He, more than anyone else in the universe, understood the seductive power of that vision. He would give anything to be that other Drake, kissing Ana in the quiet countryside. It was the siren call of the Shiva: Stay with me, and receive your heart's desire.

Drake tried to explain that to the others, but after a while he realized it was not working. They could not know the mind of the other Drake, and it was impossible for any of them to feel what he was feeling. They were merely asking more questions.

"How does it reach the planet in the first place?" Tom Lambert said.

"I don't know."

"Is that it, the whole thing?" said Mel Bradley. "You think the Shiva are nothing but little plants?"

"I don't know."

"And the planetary defense systems failing ..."

"And their spreading between the stars, between the galaxies. . . . How?"

"And moving more slowly where we didn't have colonies. . . ."

"And the failure of the lost colonies to send any sort of message. ..."

"I don't know." Drake was longing to terminate this meeting, so that he could enjoy the vicarious pleasure of Ana embracing his other self-even if it was nothing but illusion, he wanted it.

"You're missing the point," he, continued. "This doesn't prove that some spiky little silver plant is all there is to the Shiva. It doesn't tell us how the Shiva spread, or why. It doesn't say what happens to a world after they reach it. It tells us little about the Shiva themselves. But we still have a reason to celebrate. We've had a breakthrough. For the first time ever, we've been present on a planet when the Shiva took over. We've sent back information about what happened.

"We don't have an end. We barely have a beginning. Here's what we must do next. We must install organic copies of me on every planet along the front of the Shiva's spread."

Drake paused, realizing what he had just said. Those copies were going to disappear, every one of them. He was going to vanish, a million times over. But now there was a hope that some of the embodiments would not die. He might be transported to a personal Paradise-a dream life, but a perfect dream from which the copies might never waken.

"We also," he went on at last, "have to put arrays of independent sensors on every planet. We must install caesuras on or near each planet, ready to operate whenever a reality shift signals that the Shiva have appeared. We must install on a ship near the caesura the equipment to produce millions of identical copies of all data, with the equipment to feed those copies into the caesura at the first sign of trouble."

Equipment. That was one way to describe it. But the equipment would include copies of himself-and these copies, unlike the ones down on the planetary surface, were surely doomed.

"And when we've done all that"-Drake's gaze, beyond his control, was drawn back to the display; it showed his other self, still holding Ana in his arms- "when we've done all that, and we have recorded the information from a thousand or a million or ten million worlds, maybe we'll get what we need. Maybe we'll find a way to fight back."

Breakthrough.Drake had called it that, but it was the wrong word. No torrent of information flooded in from other worlds on the path of the Shiva expansion. No sudden insight explained everything.

What came was a slow dribble of isolated bits and pieces, an image here, a paradox there; confirmation of a hypothesis, a measurement of sizes and rates and masses, calculations of galactic geometry, the cross-correlation of events from a million worlds as they were absorbed into the Silent Zone.

Drake could not perform that analysis. It was far beyond him, calling for the combined analytical power of a trillion composites. All he could do was sit at headquarters and record the disappearance of each copy of his own self. There was always the possibility that a caesura would deliver a copy of Drake back to headquarters, along with the packets of acquired data; but it never happened.

Data collection and analysis continued; the arc of the Silent Zone spread its darkness farther across the face of the Galaxy; nothing seemed to change. But one day, a day that Drake saw as no different from any of the billion that preceded it, his assistants appeared un-summoned in the villa headquarters.

"Drake, we must talk." Milton had been appointed as the spokesman. The Servitor's physical form was the usual one, but now Drake detected a weariness and a discomfort, a gray translucency to the presence. The tangle of wires on the whisk broom were in constant agitation.

"I'm listening." Drake looked them over, Cass and Milton and Tom, Melissa and Par Leon and Mel Bradley. They all displayed that same uneasiness. "Bad news?"

"Yes," Milton said. "But not what you might be thinking. Every composite in the Galaxy has been in full superluminal connection for the past few days. We finally have an integrated picture of Shiva activities. It is an inference derived from many trillions of pieces of data, but we are convinced that it is a correct one."

"That doesn't sound like bad news. Quite the opposite."

"In many ways you are right; but it introduces . . . complications. First, let me summarize for you our understanding of the nature and actions of the Shiva. Much of this you may already know or have guessed. Some of your original conclusions were, if I may suggest it, wrong."

Milton paused, and Drake laughed.

"Don't worry about hurting my feelings. I've been wrong more often than you can imagine."

