"_He will need more than hatred_--" the deeper voice said. "_Even with us to aid him. And there is little time. Strip his memories from him now, so that he may not be weakened by them_--" "_May the gods fight with him._" "_But he fights the gods. The only gods men know in these evil days_--" The man awakened. Triphammers beat ringingly inside his skull. He opened his eyes and closed them quickly against the sullen red glow that beat down from above. He lay motionless, gathering his strength. What had happened? He didn't know. The jolting impact of that realization struck him violently. He felt a brief panic of disorientation. Where--? _I'm Derek Stuart_, he thought. _At least it isn't complete amnesia. I know who I am. But not where I am._ This time when he opened his eyes they stayed open. Overhead a broad-leafed tree arched. Through its branches he could see a dark, starry sky, the glowing, ringed disc of Saturn very far away, and a deeply scarlet glow. Not Earth, then. A Saturnian moon? No, Saturn didn't eclipse most of the sky. Perhaps the asteroid belt. He moved his head a little, and saw the red moon. _Aesir!_ The message rippled along his nerves into his brain. Stuart reacted instantly. His hard, strong body writhed, whipped over, and then he was in a half-crouch, one hand flashing to his belt while his eyes searched the empty silence of the forest around him. There was no sound, no movement. * * * * * Sweat stood on Stuart's forehead, and he brushed it away impatiently. His deeply-tanned face set into harsh lines of curiously hopeless desperation. There was no blaster gun at his belt; that didn't matter. Guns couldn't help him now--on Asgard. The red moon had told him the answer. Only one world in the System had a red moon, and men didn't go to that artificial asteroid willingly. They went, yes--but only to be doomed and damned. From Venus to Callisto spacemen spoke of Asgard in hushed voices--Asgard where the Aesir lived and ruled the worlds of Man. No spaceships left Asgard, except the sleek black cruisers manned by the priests of Aesir. _No man had ever returned from Asgard._ Stuart grinned mirthlessly. He'd learned a lesson, though he'd never profit by it now. Always before he'd been confident of his ability to outdrink anyone of his own weight and size. And certainly that slight, tired-eyed man at the Singing Star, in New Boston, should have passed out long before Stuart--under normal circumstances. So the circumstances hadn't been quite normal. It was a frame. A beautiful, air-tight frame, because he'd never come back to squawk. Nobody came back from Asgard. He shivered a little and looked up warily. There were legends, of course. The Watchers who patrolled the asteroid ceaselessly--robots, men said. They served the Aesir. As, in a way, all men served the Aesir. No sound. No movement. Only the sullen crimson light beating down ominously from that dark sky.