Stormont sent the sim-men on ahead, while he and Shader hid in the shadows, behind the cluster of rocks at the far side of the glittering plain that separated the hilly lands from the Stronghold. Stormont watched through the binoculars as the sim-men crept forward, each one a bundle of energy mocked up to look like a human figure. He realised that they glowed faintly in the half-light of the plain. "The Multiple Man, within our grasp at last," Shader crowed. "If we can get our hands on him, we may find out where Rorn is skulking." "Skulking?" Stormont enquired mildly. "I'd hardly call it skulking when he controls half the Galaxy - a good proportion of it wrested from mankind." Shader nodded, a scowl on his dark features. "True enough," he conceded, "but he doesn't give us a chance. He hides away, letting his pawns do all the work. Why, we don't even know what he looks like. All we have to go on are vague rumours and a few mocking curses spat at us by various henchmen that we've run down, before they suicided." Stormont nodded. "Yes, it's a pity about that," he said wryly. "That's why we must get the Multiple Man, alive." "The sim-men are almost at the Stronghold walls," Shader muttered, tension evident in his tone. "Getting inside is another thing, though," Stormont pointed out, "and capturing the Multiple Man alive yet another. He's one of the trickiest we've come across yet. I've searched for two years to track him down here and now I've got him run to earth I don't intend to miss the chance." As he spoke he saw that the first of the sim-men had reached the base of the Multiple Man's stronghold. Fearsome walls of energy now loomed before them, glittering, pulsing walls that stretched up towards the sky. The first of the sim-men put out a hand and touched the wall. A blue flash seared across the glittering plain and the sim-man's image vanished. "Too much for him," Shader cursed. Stormont nodded. "I thought it would be," he said. "I didn't imagine that our quarry would be imperfectly defended. Still, at least that tells us the precise strain that those walls are capable of taking." Shader looked interested. "And what is it?" he enquired. Stormont scratched his chin. "We could hurl a small asteroid at them and they'd hold," he stated. "We haven't the equipment to move anything larger. We'd burn out Ship's power source. I'd like to send back to base for a bigger ship, but by the time that it arrived our friend in there might have something else cooked up." A silence settled. "So ...?" Shader enquired at last. "So force is out," Stormont said. "We'll have to use cunning." His companion looked decidedly unhappy. "Well, a surprise attack is out," he muttered. "The Multiple Man certainly knows that we're here by now." "I'd be most disappointed in him if he didn't," Stormont agreed. "Still, I'll try a feint. Set the sim-men up for an attack. Maximum strength. Who knows, we might even get through if his defences fail at a critical moment." Shader spat into the dust. "If," he said ironically. "That's a little word, but it means a helluva lot." He glanced around nervously. "Aren't we a little near if there's going to be a fight. I'd feel safer back with Ship." Stormont flipped a switch on the armband of his suit. "Ship," he called, "do you hear me?" "Yes, ," a voice crackled back. "What do you wish?" "There's going to be a battle over by the Stronghold," Stormont said. "Get aloft, ready to cover us in case of trouble." "Very well, " Ship replied. A moment later, there was a vague rumble in the distance and a silvery shape appeared over the horizon. It leapt towards them with astonishing swiftness and stopped directly overhead. "All right?" it queried. "Fine," Stormont said. "Would you care to start things off for us, Ship?" "Just tell me what you want done," Ship said. Stormont thought that he detected a note of excitement in its voice that shouldn't have been there by rights. Still, at a time like this a little enthusiasm might be welcome. Just as long as it didn't get out of hand. "Fire a bolt at the lower north wall," Stormont ordered, adjusting his flare- goggles. "Maximum strength, but be careful and watch out for retaliatory measures." "You've got it," Ship said. It shot off towards the Stronghold. Down, down it swooped, becoming a long silvery blur against the deep blue of the planet's sky. Just as it seemed that it must crash into the forcewall of the Multiple Man's stronghold it swerved, banking sharply, at a rate of Gs that no human being could have withstood, even in an acceleration field. The manoeuvre was over so swiftly that to Stormont's watching eyes it all merged into one fantastic blur. He did, however, see the flaming violet bolt of energy that Ship loosed just before it swept past the Stronghold walls. The energy projectile splashed against the barrier of force in a crackling, coruscating display of fire and conflicting energies. For just a second, that portion of the Stronghold wall dulled, as if the defences were about to give way, but then they brightened again. A strong smell of ozone