"I mean, what you're saying sounds very much like the old idea of 'I think, therefore I am.' "

"Not quite. It's 'I feel' instead of 'I think.' And the 'therefore' isn't necessary."

"I feel I am," murmured Myali thoughtfully. Dunn sensed the warmth of her approval glowing in his mind. For a moment he experienced such intense happiness that it seemed as if his chest would burst. Hecould think of nothing else to do, so he started to whistle.

The black-robed figure stopped dead in its tracks. Leaning slightly forward, it cupped a hand to its ear, listening intently to catch a new sound amidst the drip, drip, drip of the rain. A whistling, something like a lizard's but more complex. Puzzled, he continued standing there, tense and alert. Could the Triple One be whistling? In this rain? Knowing he was pursued? It seemed the height of foolishness, but there also seemed to be no other explanation.

The sound came from ahead and to his right, farther to the east. How had he failed to notice the trail?

He had to have crossed it, since he'd been coming from the east in search of the creature that had given him the slip once already.

He began to move, swiftly, silently, in the direction of the strange being he pursued. Ah! Ah! Yes!

There, the subtle, confused aura of the Triple One's mind. Yes. A thrill of antic.i.p.ation ran through him.

Ready! Almost ready! The Triple One was becoming, and rapidly! The Mind Brothers could sense the change. They were hungry and eager!

Suddenly he paused again. What was that? He probed ahead. Another mind? And Mind Brothers already there? Not feeding? Dismayed, he shook his head back and forth for several moments in indecision.

Finally he decided and began moving again. Three minds or four, it made no difference. The Mind Brothers were hungry. His sword was sharp and swift. There would be feeding, interesting feeding. And soon.

The Ronin's picked him up again, Father. I'm paralleling them both about fifty yards to the west.

Is the Black Robe dangerous or only curious?

He's deadly.

Dunn must not die before he reaches me, Josh. I know, Father. But I can't help wishing ...

Don't wish. Act. The Ronin must be stopped.

Yes, Father.

The brown-robed figure stepped unexpectedly from behind the tree, directly into the path of the Ronin. With a hissing intake of breath, the black-clad creature stopped short.

They stood facing each other without moving. Their bodies appeared relaxed and at ease, their eyes locked tightly in mutual appraisal. For several moments the motionless tableau continued while the rain fell between them.

Then with a cry and a swirl of black, the Ronin sprang forward, his sword leaping from its sheath in an overhead cut. His opponent was simply not there when the blade descended. At the last possible instant he spun out of the way to the right. Now his own sword was out, held firmly in front in on-guard position, the point aiming directly at the Ronin's throat.

The killer attacked again with a flurry of blows directed at Josh's head and neck and wrists. All were parried effortlessly and no attempt was made to counter.

Seeing that the brown-robed man didn't attack, the Ronin paused and stepped back a pace, out of striking range. "This unit carries Mind Brothers," he hissed. "This unit wants something. What is it?"

"Hunt other game. The Triple One must not be harmed."

The Ronin snorted. "The Triple One is Totality's. This unit has followed him for many miles waiting for him to become. Now he is almost ready. The Mind Brothers are anxious. Step from my path."

Josh did not move.

The Ronin shrugged. "Then die," he said and flung himself at Josh again. Two slashes at the head were followed by a sweeping cut for the chest which actually sliced the material of the brown robe. Josh parried and countered in earnest now, realizing this fight was to the death. Ronin were capable of reason, but only up to a point. Push beyond that point and there was nothing left but to kill them. Or be killed.The Black Robe was a seasoned fighter. Josh had fought men this good before and triumphed, though he bore the scars of one of those battles. He blocked a head cut and countered with a slash at the killer's neck. The Ronin parried and thrust for his throat. Josh knocked the blade aside and lunged forward, aiming for the wrists.

Disengaging, the man in black began to circle his brown-robed adversary warily, looking for an opening. Josh's sword followed him smoothly. As he turned, however, the tip of his blade dipped down ever so slightly. Instantly the opponent was leaping in, slashing for the head. Without a moment to spare, Josh met the attack and returned it with a cut at the Ronin's head. The swordsman simply stepped back again, out of range.

So, Josh thought, he wants an opening and likes head attacks. And is good at them, he added, remembering the man's speed. A plan formed in his mind. Give him the opening by lowering the sword tip. Then when he comes for it, step in and thrust for his throat. A good plan, if only the man wasn't so fast. His speed, though, made it risky.

A few more pa.s.ses and Josh decided it was time to finish the whole thing. He could feel his own growing exhaustion and the ground was becoming slippery and churned up with their maneuvering. Soon it would become too sloppy for sure footing and chance might decide the whole thing.

Suiting action to thought, he lowered the tip of his sword as he stepped. The Ronin was in like a flash, sword sweeping down for Josh's head. But rather than blocking, the young man moved forward, his sword thrusting out as he straightened his arms, heading for the exposed throat of his enemy.

