriers sent out together from Baffin Island, only six made it all the way to the waters between Sweden and Finland. And both Cetus and Tigerfish broke up on impact, tearing like ripped sardine cans, spilling their hapless crews into freezing death.
Just four subs left, Chris thought. Still, our chances may be slim, but those poor pilots are the real heroes.
He doubted any of the crews would make it across dark, deadly Europe to Tehran and safety.
Chris looked up as the Skipper called his name. Commander Lewis had lowered the periscope and moved over to the chart table, making a beckoning motion. Chris unstrapped and jumped into the brine.
"Tell the swabbies we're savin our hooch for ourselves," O'Leary advised him, sotto voce. "Good pot's too rare to share."
"Shut up, fool." Marlowe growled. Chris ignored them both as he sloshed forward. The Skipper awaited him, standing beside their "advisor," the alien creature calling himself Loki.
I've known Loki for years, Chris thought. I've fought alongside him against his Aesir brothers... and still he scares the living hell out of me each time I look at him.
Towering over everyone, Loki regarded Chris with fierce,enigmatic eyes. The "god of tricks" looked much like a man, albeit an unnaturally large and powerful one. But those black eyes belied every impression of humanity. Chris had spent enough time with Loki, since the renegade Aesir defected to the Allied side, to know he should avoid looking into them whenever possible.
"Sir," he said, nodding to Commander Lewis and the bearded Aesir. "I take it we're approaching point Y?"
"Correct. We'll be there in ten minutes, barring anything unforeseen."
Lewis seemed to have aged over the last twenty hours. The young sub commander knew his squadron wasn't the only thing considered expendable in this operation. Several thousand miles to the west, the better part of what remained of the United States Surface Navy was engaged hopelessly for one reason only. To distract the Kriegsmarine -- and especially a certain "god of the sea" -- away from the Baltic and Operation Ragnarok. Loki's cousin Tyr wasn't very potent against submarines, but unless his attention was drawn elsewhere, he could make life unbearable when their tiny force tried to land.
So tonight, instead, he would be far away making hell for American and Canadian and Mexican sailors.
Chris shied away from thinking about it. Too many boys were going to their deaths off Labrador, just to keep one alien creature occupied while four subs tried to sneak in through the back door.
"Thank you. I'd better tell Major Marlowe and my demolition team."
He turned to go, but was stopped by an outsize hand on his shoulder, holding him gently but with steely adamancy.
"Thou must know something more," the being called Loki said in a low, resonant voice. Impossibly white teeth shone in his gleaming smile.
"Thou wilt have a passenger in going ashore."
Chris blinked. The plan had been for only his team and their commando escort... Then he saw the pallor of dread on Commander Lewis' face deeper than any mere fear of death.
Chris turned back to stare at the fur-clad giant. "You..." he exhaled.
Loki nodded. "A small change in plans. I will not accompany the undersea vessels, as they attempt to break out through the Skagerrak. I will go ashore with thee, instead, to Gotland."
Chris kept his face blank. In all honesty, there was no way this side of Heaven that he or Lewis could stop this creature from doing whatever it wanted. One way or the other, the Allies were about to lose their only Aesir friend in the long war against the Nazi plague.
If the word "friend" ever really described Loki, who had appeared one day on the tarmac of a Scottish airfield during the final evacuation of Britain, accompanied by eight small, bearded beings carrying boxes. He had led them up to the nearest amazed officer and imperiously commandeered the prime minister's personal plane to take him the rest of the way to America.
Perhaps an armored battalion might have stopped him. Combat reports proved that Aesir could be killed, if you were very lucky, pounding one hard and fast enough. But when the local commander realized what was happening, he decided to take a chance.
Loki had proven his worth many times, since that day ten years ago.
Till now, that is.
"If you insist." He told the Aes.
"I do. It is my will."
"Then I'll go explain it to Marlowe. Excuse me, please."
He backed away a few meters first, then turned to go.
As he sloshed away, that glittering stare seemed to follow him, past the moaning dwarf, past O'Leary's ever-sardonic smile, down the narrow, dank passageway lined with strapped-in marines, all the way to the sabot launching tubes.
Voices were hushed. All the young men spoke English, but only half were North Americans. Their shoulder patches -- Free French, Free Russian, Free Irish, German Christian -- were muted in the dim light, but the mixed accents were unmistakable, as well as the way they stroked their weapons and the gleam Chris caught sight of in several pairs of eyes.
