It was then that the prickling sensation began within Malacar's mind, and Sandow dropped his own toward inertia, realizing that he could not withdraw undetected. He did not even curse, for there must be no emotion, no telltale reverberation of feeling. It must be as if he did not exist. No reaction, no response, whatever transpired. Even then ...
Peculiar sensation. Two telepaths regarding the same subject at the same time. One hiding from the other . .
Sandow passively noted an exchange between Shind and Malacar, learning in an instant their aims, their progress, reacting not at all. When the exchange had terminated, his mind moved once more, withdrawing, assessing. He brushed lightly against Jackara's mind, then shied away, almost stung by Shind's presence there now.
He withdrew another cigar, lit it.
Complicated, damn it! he decided. Searchers to the left, still far off, but moving this way. Malacar to the right. Shind liable to pick me up at any time if I am not careful. And somewhere up ahead, probably, my man ...
He began to move, slowly, then, paralleling Malacar and Jackara, out of reach of the man-sniffer, brushing lightly against the fringes of their minds, alternately, at half-minute intervals, beginning with Malacar, walking westward.
Let them find him and then take him away from them? he wondered. But they might not... Then ... No--
And then his questions became unnecessary.
Moving at a rapid pace, Morwin stumbled when he attempted an abrupt halt. He had mounted a rocky ridge somewhat in advance of Shind, and through the half-lit, eddying haze he had seen the man, thin, dark, staff in hand, standing unmoving, looking back. There was no doubt in his mind as to his identity, and he felt himself taken by confusion at this sudden presence. Recovering, he found that Shind was once more in his mind.
_That is our man! I am certain! But something is wrong. He is aware! He_--
Then Morwin clutched at his head, dropped back to his knees.
He had never heard a mental scream before.
_Shind! Shind! What is happening?_
_I-- I-- She's got me! Here_--
His mind swirling like the mists, there came a sudden series of superimpositions of images and colors, rising and mixing with a clarity and vividness which destroyed his ability to distinguish between that which was externally objective and that which was not. A changing blueness came to overlay everything, and in its midst a myriad of blue women danced, wildly, kaleidoscopically; and as he realized--for no rational reason--that their plurality was but some symbolic illusion, they began to collapse, coalesce, merge, fall in upon themselves, growing more and more stately, compelling, potent. It was then that he felt himself the subject of scrutiny on the part of the swaying women. And they resolved themselves into two: one, tall and soft and lovely, a madonnalike tower of compassion; the other, like yet unlike her in appearance, possessed of an aspect he could only consider menacing. Then these two merged, the countenance and mien of the latter growing dominant. Amid blue lightnings she stared with unblinking, perhaps lidless, eyes that stripped him in an instant of his flesh, his mind, that terrified him with their primal, irrational intensity.
"Shind!" he cried, and he had the gun in his hand, firing.
A wave of something like laughter washed over him.
Then, _She is using me!_ Shind seemed to be saying. _I-- Help me!_
The empty weapon slipped from his fingers. He felt himself in the midst of a dream, a cosmic nightmare. Moving without motion, thinking without thought, his mind twisted reflexively then and, as in all his workings with the stuff of dream, he seized the image and exerted his will. Driven this time by a terror that flashed like fire through the rooms of his existence, he found himself wielding a force he had never before possessed, striking out with it against the mocking woman-thing.
Her expression altered, all traces of amusement vanishing. Her figure dwindled, grew distorted, faded and returned, faded and returned. With each dimming he glimpsed the man, lying now upon the ground.
A painful wailing filled his head. Then it was gone, she was gone, and finally so was he.
"Stop!"
Malacar turned.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
"Nothing, now," she said. "But we are finished here. It is time to return to the vessel. We are leaving."
"What are you talking about? What is wrong?"
Jackara smiled.
"Nothing," she repeated. "Nothing, now."
As he regarded her, however, he realized that something _had_ changed. It took him several moments to sort his impressions. The first thing that struck him was her relaxed appearance. It occurred to him that he had never seen J ackara's features pleasantly animated, and that her posture, her entire bearing, had been stiff, tense, semi-military up until then. Her voice, too, was altered. In addition to having grown softer, throatier, it now possessed an unmistakable resonance of command, silken, seamless, resilient.
Still searching for the proper question, he said, simply, "I do not understand."
"Of course not," she said. "But you see, there is no reason to look further. That which you seek is here. The man von Hymack is useless to you now, for I have found me a better place. I like Jackara--her body, her simple passion--and I shall remain with her. Together now, we shall accomplish all that you desire. And more. So much more. You shall have your plagues, your deaths. You shall see the ultimate disease, life, healed by that which shall come to pass. Let us return to the vessel now and be borne to a populous place. By the time that we reach it, I will be ready. You will witness a spectacle which will satisfy even a passion such as yours. And this will only be the beginning--"
"Jackara! I have no time for jokes! I--"
"I am not joking," she said softly, moving nearer to him, raising her hand to his face.
She ran her fingertips up his cheek, bringing them to rest upon his temple. He was paralyzed then by the vision of carnage that swept through his mind. The dead, the dying were everywhere. The symptoms of disease after disease flashed before him, displayed on bodies without number. He saw entire planets rolling in the grip of epidemics, saw worlds stark and barren, emptied of life, their streets, homes, buildings, dead fields filled with corpses, bodies awash in their harbors, choking gutters and streams, bloated, decomposing. All ages and sexes were so strewn, like the aftermath of a killer storm.
He grew ill.
"My God!" he finally gasped. "What are you?"
"You have seen what you have seen, and still you do not know?"
He backed away.
"There is something unnatural here," he said finally. "The blue goddess Sandow said ..."
"How fortunate you are," she told him. "And I also. Your means are vastly superior to those of my previous acolyte, and we have common goals--"
"How did you come to invade the person of Jackara?"
"Your servant Shjnd was linked with her mind when I encountered her. She was preferable to the man I knew. I came over. It is good to have this sex again."
_Shi nd! Shind!_ he called. _Where are you? What has happened?_
"Your servants are unwell," she said. "But there is no need for them any longer. In fact, they must be left behind. Especially the man Morwin. Come! We will return to the ship."
But faintly, very faintly, like a dog scratching at a door, Shind touched his mind.
... _Right ... Sandow--was right... I have seen a mind -- beyond comprehension... Destroy--her_. .
Still shaken, Malacar fumbled at his holster ...
"Pity," she said. "It could have been pleasant. But I can go it alone now--and I fear that I must."