At the last moment, his rear foot slipped in the mud and the blade hit low, striking the Ronin in the right shoulder. Halfway through his own attack, the killer saw what was happening and threw himself backward in a frantic attempt to escape. As a result, his own blow went awry and sliced downward short of its objective and off to the right side.

With a sickening thunk, the blade smashed into Josh's upper arm. As he went down, driven by both the blow and his own loss of balance, the young man ripped his blade out of his opponent's shoulder.

Hitting the ground with a soggy thud, he looked up to see the Ronin's blade raised for another, final stroke. Without thinking, he thrust upward, catching the man in the lower stomach with the tip of the blade and ripping him open until the tip stopped, wedged in his sternum. The Ronin's guts cascaded out, spewing across Josh, as the man crumpled, lifelessly following them to the ground.

Stopped him, was all Josh managed to send before he blacked out.

The spy twisted his mind again and Dunn collapsed into the mud with a grunt of pain. His head was reeling, his vision blurred and distorted.

"Get up, Dunn," Myali urged. Trying to respond, he surged groggily to his feet. "Don't think I can beat 'im," he muttered. "No way to protect myself. No way to fight back. He's inside. Can't touch 'im."

"Try, Dunn," she coaxed. "You've got a chance. And now that you 're beginning to understand, it's more important man ever for you to fight. You can't let him win or it will all be for nothing."

"Gotta try. Yen." He stood, swaying gently with exhaustion. The fight with the spy was finally in the open. Dunn had refused to continue on toward First Touch, refused to complete the mission. The spy had struck and struck hard, slamming at his mind with a force even Dunn, who had already felt his power before, had not expected. But even though he'd known he had nothing to equal the strength of the spy, he'd fought anyway. And been knocked down once, twice, three times.

His body ached in a hundred places. His mind felt like it was on fire. Pain dulled his senses and made him stagger with every step. Fight, he ordered himself. Fight what? he asked. My own mind? How?

The spy sneered. "You have no hope, Dunn. You cannot beat me. Even with the help of these mental constructs you have created, you are no match for me. I am your conditioning, the core that was placed in an empty mind to give it shape. You will conform to your conditioning and complete the Mission."

"No, not the core," Dunn mumbled. "Not core. I'm core. Dunn."

"There is no core. There is only me. These continual aberrations will cease once and for all. This time I intend to stamp them out permanently. We will arrive at our target late this afternoon and you will be in complete compliance by that time."

Dunn spread his legs to steady himself. "I'm the core. You're wrong. Maybe I can't beat you, but I'lltry. Tired of being pushed around. Time to push back."

The spy laughed. "With what? You have no weapon but the laser wand, and that will not work against me. Unless you intend to perform brain surgery on yourself! You are helpless, Dunn. Helpless and hopeless. You can only fight me with your mind. And I control your mind. You will comply with your programming." He began to squeeze again, slowly applying the pressure. "You will comply."

Gasping in pain, Dunn went to his knees. "Hold on," Myali urged, her voice fading in his agony.

"Uh-uh," he grunted. "Spy's right. Can't fight." The pressure mounted. "Too strong. But I'm the core. The core ... must ... endure..."

With a final twitch of blinding anguish, Dunn fell forward and smashed into the ground.

Father Kadir watched silently as the lone, mud-spattered figure slowly climbed through the late afternoon sun to where he sat at the top of the mound. Even from a distance, he could see how the man's shoulders drooped wearily, how his steps dragged in exhaustion. A wave of sorrow swept over him. So this is how our fathers use their fellow men, he thought. The wave swept on and he watched and waited.

"a.n.a.lysis indicates that is the Way-Farer, Dunn. Obtain positive identification before commencing action. Hate him. He is evil, a danger to our race. The Way-Farer seeks to destroy you and all like you.

He is the greatest threat the Power and Earth have ever known. He must be killed. Hate him."

"I hate," Dunn mumbled in reply.

The spy squeezed his mind. "You hate him."

"Uhhhh. I hate him."

"Kill him, Dunn. Kill him."

Now he could see the man's face distinctly. It was suffused with fatigue and pain. The eyes were hollow and gla.s.sy, the mouth constantly alternating between slackness and a grimace of anguish. He was breathing heavily, sucking in great gulps of air, even though the climb wasn't long or steep. Occasionally the man's whole body would shake or twitch as if struggling against some invisible bonds.

Closer yet. He could see the sweat pouring off the man's brow. His fingers were like claws. Father Kadir sensed an aura of intense suffering flowing from the approaching figure. Here, he thought in wonder, is a struggle that makes ours fade into insignificance. For the battle being waged in that man's soul is the Final Fight, the Ragnarok of being. And he fights it totally alone.

Or is he alone? Where has Myali gone? And the other one Josh spoke of?

The sitting figure rose calmly as Dunn shuffled up. "Father Kadir?" he managed to croak out. The man nodded.