These were the sort that volunteered for suicide missions, the type common in the world after thirteen years of horrible war -- that had little or nothing left to lose.
Major Marlowe had come back to supervise the loading of the landing boats. He did not take Chris's news well.
"Loki wants to come along? To Gotland?" He spat. "The bastard's a spy. I knew it all the time!"
Chris shook his head. "He's helped us a hundred ways, John. Why, just by accompanying Ike to Tokyo, and convincing the Japanese --"
"Big deal! We'd already beaten the Japs!" The big marine clenched his fist, hard. "Like we'd have crushed Hitler, if these monsters hadn't arrived, like Satan's curse, out of nowhere.
"And now he's lived among us for ten years, observing our methods, our tactics and technology, the only real advantage we had left!"
Chris grimaced. How could he explain it to Marlowe? The marine officer had never visited Tehran, as Chris did last year. Marlowe had never seen the capital city of Israel-Iran, America's greatest and most stalwart ally, bulwark of the East.
There, in dozens of armed settlements along the east bank of the Euphrates, Chris had met fierce men and women who bore on their arms tattooed numbers from Treblinka, Dachau, Auschwitz. He heard their story of how, one hopeless night under barbed wire and the stench of chimneys, the starving, doomed masses looked up to see a strange vapor fall from the sky. Unbelieving, death-starkened eyes had stared in wonderment as the mist gathered, coalescing into something almost solid.
Out of that eerie fog, a bridge of many colors formed... a rainbow arch climbing, apparently without end, out of those places of horror into a moonless night. And from the heights, each doomed man and woman saw a dark-eyed figure on a flying horse. They felt him whisper inside their minds.
Come, children, while your tormenters blink and stammer in my web of the mind. Come, all, over my bridge to safety. Before my cousins descrie my treason.
When they sank to their knees, or rocked in thankful prayer, the figure only snorted derisively. His voice hissed within their heads.
Do not mistake me for your God, who left you here to die! I cannot explain that One's absence to you, or His plan in all this. The All-Father is a mystery even to Great Odin!
Know only that I will take you to safety now, such as there may be in this world. But only hurry! Be grateful later, if you must, but come!
Down to the camps, to bleak ghettos, to a city under siege, bridges formed in a single night, and vanished with dawn like vapor or a dream. Two million people, the old, the lame, women, children, the slaves of Hitler's war factories, climbed those paths -- for there was no other choice -- and found themselves transported to a desert land, by the banks of an ancient river, arriving just in time to take up hasty arms and save a British Army fleeing the wreckage of Egypt and Palestine. They fused with the astonished Persians, and refugees from crippled Russia, to build a new nation out of chaos.
After that night of miracles, Loki could not return to Europe. For the fury of his Aesir kin would be savage. Returning to Gotland, he was in as much peril as the commandos.
"No, Marlowe, you're wrong. I haven't any idea what on God's green Earth he is. But I'd bet my life Loki's not a spy."
The sabots gurgled and rocked, shooting free of the submarine and then bobbing to the surface of a frigid sea. Outer shells broke away and sailors dipped their oars. Men gratefully took their first breath of clean air in more than a day.
The dwarf seemed little relieved. Staring across dark waters to the west, where a reddish line of sunset outlined a great Baltic island, the creature muttered in a guttural language like nothing Earthly.
Which seemed natural. Like most Americans, Chris was convinced that these beings were as much the ancient Norse gods -- recalled into the modern world -- as he was Sandy Koufax, or that the Dodgers didn't play in Brooklyn.
Aliens -- that was the official line. The story broadcast by Allied Radio all through the Americas and Japan and what remained of Free Asia. Creatures from the stars had arrived, like in those stories by Chester Nimitz, the famous science fiction author.
It wasn't hard to imagine why they might want to be seen as gods. And it explained why they chose to side with the Nazis. The ruse wouldn't have worked in the West. No matter how great their guests' powers, Euro-American scientists would have probed and queried. People would have asked questions.
But in the Teutonic madness of Nazism, the "Aesir" found fertile ground.
Chris had read captured German SS documents. Even back in the thirties and early forties, before the arrival of the Aesir, they were filled with mumbo jumbo and mysticism -- stuff about ice moons falling from the sky and the romantic spirit of the Aryan super race. In a Nazi-conquered world the Aesir would be gods indeed. Like the logic of a rat or a hyena, Chris could see the aliens' reasons for choosing that side, God damn them.
