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Then Gudruda sang this song: "Up to Mosfell, battle eager, Rode helmed Brighteyen to the fray. Back from Mosfell, battle shunning. Slunk yon coward thrall I ween. Now shall maid Gudruda never Know a husband's dear embrace; Widowed is she sunk in sorrow, Eric treads Valhalla's halls!" And with this she walked from the stead, looking neither to the right nor to the left.
Then was heard the galloping of the horses of the riders of Muspelheim; then was heard the laughter of Loki; then was heard the blowing of Heimdall's horn; then was heard the opening of Valhalla's five hundred and forty doors, as eight hundred Champions made ready to pass through each door. Odin took council with Mimir's head.
"You know what the end will be." And she tossed the snarled threads to the third Norn. The third Norn took up the thread. Twisting and untying, she sang of the future. She sang of the downfall of the giants. She sang of the time when Wotan and his family would be no more, and bright Valhalla's halls would be only a ruin. "But, Sisters, look!" she cried. "The day is dawning. We must make haste!"
As Alan drew out his Tally and prepared to click off the start of a new day, he felt a strong hand firmly grasp his shoulder. "Morning, son." Alan turned from the viewscreen. He saw the tall, gaunt figure of his father standing behind him. His father and the Valhalla's captain. "Good rising, Captain." Captain Donnell eyed him curiously. "You've been up a while, Alan. I can tell.
And, below him, making its leisurely journey to Procyon, was the great golden-hulled bulk of the Valhalla, gleaming faintly in the black night of space. He reached for the controls of his ship radio. Minutes later, he heard a familiar voice that of Chip Collier, the Valhalla's Chief Signal Officer. "Starship Valhalla picking up. We read you. Who is calling, please?" Alan smiled.
The Valhalla's schedule had called for them to spend two days on Earth and then leave for Alpha Centauri with a load of colonists for Alpha C IV. A starship's time is always scheduled far in advance, with bookings planned sometimes for decades Earthtime by the Galactic Trade Commission.
Within the hour the flaming jets of the Valhalla's planetary drive had lifted the great ship from Earth. They had left immediately for Alpha Centauri, four and a half light-years away. The round trip had taken the Valhalla just six weeks. During those six weeks, better than nine years had passed on Earth. Alan Donnell was seventeen years old. His twin brother Steve was now twenty-six.
The seven thousand I paid for Steve is extra and above everything else. But you haven't won that bet yet. You haven't won it until the Valhalla's in space with you aboard it." The robot made signs of impatience. Hawkes said, "You'd better convoy your brother across the field and dump him on his ship. Save the goodbyes for later. I'll wait right here for you. Right here." Alan shook his head.
Leif stood motionless amid the tumult; looking upward with that strange absent look, as though his eyes would pierce the clouds that veiled Valhalla's walls and search for one beloved face among the warriors upon the benches.
"Well, I'm not sure," said he slowly, and descending to a graver tone of address "I'm not sure that I can go quite so far as that. If we had no war at all, perchance our swords might rust, and our skill, for want of practice, might fail us in the hour of need. Besides, how could men in that case hope to dwell with Odin in Valhalla's bright and merry halls?
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