"Kill him! Kill! Kill!" screamed the spy.

Dunn reached into the front pocket of his robe. His fingers closed over the smooth shape of the laser wand. He began to pull it out, flicking the activate switch.

Father Kadir smiled at him warmly. "Welcome home, Seeker," he greeted softly. "Welcome home."

"Now, Dunn!!!"

PART THREE.

The most difficult learning is to come to know actually and to the very foundations what we already know.

-Martin Heidegger.

XI.

Bishop Thwait looked up from the brain-scan readouts that lay spread across the table in front of him. The young woman in the chair was stirring. Coming back to consciousness already? He checked the clock on the wall. A good twenty minutes too early.

Her eyes snapped open and he found himself caught in her stare. No confusion of an awakening mind here, he judged. No disorientation. No worry. No fear.With an effort he pulled his eyes away from hers and began to study the readouts once more, purposely ignoring her. Even as he did it, he knew he'd made a mistake and given her a victory. d.a.m.n it, he silently cursed. I'm letting her throw me off balance. Stubbornly refusing to let her know he recognized her tiny triumph, he continued to peruse the charts spread across his table.

Fascinating. The girl's brain was well within the human norm as far as size and general structure were concerned. Yes, he decided, well within. Except for a few structural oddities. He traced one with his finger. There to there. A group of neurons that led from the a.s.sociation areas of the frontal and temporal lobes in both hemispheres to the limbic system. A whole bundle of neurons, actually. Enough to be considered a separate structure, a corpus, or perhaps even a lobe. "Corpus Thwait" he tentatively named it.

The other anomalies were scattered, seemingly at random, across the cerebral cortex. They consisted of groups of neurons attached to each other in what seemed to be a closed feedback loop. Only one cell in each group had a dendrite that connected outside the loop to other neurons.

Is the girl unique? he wondered. Or are these strange structures typical of the people of this planet?

And if they're typical, what are their functions? Do they even have functions? Could they merely be random mutations caused by the higher than earth-normal level of radiation their sun puts out? Was it possible that...

"Anything interesting?" the girl asked. Thwait looked up. He'd almost forgotten her in his fascination with the data. Once again her eyes caught his and held them. Again, more slowly and distinctly, she said, "Anything interesting?"

"I understood you the first time," he answered in an irritated tone. "Your accent is strange. Long vowels, clipped consonants, but the speech is still Basic even after eight hundred years. Surprisingly pure, actually. I would have expected far more drift, given the isolation in which your culture has developed."

He stopped and frowned. The calmness of the prisoner bothered him. It wasn't right. She should be totally confused and disoriented. She'd been unexpectedly s.n.a.t.c.hed from her home planet, probably raped by Chandra, knocked out with sedatives, and undergone transfer. The subsonics alone should have her at the edge of hysteria. Yet there she sat, strapped into the chair in the Room, calm and collected, acting for all the world like she was right at home.

He pushed his chair back and stood up abruptly. The woman annoyed him. It was time to take command of the situation and begin the oral interrogation. He leaned forward on the table, his fingertips touching its surface, and demanded harshly, "Who are you?"

"Myali w.a.n.g," she responded mildly.

"What is the name of your planet?"

"Kensho."

"Does the name have any significance?"

"It refers to one of the stages of Enlightenment."

"Ah, a Zenist term."

"I a.s.sume so. Admiral Nakamura gave it the name and he was a Zen Master."

"You know of Admiral Nakamura?"

"Of course."

So, the Bishop thought, they haven't lost their history. Which means there was no major break in their culture-and that they've had eight hundred years to develop it! Keeping our presence hidden might have been the correct tactic after all. And Thomas's headstrong desire to go in with his guns blazing could well have led to exactly the kind of disaster I feared. Eight hundred years!

Since the girl was being so cooperative, Thwait decided to soften his tone. It was possible he'd learn more by being friendly.

"Ah, my child," he began, "I imagine you're wondering what all this is about."

"Yes."

"To be walking through familiar countryside one moment, and the next to wake up, strapped into a chair in a strange room with an unknown man asking you questions, all that must make you wonder."

"Yes.""Well..." He paused, unsure of how to continue. Her reaction was not what he had hoped for or expected. She seemed too calm, too sure of herself. For a moment he wondered if she really had been unconscious the whole time. Then the thought struck him that perhaps she already knew exactly where she was and what was going on. But both ideas were so preposterous that he immediately rejected them, disgusted with himself for even thinking them. Data, Andrew, he reminded himself. Data, not fantasies.

"Well," he repeated, "I am Bishop Andrew Thwait of the Power. And you are on a scout ship of the imperial fleet. We are here to re-establish contact between this colony and Earth."

She nodded. "So. Yes. I understand. That explains why you are here. But it hardly explains why I am here." She looked down at the bonds that held her to the chair, then back up at him with a slight smile.

"The bonds are a precaution," he said stiffly.

"Against me?"

"Against unexpected occurrences."