hung above the glittering plain. "Damn, we almost had him then," Shader cursed. "Never mind," muttered Stormont. "Now we'll send in the sim-men, on a mass attack. I'm hoping that the Multiple Man will take them for real human beings." "His instruments will tell him the truth," Shader said unhappily. "The sim-men are supposed to be able to fool any instrument yet devised," Stormont corrected. "Let's hope that our friend in there hasn't devised a few more." He depressed a second button on his armband. At the electronic signal the simulated men moved forward en masse, over two hundred of them, fearsome creatures of energy mocked up to look like flesh and bone, blood and sinew. Stormont watched them carefully as they reached the shadows at the base of the Stronghold. "If he's going to try anything it should come about now," the agent stated, peering at the glowing Stronghold. Even as Stormont spoke the first of the Multiple Man's defences came into operation. But it was not directed against the cluster of sim-men, huddled at the base of the wall. Instead, a red flame leapt from the highest rampart of the castle and flashed upwards into the sky at the speed of light, until it vanished across the horizon. "He's sent one after Ship," Shader muttered. "It is all right," Ship's voice crackled over Stormont's receiver. "He missed me by a mile. He'll have to be quicker than that." "Return to us," Stormont rapped. "Hover. We might have to get out quickly if things go awry." As the ship complied, Stormont's attention was diverted by a new development at the Stronghold. The line of sim-men were clustering together at the base of the walls when thin beams of white light flickered amongst them. What happened next might have been amusing had the agents not been in the process of hunting down a deadly enemy. As the beams touched the energy bundles that were the sim-men a grim wrestling match ensued. The white beams seemed to possess a life of their own as they grappled with the energy men. Together they rolled about on the plain before the Stronghold, a flickering, flaring mass. Occasionally a sim-man lost out to the ravening forces opposing him and his body appeared to implode as its energy was absorbed by the beam. In other conflicts the sim-men were the winners and the energy beams paled to nothingness as the forces that drove them were neutralised. On balance the sim-men seemed to be winning more fights than they lost, but it was a costly victory. Slowly, steadfastly, they inched their way towards the entrance to the Multiple Man's stronghold. Inside that colossal edifice of force there was a vast auditorium. Three hundred feet high and a quarter of a mile in radius, it took up nearly half the volume of the entire Stronghold. Seats, in banks and tiers, stretched around the circumference of the huge hall, thousands of seats, tens of thousands. Every one of the seats was filled. Looking around the hall, at the serried ranks of gathered faces, one might first have likened them to a waiting audience at some colossal rally back on Earth. Then a nagging doubt would have entered the observer's mind as he studied the faces more closely, passing quickly from one set of features to the next, until at last he would have been unable to avoid the incredible conclusion. Every one of those faces was the same! These thousands of faces, thousands of bodies, were the Multiple Man. Each of the strangely convoluted brains inside the thousands of skulls was linked to the others telepathically to form a weird gestalt mind. Yet this creature was but one of a Galaxy- wide network of agents, pawns of the cosmic intelligence that mankind knew only as Rorn. The Multiple Man, mighty as he was, was only a key to the stranger secret of the forces opposing humanity, and now he was annoyed. Annoyed and worried! There was a vast sucking noise as each of the Multiple Man's thousands of bodies drew in a sharp breath simultaneously. The messenger of Rorn had arrived! In the centre of the open space at the middle of the auditorium hung a quivering globe of yellow light. A beam shot out from the globe and swept the gathering. "What news?" it asked, though it did not speak audibly, nor make any sign. Nor did it employ telepathy. It simply communicated as though it were plugged directly into the Multiple Man's gestalt brain. A rumbling arose from the Multiple Man. "None that is good," he conceded. "My latest estimate is that the agents will break through in less than an hour." "Then?" queried the globe. "Then I shall have to try and fight a guerrilla battle in the halls of my Stronghold. My chances of success are only forty per cent." "So that the likely result will be your disorganisation?" (Did a shudder run through the Multiple Man's ten thousand bodies?) "Yes," he replied. "I will tell Rorn," the globe communicated. The discussion was at an end. There was no question of the Multiple Man requesting aid in his fight. Each of Rorn's agents fought their own battles and won or lost by their own endeavours. There was no other way that it could be. The