"But right more often than any other being in the Galaxy. Let me continue. The Shiva are living organisms, unlike any encountered before. They have four distinct phases to their life cycle. Two of those phases are capable of two different forms of reproduction. The first phase, which we will call the adult Shiva, is immobile and enormous-one full-grown specimen can measure two hundred kilometers across its base, and stretches high enough for its top to extend beyond the atmosphere of most planets. The adult is invulnerable to normal predator attack, because of its size, and also because it is protected by a second form. We will call this second form the warrior, although it acts aggressively only in defense of the adult. The warriors are one form of offspring of the adults.

"It is important to note that the adult, in spite of its size, can survive only in certain environments. Atmospheric oxygen and water vapor must lie within tight limits. Most worlds of the Galaxy do not come close to satisfying that requirement. We will come back to this question later.

"And one other point, perhaps an obvious one: an adult, because of its size, grows, lives, and dies on a single planet.

No Shiva adult can ever travel to another world.

"But when they achieve full size, the adults can send another form of offspring out into space. There is a mystery here-the propagation mechanism is not something as simple as dehiscence, an explosive projection of seeds.

However, let us use the analogy and call this phase a Shiva seed. The seed is tiny and light, nothing like the warrior, and once in space its movement is assisted by two factors: radiation pressure, pushing it away from the planet's primary, and the galactic magnetic field. Originally, the seeds may have propagated only to other parts of the home world; but billions of years ago they became an interplanetary and an interstellar traveler; eventually, an intergalactic one. We do not know where the Shiva originated, but it was not in our galaxy.

"The Shiva seed is enormously tough and durable, able to survive extreme environments and a multimillion-year passage through space. There is another mystery which still waits an explanation: the seed motion is not mere random drift. Movement is preferentially toward other stellar systems. In the final stages, that implies movement against radiation pressure."Most Shiva seeds must end their lives on barren planets, or burn up as they fall into stars; but there are enormous numbers of them. Some small fraction will meet a world and drift down through the atmosphere to a surface on which they can transform to the next stage of the life cycle.

"This stage we will call the worker, though analogy with Earth's social insects must not be carried too far. It would be just as good to call it a changer or a preparer. The worker, like the adult, is a sessile form incapable of movement. It is the plantlike entity that we saw long ago on Lukoris. Like the seeds, it is tough and robust. Workers thrive on worlds that would quickly kill an adult. They also propagate like plants, and they do so very fast.

"We have debated whether the worker or the adult should be considered the mature form of the Shiva, and decided that the question is meaningless. As in cryptogams, the ferns of Earth, two forms are alternating mature phases of a complex life cycle.

"Much more important, from the human point of view, is the worker's other function. It is able, through a combination of generated fields and chemical diffusion, to affect the behavior of native animals on a planet. You have argued that only intelligent beings could be affected by the Shiva, since they alone are able to consider an alternate reality. It was then natural to conclude that the worker form of the Shiva must be intelligent.

"We now believe that those deductions are false. In our own galaxy, before the spread of humans, life developed on a billion worlds. Only five of that great multitude of forms achieved self-awareness. A life-form that relied on the presence of intelligence on every planet that it reached would surely fail. Moreover, the worker is not itself intelligent, and thus can have no concept of intelligence. Unable to move, it must somehow achieve its objective while remaining in one place. The objective is simple: the planet must be changed from its initial state to one in which an adult Shiva can thrive. Then, and only then, will the worker advance to its second form of breeding and produce not more workers, but new adults. Those will in turn grow, mature, and allow the Shiva to reach new worlds.

"The workers employ the native life-forms on a world as the unwitting agents for planetary change. Their breeding, their numbers, and their patterns of behavior alter under the workers' control, to make the world suitable for adult Shiva habitation. Some native species will become extinct. Some will thrive, some will evolve to other forms. When the planet is ready, the adults begin their growth. The workers disappear. The life cycle begins again."

Milton fell silent. The wiry head began to writhe more furiously than ever.

"That's wonderful." Drake wondered what was not being said. "Once you understand something, it's much easier to stop it. The Shiva are vulnerable. We can destroy their seeds as they reach a planet, or kill the workers as soon as the plants appear. If I hear you right, humans don't suffer their changed perception of reality until the workers begin to operate."

"That is correct."

"So let's get going. There's plenty of work to do."