Silhouettes of pines outlined hilltops, serrating the western sky. Two lead boats were crammed with marines, assigned to take the beach and move inland. Meanwhile, navy teams would prepare the boats for a getaway... as if anyone thought that would really happen.
The last two craft held Chris's demolition team.
Loki knelt on one knee at the prow of Chris's boat, staring ahead with glittering eyes. Dark as he was, he looked like something straight out of a Viking saga.
Good verisimilitude, Chris thought. Or maybe creatures actually believed they were who they said were. All Chris knew for certain was that they had to be defeated, or for humanity there would be nothing but darkness, from now on.
He checked his watch and looked up at the sky, scanning for starry openings in the clouds.
Yes, there it was. The satellite. Riding Newton's wings more than two hundred miles up, circling the globe every ninety minutes.
When it first appeared, the Nazis had gone into paroxysms, proclaiming it an astrological portent. For some unknown bureaucratic reason, officials in the Pentagon sat on the secret until half the world believed Goebbels propaganda. Then, at last, Washington revealed the truth. That American space-argonauts were circling the Earth. For two months the world had seemed turned around. This new technological wonder would be more important than the atom bomb, many thought.
Then the invasion of Canada began.
Chris turned his mind away from what was happening now, out in the Atlantic. He wished he had one of those new laser communicators, so he could tell the men up in the Satellite how things were progressing down here. But the light amplification devices were so secret, the Chiefs of Staff had refused to allow any to be taken into the enemy's heartland.
Surely the Nazis were working on a way to shoot down the Satellite. No one knew why, with aliens to help them, the enemy let their early lead in rocketry slip so badly.
Perhaps they can't operate in space anymore... like they haven't been able to crush our submarine forces.
But does that make sense? How could aliens lose the ability to destroy such a crude spacecraft?
Chris shook his head.
Not that it matters much. Tonight the Atlantic fleet is dying. This winter, we'll be forced to use our biggest bombs to hold the line in Canada... wrecking the continent even if we slow them down.
He looked at the figure in the boat's prow.
How can cleverness or industry or courage prevail against such power?
Those fur-covered shoulders were passive now. Loki had admitted to being one of the weakest of these "gods." But Chris had seen him tear down buildings with his bare hands.
"Loki," he said quietly.
As often as not, the Aes would ignore any human who spoke to him without leave. But this time the dark-haired figure turned and regarded Chris. Loki's expression was not warm, but he did smile.
"Thou art troubled, youngling. I spy it in thy heart."
He seemed to peer into Chris.
"It is not fear, I am glad to see, but only a great perplexity."
Fitting their assumed roles as the fabled lords of Valhalla, courage was the one human attribute most honored by the Aesir. Even by the god of trickery and treachery.
"Thank you, Loki." Chris nodded respectfully. You could've fooled me. I thought I was scared spitless!
Loki's eyes were pools glittering with starlight.
"On this fateful eve, it is meet to grant a brave worm a boon. Therefore I will favor thee, mortal. Ask three questions. These will Loki answer truthfully, by his very life."
Chris blinked, for the moment stricken speechless. He was unprepared for anything like this! Everyone from President Marshall and Admiral Heinlein on down to the lowliest Brazilian draftee had hungered for answers. Imperious and aloof, their one Aesir ally had doled out hints and clues, had helped to foil Nazi schemes and slow the implacable enemy advance, but he never made a promise like this.
Chris felt O'Leary tense behind him, trying to seem invisible in order to be allowed to stay and listen. For once the beatnik's mouth stayed firmly shut.
Pine forests loomed above them as the boat entered shallows out of the evening wind. He could smell the dark forest. There was so little time! Chris groped for a question.
"I... Who are you, and where did you come from?"
Loki closed his eyes. When he opened them, the black orbs were filled with dark sadness.
"Out of the body of Ymir, slain by Odin, poured the Sea.
"Gripping the body of Ymir, Yggdrasil, the great tree.
"Sprung from salt and frost, the Aesir, tremble Earth!
"Born of Giant and man, Loki, bringer of mirth."
The creature stared at Chris.
"This has always been my home, he said. And Chris knew that he meant the Earth. "I remember ages and everything spoken of in Eddas -- from the chaining of Fenris to the lies of Skrymnir. And yet ..."
Loki's voice was faintly puzzled, even hushed.
"And yet there is something about those memories... something laid over, as lichen lies upon the frost."
He shook himself. "In truth, I cannot say for certain that I am older than thee, child-man."