yellow globe departed. It seemed to implode, although its departure did not take place in the space-time continuum as we know it. In fact the implosion took place in a space six dimensions higher than those which we know. Nevertheless, it left, and the Multiple Man was in sole control of his Stronghold once more. If he was victorious in his fight then he would notify Rorn's messenger of the fact. If he lost, then Rorn would still know. Rorn knew everything that went on in the Galaxy. Naturally! Stormont nibbled uneasily at his lower lip as the sim-men blasted away at the walls of the Stronghold. One sim-man at a time wasn't able to penetrate the energy barrier - that much had been proven earlier. Therefore, the agent was utilising a new technique. Fifteen sim-men flowed into one another and the energy contained in the body that was thus formed mounted to a tremendous level. The 'supersim' radiated energy like a glowing sun. The very heat of it caused Shader to cry out and duck back into the shadow of the rocks. It lit up the plains like an arc light. This dreadful apparition moved towards the Stronghold. As it neared the walls, flickering swathes of energy tore themselves free from the base of the Stronghold and licked towards the sim-being. Stormont sucked in his breath sharply in surprise. This was unexpected. For some reason the Multiple Man had reversed the polarity of his energy barrier. It was now negatively charged, as opposed to the positive charge of his energy being. Unlike poles attract! No wonder the energy walls were tearing themselves apart in their efforts to get to his sim-man. But of what help could that be to the Multiple Man? He was merely destroying his own defences. Unless ... Then everything seemed to happen at once. From above the hovering ship's voice came down uneasily. "I ..." it began. There was no time for more. When two powerful energy sources meet there can be only one result. Each tries to neutralise the other. If they are powerful enough they will both fail in this objective. Then their energy has to be liberated in some other way. Some exceedingly violent way. Stormont covered his eyes in an agonised reflex as lashing streamers of violet flame arced between his creation and the energy barriers of the Stronghold. Where they met, the sort of conditions prevailed that exist in the heart of supernovae. Energies, heat, gravitational forces powerful enough to stress the fabric of space itself. As Stormont cowered in awe, unable to comprehend the terrible event, unaware of the sleeting energies that were boiling the flesh from his very bones, he felt a wrenching through his entire frame. Everything abruptly went black. But, in the moment before he lost consciousness entirely he saw/sensed something uncanny. As if the Universe and all its physical laws had ceased to exist on the Multiple Man's world and ... that was all. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Stormont sat up in bed, wincing as he did so. Bandages swathed his limbs and healing compresses were forcestrapped to his cheeks and hands. The salve took away most of the pain, but when one had been through an experience of the sort that Stormont had barely survived, the mere memory of it was sufficient to activate the body's pain centres. The agent stared up at the grave face of his superior. "How do you feel?" the older, moustached, man enquired. Stormont winced. "I'll survive," he muttered. "How's Shader?" "He came out of it better than you," the other said. "He was protected to a greater degree by the outcrop of rock. He'll be up and about in a few days." "And Ship?" queried Stormont. The old man chuckled. "Oh, that's okay. The hull was blistered a bit, but it had its mechanical wits about it. It got the hell out of there, taking you two with it, and only just in time." Stormont blinked. "Yes, that's been puzzling me," he admitted. "Just how did Ship get us away? What happened on the Multiple Man's planet? Before I blanked out I had the feeling that something very strange was going on." "It was," his chief agreed. "You had the dubious privilege of witnessing an event that no man has seen at first-hand before. Let me explain. We've pieced together what happened from Ship's log. When you merged the sim-men the Multiple Man realised that it was only a matter of time before his wails went down before the power of the 'supersim'. Rather than be captured alive he decided that if he was going to be destroyed, he'd at least take you with him. So he reversed the polarity of his force walls, making them opposite in charge to your simulated being. The two energies attracted each other, naturally, and where they met in the middle, with nowhere else to go, they generated forces sufficient to stress the fabric of space-time itself. It was that stressing that you must have sensed just before Ship dragged you out of danger. A fraction of a second after you'd gone the Multiple Man's sun, together with its entire system, collapsed into a neutron star. It's still there, emitting neutrons like goddamit, just twelve miles in