strength in them, the might of great sea kings.' For an instant his eyes flashed and there was fire in him. But then it flickered and he sighed, 'But that was long ago. Ragnarok, the Twilight of the Gods, has come and gone, and with it have gone the gods, the earth and the mighty people who believed in us. We lost, you know. We lost the great battle at the end of time. And new gods came with their own time and I'm all that's left and it's all because of you.'
"'Me?' says I.
"'You're the only one left,' he sighs, 'the only one who still remembers, who still invokes Odin.' Then he draws himself up to his full four and a half feet. 'Look at me,' he shouts. 'I slew Ymir, father of giants, and built the Earth from his carcass. I used to be somebody. Now you're all that's left and I have to follow you across the galaxy from one seedy dump to another. Look at this place. Aren't you ashamed? You're the last one, you half-heathen, and you refuse to die.' Now he was shrieking and sobbing and pounding on the bar.
"He was making me nervous. 'What can I do?'
"'You could buy me a drink,' he says.
"So I bought us a couple of drinks and he explained how I was the last person in the universe who had even heard of him and my belief, feeble as it was, was all that gave him substance and kept him from returning to Asgard and his wife and all the other old forgotten gods.
"We had a few more drinks and he was telling me all about what a great place Asgard was and how beautiful Frigg, his wife, was. So I asked him, what could I do, short of committing suicide, to help him?
"We had gotten to be pretty good friends by this time. I ordered another round and he explained that it's not so much the waiting that bothers him, he's used to that and one more lifetime isn't all that long after ten thousand years or so. But what does bother him is the travelling. I was a pretty active fellow in those days. What he really wanted to do was settle down in one place and kind of relax until he was able to disincorpulate himself and return to Asgard. He also said that by staying in one place, he could conserve the strength he had left and concentrate better on helping me, since I was his last subject, so to speak.
"Well, at that point I didn't much think I was going to be calling on him anymore anyway. I mean, it's one thing to call on a god that's big and powerful if you happen to get into a jam where nothing else seems to work. But how could I ever ask for help from this little shrimp. I mean, he was a nice guy but not my idea of a god.
"So I settled up and went my way and he went his. I haven't seen him since. For all I know, he's still back on that dumpy little planet, though I did give him enough to get himself off to someplace nice. I've been in a few tight places since then and I've thought about calling him, but hell, what good would he be? I don't think he's got a thunderbolt left in him."
Ohan sat completely befuddled by the tale, unable even to formulate an intelligent question about it.
"And it never occurred to you," said one of the twins from inside his bedroll, "that this god of yours might actually have been nothing more than a down-on-his-luck mythologist caging a few free drinks?"
"Certainly. That's why I looked him up at the first library I got to. Did I mention the fact that he only had one good eye?"
"No," said a twin. "You always save that for last. I suppose you had to force him to accept the money for his space fare."
"As a matter of fact I did. He was very reluctant to take it but even gods have to eat. Besides, I had just concluded a rather profitable deal with some businessmen there, recovered some people they had carried off by mistake. I gave the little old fellow a couple of credits."
He turned to Ohan. "Remember, lad, it never hurts to be nice to gods, no matter how shriveled up they are. Even half a thunderbolt might come in handy someday."
Ohan dreamed that night of little one-eyed gods riding horseback through the
"'Me?' says I.
"'You're the only one left,' he sighs, 'the only one who still remembers, who still invokes Odin.' Then he draws himself up to his full four and a half feet. 'Look at me,' he shouts. 'I slew Ymir, father of giants, and built the Earth from his carcass. I used to be somebody. Now you're all that's left and I have to follow you across the galaxy from one seedy dump to another. Look at this place. Aren't you ashamed? You're the last one, you half-heathen, and you refuse to die.' Now he was shrieking and sobbing and pounding on the bar.
"He was making me nervous. 'What can I do?'
"'You could buy me a drink,' he says.
"So I bought us a couple of drinks and he explained how I was the last person in the universe who had even heard of him and my belief, feeble as it was, was all that gave him substance and kept him from returning to Asgard and his wife and all the other old forgotten gods.
"We had a few more drinks and he was telling me all about what a great place Asgard was and how beautiful Frigg, his wife, was. So I asked him, what could I do, short of committing suicide, to help him?
"We had gotten to be pretty good friends by this time. I ordered another round and he explained that it's not so much the waiting that bothers him, he's used to that and one more lifetime isn't all that long after ten thousand years or so. But what does bother him is the travelling. I was a pretty active fellow in those days. What he really wanted to do was settle down in one place and kind of relax until he was able to disincorpulate himself and return to Asgard. He also said that by staying in one place, he could conserve the strength he had left and concentrate better on helping me, since I was his last subject, so to speak.
"Well, at that point I didn't much think I was going to be calling on him anymore anyway. I mean, it's one thing to call on a god that's big and powerful if you happen to get into a jam where nothing else seems to work. But how could I ever ask for help from this little shrimp. I mean, he was a nice guy but not my idea of a god.
"So I settled up and went my way and he went his. I haven't seen him since. For all I know, he's still back on that dumpy little planet, though I did give him enough to get himself off to someplace nice. I've been in a few tight places since then and I've thought about calling him, but hell, what good would he be? I don't think he's got a thunderbolt left in him."
Ohan sat completely befuddled by the tale, unable even to formulate an intelligent question about it.
"And it never occurred to you," said one of the twins from inside his bedroll, "that this god of yours might actually have been nothing more than a down-on-his-luck mythologist caging a few free drinks?"
"Certainly. That's why I looked him up at the first library I got to. Did I mention the fact that he only had one good eye?"
"No," said a twin. "You always save that for last. I suppose you had to force him to accept the money for his space fare."
"As a matter of fact I did. He was very reluctant to take it but even gods have to eat. Besides, I had just concluded a rather profitable deal with some businessmen there, recovered some people they had carried off by mistake. I gave the little old fellow a couple of credits."
He turned to Ohan. "Remember, lad, it never hurts to be nice to gods, no matter how shriveled up they are. Even half a thunderbolt might come in handy someday."
Ohan dreamed that night of little one-eyed gods riding horseback through the
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