The raft bobbed, whirled, fifty feet away. Too far. He saw the pale, small face, the pleading eyes. Fear welled in him, greasy and sickening.
Visions of death rose up, of his broken body bobbing below the falls, lying wax-white on a slab, sleeping, powdered and false in a satin-lined box, corrupting in the close darkness under the indifferent sod…
He took a trembling step back.
For an instant, a curious sensation of unreality swept over him. He remembered darkness, a sense of utter claustrophobia-and a white room, a face that leaned close…
He blinked-and through the spray of the rapids, his eyes met those of the doomed child. Compassion struck him like a club. He grunted, felt the clean white flame of anger at himself, of disgust at his fear. He closed his eyes and leaped far out, struck the water and went under, came up gasping. His strokes took him toward the raft. He felt a heavy blow as the current tossed him against a rock, choked as chopping spray whipped in his face. The thought came that broken ribs didn't matter now, nor air for breathing. Only to reach the raft before it reached the edge, that the small, frightened soul might not go down alone-into the great darkness…
His hands clawed the rough wood. He pulled himself up, caught the small body to him as the world dropped away and the thunder rose deafeningly to meet him…
"Excellency! I need help!" The technician appealed to the grim-faced dictator. "I'm pouring enough power through his brain to kill two ordinary men-and he still fights back! For a second there, a moment ago, I'd swear he opened his eyes and looked right through me! I can't take the responsibility-"
"Then cut the power, you blundering idiot!"
"I don't dare, the backlash will kill him!"
"He… must… talk!" Koslo grated. "Hold him! Break him! Or I promise you a slow and terrible death!"
Trembling, the technician adjusted his controls. In the chair, Mallory sat tense, no longer fighting the straps. He looked like a man lost in thought. Perspiration broke from his hairline, trickled down his face.
Again new currents stir in the captive, the Perceptors announced in alarm. The resources of this mind are staggering!
MATCH IT! The Egon directed.
My/our power resources are already overextended! The Calculators interjected.
WITHDRAW ENERGIES FROM ALL PERIPHERAL FUNCTIONS! LOWER SHIELDING! THE MOMENT OF THE ULTIMATE TEST IS UPON ME/US!
Swiftly the Ree mind complied.
The captive is held, the Calculator announced. But I/we must point out that this linkage now presents a channel of vulnerability to assault.
THE RISK MUST BE TAKEN.
Even now the mind stirs against my/our control.
Grimly, the Ree mind fought to retain its control of Mallory's brain.
In one instant, he was not. Then, abruptly, he existed. Mallory, he thought. That symbol represents I/we…
The alien thought faded. He caught at it, held the symbol. Mallory. He remembered the shape of his body, the feel of his skull enclosing his brain, the sensations of light, sound, heat-but here there was no sound, no light. Only the enclosing blackness, impenetrable, eternal, changeless…
But where was here?
He remembered the white room, the harsh voice of Koslo, the steel chair And the mighty roar of the waters rushing up at him And the reaching talons of a giant cat And the searing agony of flames that licked around his body…
But there was no pain, now, no discomfort-no sensation of any kind. Was this death, then? At once, he rejected the idea as nonsense.
Cogito ergo sum. I am a prisoner-where?
His senses stirred, questing against emptiness, sensationlessness. He strained outward-and heard sound; voices, pleading, demanding. They grew louder, echoing in the vastness:
"… talk, damn you! Who are your chief accomplices? What support do you expect from the Armed Forces? Which of the generals are with you? Armaments…? Organization…? Initial attack points…?"
Blinding static sleeted across the words, filled the universe, grew dim. For an instant, Mallory was aware of straps cutting into the tensed muscles of his forearms, the pain of the band clamped around his head, the ache of cramping muscles…
… was aware of floating, gravityless, in a sea of winking, flashing energies. Vertigo rose up; frantically he fought for stability in a world of chaos. Through spinning darkness he reached, found a matrix of pure direction, intangible, but, against the background of shifting energy flows, providing an orienting grid. He seized on it, held…
Full emergency discharge! The Receptors blasted the command through all the sixty-nine hundred and thirty-four units of the Ree mind-and recoiled in shock. The captive mind clings to the contact! We cannot break free!
Pulsating with the enormous shock of the prisoner's sudden outlashing, the alien rested for the fractional nanosecond required to reestablish intersegmental balance.
The power of the enemy, though unprecedentedly great, is not sufficient to broach the integrity of my/our entity-field, the Analyzers stated, tensely. But I/we must retreat at once!
NO! I/WE LACK SUFFICIENT DATA TO JUSTIFY WITHDRAWAL OF PHASE ONE, the Egon countermanded. HERE IS A MIND RULED BY CONFLICTING DRIVES OF GREAT POWER. WHICH IS PARAMOUNT? THEREIN LIES THE KEY TO ITS DEFEAT.
I/WE MUST DEVISE A STIMULATION COMPLEX WHICH WILL EVOKE BOTH DRIVES IN LETHAL OPPOSITION.
Precious microseconds passed while the compound mind hastily scanned Mallory's mind for symbols from which to assemble the necessary gestalt-form.
Ready, the Perceptors announced. But it must be pointed out that no mind can long survive intact the direct confrontation of these antagonistic imperatives. Is the stimulus to be carried to the point of nonretrieval?
AFFIRMATIVE. The Egon's tone was one of utter finality. TEST TO DESTRUCTION.
Illusion, Mallory told himself. I'm being bombarded by illusions… He sensed the approach of a massive new wave front, descending on him like a breaking Pacific comber. Grimly, he clung to his tenuous orientation-but the smashing impact whirled him into darkness. Far away, a masked inquisitor faced him.
"Pain has availed nothing against you," the muffled voice said. "The threat of death does not move you. And yet there is a way…" A curtain fell aside, and Monica stood there, tall, slim, vibrantly alive, as beautiful as a roe-deer. And beside her, the child.
He said "No!" and started forward, but the chains held him. He watched, helpless, while brutal hands seized the woman, moved casually, intimately, over her body. Other hands gripped the child. He saw the terror on the small face, the fear in her eyes Fear that he had seen before…
But of course he had seen her before. The child was his daughter, the precious offspring of himself and the slender female Monica, he corrected himself
- had seen those eyes, through swirling mist, poised above a cataract No. That was a dream. A dream in which he had died, violently. And there had been another dream of facing a wounded lion as it charged down on him "You will not be harmed," the Inquisitor's voice seemed to come from a remote distance. "But you will carry with you forever the memory of their living dismemberment…"