diameter but with the mass of twenty suns." Stormont whistled soundlessly. "It almost had my mass added to it as well," he muttered. "But you still haven't told me just how Ship did get us out." "It was a chance in a million," the other man replied. "It computed what was going to happen when the energies met. From its memory banks it had the complete theoretical information on how to make a stressed space jump. You may recall the theory; it was worked out centuries ago. It postulates that, in the vicinity of a supernova a violently stressed area of space is formed, from which it should be possible to 'short-circuit' the normal Universe, via a higher dimension of space and make an instantaneous transition to another part of the Galaxy. The theory was well established, but no-one had ever had an energy source powerful enough to try it out for real. Luckily for all of you it worked, but Ship was only just in time." "So Ship jumped, taking us along?" "Yes. He hooked onto the two of you with a force beam and made the jump to a point just about a mile above this base. It was a bit of a shock, when he turned up out of the blue, dangling you two like puppets on a string. You were in pretty bad shape, too. We rushed you to this hospital, and Ship to the yards and now all three of you are well on the way to recovery." Stormont nodded. "Yes, but we lost the chance of another link in the chain leading to Rorn." "Well, if that's true at least you've done no worse than all the others who've gone before you. You have stopped the activities of one of Rorn's agents and we're not sure that the link has been entirely broken." Stormont scowled. "But the Multiple Man is dead, compressed into the heart of a billion degree neutron star." "True, but just before the collapse Ship detected the passage of - something - we're not quite sure exactly what. It left the Multiple Man's Stronghold and - travelled - in some way that we're not quite sure of, to a point hundreds of light years away. Ship was only able to detect it by the ripples its passage set up in the fabric of space. Its destination was the Splintered Suns cluster." "The Splintered Suns, eh?" Stormont echoed. "That might explain quite a few things." "Such as why the last dozen ships sent out to explore that region have failed to return. Yes, it might well explain that. And that's why, when all three of you are returned to one hundred per cent fitness I want you to proceed at full speed to the Splintered Suns and investigate any peculiarities that you might find there." "Putting our heads into a noose, eh?" Stormont muttered. "Still, I can see that it's the only thing to do in the circumstances.'' The other man nodded. "Yes, and at least you are forewarned. You know that you'll have Rorn, or his minions, to deal with. Still, you'll have Ship for company." "After the way that he saved us from the Multiple Man's trap, that's more than a comfort, Stormont agreed. "It's a necessity. He's a real part of the team from now on." He hardly realised that he had stopped referring to Ship as 'it'. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Rorn brooded. He/she/it had nothing else to do. It was Rorn's whole existence. To say that he/she/it was perturbed by the demise of the Multiple Man would be an exaggeration. That being had, after all, been just one of an entire Galactic network of agents. Taken by itself, the loss was infinitesimal. But it couldn't be taken by itself. It was part of a long and painful cycle of losses. Rorn was growing - not impatient, not anxious - but something in between. If only he/she/it could take a more personal role in the battle; but that was impossible - inconceivable. No, he/she/it would have to continue to rely on the agents that worked for him/her/it throughout the Galaxy. Nevertheless they must be strengthened in some way so that the losses were minimised. It required thought. Rorn continued to brood. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ The Splintered Suns grew in the visiplate. A wide cluster of multi-coloured stars they spread across a span of thirty-five light years. Stormont watched as the image swelled in the screen. Shader stood at his side, eyes slitted, alert for trouble. "How did they get the name of The Splintered Suns?" he enquired casually. "They formed part of what used to be a highly compact star cluster," Ship broke in before Stormont could reply. "However, some external influence disturbed the fine gravitational balance of the cluster and its members began to fly apart. Their proper motion is one of the largest recorded in the known Galaxy." "Now I wonder why a nicely balanced star cluster should suddenly go haywire?" Shader wondered aloud. "Rorn, maybe?" Stormont shrugged. "I doubt that even Rorn has the ability to shift entire star clusters," he stated. Ship broke in: "I would not be so sure of that. If their gravitational balance was very critical it may have required only a relatively small expenditure of energy to start them retreating from each other. Until we know otherwise it might be as well to