After a long life of absolutes, there was something refreshing about it.

"Limbo is just the same as it ever was!" Michael said.

"My dear archangel," Mephistopheles said, "if you rein in your passion for paradox for a moment, you can see that there's been a lot of change around here. Don't you notice all the building that's going on?"

"Oh, that, of course," Michael said. "But that's quite ephemeral. Underneath it's the same dear old Limbo." He peered in a westerly direction. "What are they putting up there?"

Mephistopheles looked in the indicated direction. "Didn't you know? That's the new Palace of Justice, where the judgment will be announced."

Michael peered at it. "It seems to be a most noble structure."

"It's certainly large enough," Mephistopheles said. "I understand quite a few guests have been invited from both sides. Even some humans, though that's quite unusual."

"Well, it seems only right," Michael said. "After all, it is their destiny being decided."

"So what?" Mephistopheles snorted. "The forces of Light and Dark never consulted mankind back in the good old days. We just told them the way it was going to be, and they had to like it or lump it."

"Science and rationalism have changed all that," Michael said. "It's what is called progress. A good thing on balance, I believe."

"Of course you believe that," Mephistopheles said. "What else could you say, given your predisposition to affirm?"

"And what else could you say but the contrary?" Michael asked.

"You've got a point there," Mephistopheles admitted. "We're both restricted in our viewpoints."

"Exactly. That's why we have Ananke to do the judging."

"Where is Ananke, by the way?"

"No one has seen her latest incarnation. Necessity has strange ways of conducting herself. And there's no use complaining about it. She just says it's Necessary, and never explains why."

"Who's that coming?" Mephistopheles asked.

Michael looked out across Limbo. Even with perfect vision, it took him a moment to bring into focus something as small as a man on the vast landscape of zilch.

"That's Mack the Club!" Michael said.

Mephistopheles looked. "Are you quite sure? That is the man I've been dealing with during this contest."

"Oh, it's definitely Mack," Michael said. "Is it possible that you made a mistake in Cracow, my dear demon? Has the wrong Faust been performing in your contest?" Mephistopheles looked again, and his lips thinned. His dark eyes seemed to smolder. Glaring at Michael, he said, "I seem to see a fine spiritual hand in all this!"

"You give me too much credit," Michael said.

Mephistopheles looked again. "That's definitely the fellow who's been doing the contest. Are you sure he's not Faust?" "Afraid not. His name is Mack, and he is a common criminal. I'm afraid you picked the wrong man to decide human destiny, my dear Mephistopheles."

"And you have picked the wrong devil if you think you can get away with this?"

Michael smiled but did not reply.

Mephistopheles said, "We'll settle this later. I must get down to the banquet hall. Darkside is catering the refreshments this time." He peered out across Limbo again. "Where is that fellow going?"

"Read the signpost. He is on the road to Heaven," Michael said.

"Really? I didn't know that was the direction to it!"

"It changes from time to time," Michael said.

"But why?"

"We of the forces of Good," Michael said with dignity, "try not to spend too much time asking why."

Mephistopheles shrugged. Together the two great spirits proceeded to the Palace of Justice.

CHAPTER 3

Azzie was strolling through the outer courts of the Palace of Justice when he came across Michelangelo himself. He recognized the painter from pictures he'd seen of him in art books at Demon U. Michelangelo was just putting the finishing touches on a gigantic fresco.

"Looks good," Azzie said, moving behind the painter.

"Would you mind getting out of my light?" Michelangelo said. "The working conditions are bad enough here without you making them worse."

Azzie moved. "It must be wonderful to create art."

Michelangelo sneered and wiped his sweaty forehead with a paint rag. "This isn't art. I'm just doing some touch-up on an old piece of mine."

"But you could do original painting if you wanted to, couldn't you?" Azzie asked.

"Sure. But in order to paint, a man must aspire, and what is there to aspire to after you've reached Heaven?"

Azzie had no answer because he'd never thought about it. Michelangelo returned to his work, and, watching him for a moment, Azzie thought he looked perfectly content.

Outside the great auditorium, in the circular corridors that surrounded the circular building, innumerable spirits were standing around, drinks in hand, eating hors d'oeuvres and talking. There were more spirits here than the place could hold, in fact, because every aethereal, indeed, the greater part of all sentient beings, had wanted to attend. The front office had come up with some new packing orders in an attempt to accommodate all. Even so, the concept of virtual space had had to be invoked, to the distaste of the purists who felt that either you're there or you're not there.

This was the big day, Judgment Day, the biggest event of the Millennium, the super Mardi Gras of the universe. It was time for everyone to get together with everyone else. Groups of spirits kept on arriving, looking around with awe at the Palace of Justice, then exclaiming, "Gee, so this is the place!" And then going on to somewhere else, usually the cafeteria, where for the most part they ordered light salads, because they didn't want to lose their appetite for the orgy that was promised if Bad won, or the feast that would be presented if the victor was Good.

All this noise and excitement was a change for Limbo. Limbo was usually a quiet place without anything much happening in the way of entertainment. The inhabitants of Limbo didn't expect much and were willing to live and let live. They tended not to make value judgments, since that was the sole stock in trade of the two adjoining principalities of Dark and Light. The Limboans sauntered along in their strange vague milieu, eating occasional absent-minded meals, making love in their inadequate way, having mediocre poetry readings and folk dance festivals of no great merit. Time was so eventless here that nobody bothered to keep it.

The lack of seasons also contributed to the monotony. And now all of a sudden they were hosting the contest of the Millennium. It just went to show you could never tell.

CHAPTER 4

In the great assembly hall, the central point of the Palace of Justice, all was in readiness for the great event. The audience sat in long curving rows chatting to each other, but for the most part sitting quietly, except in the sections marked for virtual reality, where myriads of onlookers were shuffled in and out at close to the speed of light, so that everyone who wanted to could see the performance without appreciable delay.

And yet, one thing wasn't right. Ananke hadn't shown up.

No one had any doubt that the great goddess Necessity would reveal herself when she was ready, and that she would choose what she considered a suitable vehicle in which to do so. But who would it be?

Expectations in the audience ran high, and people kept on craning their necks around hoping to catch the transformation. But even these knowledgeable ones were surprised when Marguerite, sitting by herself in a back row, suddenly arose as two friars, one blind, the other mute, came down the aisle with their staves tapping, walking directly toward her.