Milton sat silent, and at last Tom Lambert said, "A ton of work. But there are a few more things that we have to talk about. First, we've been thinking all the time of the Shiva as evil-as deliberate, calculating destroyers. That just isn't true. There was no malice involved, no plan to achieve destruction. Changing human perceptions, even making the colonies use the defenses that we installed against us, was an accident. We believe that the adult, form of the Shiva possesses some kind of intelligence and self-awareness, but the workers do not. They were simply doing what all life-forms do, trying to ensure their own survival and propagation. In the case of humans, Shiva propagation required the acceptance of a false reality that justified human actions."

"And, sooner or later, led to the human's death."

"True. But now that we know what's going on, we may find many ways to stop the Shiva. Peaceful ways. There will be no more wholesale destruction of our planets or theirs; no more firebreaks, devastating whole arcs of the Galaxy; no more use of the caesuras, casting ships and intelligences and worlds beyond the bounds of space and time. And there will be no need for certain other things."

And Drake, at last, saw what they were unwilling to tell him directly. "You mean, there will be no more need for me."

"Yes. The service that you have performed for us is too great ever to be measured. We are eternally in your debt.

When we thought that the Shiva were malicious and deliberately trying to destroy us, your presence and courage and mode of thinking were absolutely essential. Now, they are not. Of course, we would not suggest that you, or we, do anything at once. Many, many unknowns and potential difficulties remain. We hope that you will assist in their solution. But ultimately we see you as a hindrance to peaceful answers. You are too steeped in war, too much in favorof the crudities of combat." Tom Lambert ducked his head. "I'm sorry, Drake."

"That's all right." There was no point in explaining that he was not aggressive, that his instincts had always been toward peace. They would not understand. He had operated as commander in chief for many hundreds of millions of years. So far as the composites were concerned, a militant Drake had been summoned from electronic darkness to fight a battle, to rid the universe of the threat of the Shiva. And when that threat passed, Drake would be useless. Worse than useless-he would be an embarrassment, a source of violence, a reminder of the ancient and cruel ancestry of humanity.

"You don't need me now that the problem is solved and the war is ending, right? I understand, Tom. It's all happened before."

"It has?" Tom looked and sounded bewildered. "You have encountered a similar situation in the past?"

"Not me personally. But it's as old as human history. Remember the Pied Piper, and Tommy Atkins?"

They did not, and he didn't expect them to. There were blank looks on every face. Drake could imagine countless invisible composites, delving into fourth- and fifth-level storage, trying to make sense of his reference. Maybe they would find it; or maybe he alone held that particle of early human folklore. Either way, it didn't matter. His own next step was clear.

"You say that you're in my debt. I agree. So do something for me. Return me to electronic storage and let me remain dormant. Keep looking for new ways in which Ana might be restored to me. And wake me again only when you make progress."

Drake anticipated no problem with his request. But again, he saw hesitation and embarrassment in the other's eyes.

"What's wrong this time? Come on, Tom, spit it out."

"There is one more difficulty. You have always refused to become part of any composite."

"I still do. You know why. I didn't survive for eight billion years, just to lose focus now. I can't afford to become part of a shared consciousness. I want to stay me. Think what shape you would be in if I'd chosen differently."

"We appreciate that. We know that we cannot change your obsession. But what you ask is impossible. You already exist in multiple forms. As the spread of the Shiva is halted, many of those forms will survive. Someday, they will return."

And of course, Tom was right. Drake had become accustomed to the idea that billion after billion copies of his personality had been created and sent as S-wave signals across the Galaxy. He knew that they had been embodied in native forms on a hundred million planets, and set to watch and listen on a billion ships along the Shiva frontier. Those innumerable versions of himself would be changing, absorbing new experiences, becoming quite different from the Drake Merlin who remained at headquarters.

He had learned to live with the idea that he was dying, daily, in endless different ways. What he had never considered was the time when an understanding of the Shiva was reached, and all the scattered copies were no longer doomed.

As ways were discovered to deal with the Shiva, they would survive in increasing numbers.

"I get it. You can't handle one of me. How do you hope to deal with a billion?"

"We fear that we cannot. We want to ask your help- again. Many of the returning minds will be changed, many will be seriously damaged. You are the only being in the whole universe who can understand and help them. We will promise you unlimited resources from us, anything that we have, in performing your task. We ask only that you should avoid contact with our composites."

"You mean you want to lock me up, me and every version of me?"

"No. There would be no restriction of your freedom. You would travel as you choose, and act as you choose. The only condition that we ask is that there be a separation between us and you. You may find this ridiculous, but we fear your intensity-what is, quite literally, your single-mindedness in our universe of composites. If you agree, we promise in return continued research on the subject that most interests you: the return of Ana."