Loki's massive shoulders shrugged.
"But make haste with your next question. We are approaching the Gathering Place. They will be here and we must stop them from their scheming, if it is not already too late."
Reminded suddenly of the present, Chris looked up at the wilderness looming all around them on the shadowed hillsides.
"Are you sure about this plan -- taking on so many of the Aesir in one place?"
Loki smiled. And Chris realized at once why. Like some idiot out of a fairy tale, he had squandered a question in a silly quest for comfort! But reassurance was not one of Loki's strong suits.
"No, I am not sure, impertinent mortal!"
Loki laughed and the rowing sailors briefly lost their stride as they looked up at the ironic, savage sound. "Think thou that only men may win honor by daring all against death? Here does Loki show his courage, to face Odin's spear and Thor's hammer if he must, tonight!" He turned and shook a ham-size fist toward the west. The dwarf whimpered and crouched beside his master.
Chris saw that the marines had already landed. Major Marlowe made quick hand gestures, sending the first skirmishers fanning out into the forest. The second row of boats shipped oars and were carried by momentum toward the gravelly shore.
He hurried to take advantage of the remaining time.
"Loki. What is happening in Africa?"
Since '49 the Dark Continent had been dark indeed. From Tunis to the Cape of Good Hope, fires burned, and rumors of horror flowed.
Loki whispered softly.
"Surtur must needs have a home, before the time of raging.
"There, in torment, men cry out, screaming for an ending."
The giant shook his great head. "In Africa and on the great plains of Russia, terrible magics are being made, and terrible woe."
Back in Israel-Iran Chris had seen some of the refugees -- Blacks and high-cheeked Slavs -- lucky escapees who had fled the fires in time. Even they had not been able to tell what was happening in the interior. Only people who had seen the earlier horrors -- whose arms bore stenciled numbers from the first wave of chimney camps would imagine what was happening in the silent continents. And those fierce men and women kept their silence.
It struck Chris that Loki did not seem to speak out of pity, but matter-of-factly, as if he thought a mistake were being made, but not any particular evil.
"Terrible magics..." Chris repeated. And suddenly he had a thought. "You mean the purpose isn't only to slaughter people? That something else is going on, as well? Is it related to the reason why you saved those people from the first camps? Was something being done to them?"
Chris had a sense that there was something important here. Something ultimately crucial. But Loki smiled, holding up three fingers.
"No more questions. It is time."
They scraped bottom. Sailors leapt out into the icy water to drag the boat up to the rocky shore. Shortly, Chris was busy supervising the unloading of their supplies, but his mind was a turmoil.
Loki was hiding something, laughing at him for having come so close and yet missing the target. There was more to this venture, tonight, than an attempt to kill a few alien gods.
High in the dark forest canopy, a crow cawed scratchily. The dwarf, laden under enough boxes to crush a man, rolled its eyes and moaned softly, but Loki seemed not to notice.
"Reet freaking hideaway, daddyo," O'Leary muttered as he helped Chris shoulder the bomb's fuse mechanism. "A heavy-duty scene. "
"Right," Chris answered, feeling sure he understood the beatnik this time. "A heavy-duty scene."
They set out, following the faint blazings laid by their marine scouts.
As they climbed a narrow trail from the beach, Chris felt a growing sense of anticipation... a feeling of being, right then, at the navel of the world. For well or ill, this place was where the fate of the world hung. He could think of no better end than to sear this island clean of all life. If that meant standing beside the bomb and triggering it himself, well, few men ever had a chance to trade their lives so well.
They were deep under the forest canopy now. Chris caught sight of flickering movements under the trees, marine flankers guarding them and their precious cargo. According to prewar maps, they had only to top one rise, then another. From that prominence, any place to plant the bomb would do quite nicely. Valhalla would evaporate in flame.
Chris started to turn, to look back at Loki... but at that moment the night erupted with light. Flares popped and fitted and floated slowly through the branches on tiny parachutes. Men dove for cover as tracer bullets sent their shadows fleeing. There was a sudden gunfire up ahead, and loud concussions. Men screamed.
Chris sought cover behind a towering fire as mortars began pounding the forest around him. From high up the hillside -- even over the explosions -- they heard booming laughter.
Clutching the roots of a tree, Chris looked back. A dozen yards away, the dwarf lay flat on his back, a smoking ruin where a mortar round must have landed squarely.
But then he felt a hand on his shoulder. O'Leary pointed up the hill and whispered, goggle-eyed.
"Dig it, man."
Chris turned and stared upslope at a huge, manlike being striding down the hillside, followed by dark-cloaked, heavily armed men. The giant figure carried an enormous bludgeon which screamed whenever he threw it, crushing trees and marines without prejudice, exploding massive conifers into kindling and men into jam. Then, as if by a will of its own, the weapon swept back into the red-bearded Aesir's hand.
Not mortars, Chris realized. Thor's hammer.
Of Loki, there was no sign at all.
"There, there, Hugin. Fear not the dark Americans. They shall not hurt thee."
The one-eyed being called Odin sat upon a throne of ebony, bearing on his upraised hand a raven the same color as night. A jewel set in the giant's eyepatch glittered like an orb more far-seeing than the one he had lost. Across his lap lay a shining spear.
On both sides stood fur-clad beings just as imposing, one blond, with a great axe laid arrogantly over his shoulder. The other, red-bearded, leaned lazily on a hammer the size of a normal man.
Guards in black leather, twin lightning strokes on their collars, stood at attention around the immense hall of hewn timber columns. Even their rifles were polished black. The only spot of color on each SS uniform was a red swastika armband.
Odin gazed down at the prisoners, chained in a heap on the floor of the great.hall.
"Alas. Poor Hugin has not forgiven you Americans. His brother, Munin, was lost when Berlin boiled under your Hellfire bombs."
The Aesir chief's remaining eye gleamed ferally. "And who can blame my poor watch-bird, or fail to understand a father's grief, when that same flame deluge consumed my bright boy, my far-seeing Heimdallr."
Survivors of the ill-fated raiding party lay exhausted on the cold stone floor. Unconscious and dying, Major Marlowe was in no condition to answer, but one of the Free British volunteers stood, rattling his chains, and spat in front of the massive throne.
"Pearson!" O'Leary tried to pull on the man's arm, but was shrugged off as the Briton shook his fist.
"Yeah, they got your precious boy in Berlin. Like you killed everyone in London an' Paris! I say the Yanks were too soft, stopping there. They shoulda gone ahead an' fried every last Aryan bitch an' cub..."
His defiance was cut off as an SS officer knocked him down. Troopers brought their rifle butts down, again and again. Finally, Odin waved them back.
"Take the body to the center of the Great Circle, to be given full rites."
The officer looked up sharply, but Odin rumbled in a tone that assumed obedience. "We value courage, even in our foes. I want that brave man with me, when Fimbul-Winter blows."
Black-uniformed guards cut the limp form free as the chief Aesir chucked his raven under the beak, offering a morsel of meat. He spoke to the huge redhead standing beside him.
"Thor, my son. These other creatures are thine. Poor prizes, I admit, but they did show some prowess in following the Liar this far. What will thou do with them?"
The giant stroked his hammer with gauntlets the size of small dogs. He made even Loki seem small. Stepping forward to scan the prisoners, Thor seemed to be searching for something. When his gaze lighted on Chris, it seemed to shimmer. Thor's voice was as deep as the growling of earthquakes.
"I will deign to speak with one or two, Father."
"Have them cast in a pit somewhere," he told an SS general nearby, who clicked heels and bowed low. "Await my son's pleasure."
The Nazis hauled Chris and the other survivors away, but not before Chris overheard the elder Aesir tell his offspring, "Find out what you can about that wolf-spawn, Loki. Then give them over for ritual sacrifice."
Continue to 2.
David Brin is a scientist and best-selling author whose future-oriented novels include Earth, The Postman, and Hugo Award winners Startide Rising and The Uplift War. (The Postman inspired a major film in 1998.) Brin is also known as a leading commentator on modern technological trends. His nonfiction book -- The Transparent Society -- won the Freedom of Speech Award of the American Library Association. Brin's newest novel Kiln People explores a fictional near future when people use cheap copies of themselves to be in two places at once. The Life Eaters -- a graphic novel -- explores a chilling alternative outcome of World War II.
ALSO RECOMMENDED: [All items sold thru Amazon.com (a secure online store) help offset the cost of maintaining the site.] CONTENTS for THE RIVER OF TIME: DESTINY: RECOLLECTON: SPECULATION: PROPAGATION:
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The Loom of Thessaly
The Fourth Vocation of George Gustaf
Senses Three and Six
A Stage of Memory
Just a Hint
Tank Farm Dynamo
Thor Meets Captain America
The River of Time
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