"Has there been progress?" Drake had hardly thought to ask that question in a hundred million years.

"Nothing of immediate value. It should be possible to re-create Ana at the eschaton, when the universe approachesfinal convergence. But that is far off. We promise to continue working on other possibilities, if you in turn will help us.

What is your answer? Will you deal with the copies of Drake Merlin, returning in their broken billions from the Shiva frontier?"

What option was there? How could a man turn his back on his own self-especially on a damaged and troubled self?

"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, send these, the homeless, tempest-tos't to me."

He spoke more to himself than to the others, and their baffled faces showed that again they didn't understand. Drake turned away. The composites were digging into the historical data banks, seeking a reference, wondering what he had just said.

He knew, even if they did not. He had agreed to do what they asked. The war with the Shiva might soon be ending, but his own most difficult task lay ahead.

Chapter 24.

E pluribus unum.

Trillions of bits, billions of pages; now it was all unnecessary. Drake surveyed the mass of storage that represented his private journal and reflected on a curious irony: The prospect of victory rendered his work irrelevant, as danger and defeat could not.

He had no cause to complain. He had known what was coming, the moment he said yes to Tom and the others in the War Room.

For all the years since first resurrection, he had kept strictly to himself. Originally it was because no one else understood his need or shared his quest for Ana. His solitude had seemed even more crucial when the Shiva appeared on the scene. His was the only consciousness in the Galaxy left over from humanity's early days, and he dared not become close to any composite-certainly, he could not consider a merger with the webs. He had even refused to share the contents of their data banks.

His obstinacy had caused trouble, a billion times over, but he had felt that he had no choice. Inefficient as it was to rely on others for most of his information, he must do it that way. He had to remain aloof. Someone must make the hard decisions. Someone had to be willing to sacrifice humans and composites and whole planets. No one but Drake would do that, and he dared not risk any dilution of his own will.

Drake glanced again over the long record of events. The composites must think that he had no heart and no soul; certainly, they believed he had no imagination. They could not see how else he was able to send out countless versions of himself, to face an uncertain end on the dark borders of the Galaxy.

They knew nothing of the effort that it had taken. And why should they? He had not said anything to them. He had done it, and that was the important thing.

When the Shiva were ascendant, it had been a oneway process. Copies of him had gone out and never come back. But no longer. One week ago, the first copy had returned. He had returned.

The composites urged him to study that copy well before he attempted contact with it. They were worried because his returning self had been through what they felt was a "traumatic experience." There were also, they warned, a hundred billion more like it on the way.

A traumatic experience? You might say so.

Drake had checked the background, and this case was probably typical. Downloaded and shipped out eight hundred thousand years ago, as a superluminal signal to a ship in permanent orbit about a planet of a faint star on the other side of the Galaxy. Taken down to the surface of that world and embodied in an enhanced alien life-form of increasedlife expectancy. Left there to survive, endure, observe, and await the arrival of the Shiva.

Except that this one had been retrieved, without warning. The Shiva seeds were to land soon on its world. The composites were making special preparations there, as on a hundred million other planets, and they did not want an uncontrolled element disturbing their plans. They feared that this being, like the others that would be retrieved, might have "major instabilities."

"Traumatic experience," "study it well," "major instabilities." Bland, aseptic words.

Didn't they understand that anyone left alone for a million years must have instabilities? Didn't they realize that Drake had no need to study the returning copy, that he understood it perfectly already? That whatever came back from the other side of the Galaxy was not it. What came back was him, Drake Merlin.

A different him, certainly. That must be so, because the revenant had unique experiences. But it was Drake, nonetheless. And the composites were right about one thing: the returning Drake needed help.

He had stood apart from all others for so long, it was an ingrained habit. But how could he hold apart from himself?

He could not.

So, at last, Drake Merlin would become part of a composite. This, however, was going to be a unique composite-every element of it would also be Drake.

He had no idea how it would work out. The returning selves had been scattered far off through space and time. He had long ago lost count of their number. Some would be maimed or incomplete versions of a whole Drake Merlin; some would surely be totally deranged. Perhaps they would unbalance the whole.

No matter what happened in the long run, at first it was going to be total chaos. Each one of him, without exception, was going to be different. Time and events produce changes in form, in perspective, even in self-image.

It would be his job to understand, to assimilate, and ultimately-if he could-to integrate every part to a single being.