assume that Rorn has the power to do many things that we would consider impossible." Stormont looked sombre. "Yes. It would be better to overestimate the opposition rather than underestimate it. Maybe that's the mistake that the previous expeditions made." Silence fell in the control room as Ship lunged on through space towards the Splintered Suns. As the image of the star cluster grew its components became recognisable as separate star systems. Ship's voice came over the intercom: "Where do you wish to set down?" Stormont surveyed his charts on the screen. "How about that greenish star towards the centre of the cluster?" he suggested. "What information do we have regarding its planetary system?" Ship's reply was instant. "Six planets, the second of which is habitable by human standards. There is no reported indigenous life, although, as no previous expedition has ever returned from this region that fact is unconfirmed." "We've got to take some risks," Stormont decided. "Set down on that second planet in a reasonably open area; a large plain will do if you can find one. Keep all your sensors fully activated and withdraw at once if there is any sign of resistance. This is a situation where discretion is definitely going to be the better part of valour. We're here primarily to investigate and our report must make it back to base at all costs. Mind you, if we can strike a blow for humanity at the same time we won't miss the chance." "Good," Shader grunted. The green sun continued to swell in the visiplate until at last it swept by to the right of the ship. The two human agents sensed that their craft was decelerating violently, although in the contra-acceleration fields there was no hint of the tremendous forces that were acting upon them. A yellow-green planet began to grow ahead of them, first no more than a coloured speck on the forward screens, then a tiny dot of light and finally a mighty, glowing crescent swelling visibly with each passing moment. "I detect two large open areas on the planet's surface," Ship reported. "There is what appears to be a desert in the northern hemisphere, situated at the heart of the largest continent. Then there is a large flat area of scrubland in the south, on that large island that you can see on the cloud-free portion of the planet's face." "Take us down into the scrub area," Stormont decided. "If there is any life on this planet it's not likely to be in a desert area." Shader scowled. "I thought that this planet was supposed to be deserted." Stormont shook his head. "We can't be sure. I think that it's highly probable that Rorn has agents on this world somewhere. Let's face it - it's the obvious place. The only habitable planet of the central sun in this cluster." Shader looked doubtful. "If Rorn's agents are here might it not be better if we kept out of their way and landed in the desert?" "Uh-huh. We're on a reconnaissance mission, don't forget. We're not likely to find out what's going on if we're skulking away and missing all the action." "Just as long as the action doesn't turn out to be something that we can't handle," Shader grunted. Ship lunged into the green world's atmosphere. Stormont's first thoughts upon gazing out across the wilderness of scrub was that the whole planet had an indefinable aura of alienness about it. There were thorn scrub areas on Earth, but none that had the look of this place. The green sky helped to give an effect of strangeness, but it wasn't just that. Little things were wrong; things which, whilst insignificant on their own, added up to a total that made him distinctly uneasy. Shader walked across to join him. "Spooky place," the agent commented laconically. Stormont found himself amused at the other's calm. Obviously Shader was not as sensitive to the planet's alien aura as he himself was. He nodded. "That's putting it mildly." "Well, what do we do now?" Shader wanted to know. "Sit and wait for Rorn to strike first?" "I don't see any point in doing that," Stormont said. "For one thing we don't know for sure that Rorn has agents on this planet and, even if he does, it'd be bad tactics to let him get the first blow in. I suggest that we undertake a little reconnaissance." Shader nodded. "Fine idea, but where do we start? It looks pretty barren and equally so in all directions." "Let's-take pot luck,"' Stormont suggested. He pulled a coin from his pocket and flipped it into the air. "Heads we go north, tails we go south." "And if it lands on its edge I suppose we go east and west at the same time," Shader commented. He leant over and stared at the coin as it tinkled to the floor. "Heads," he grunted. "Then it's northward, ho," Stormont stated. "We'll go in the ground car. We can see more from that than we would from the ship. Not that I think there'll be a lot to see but at least it will break the monotony." He stared towards the ceiling. "Ship." "Yes," the reply came at once. "Track us all the time. We'll report in every thirty minutes. If you don't get a call, or you see anything that you think might present a danger to us, come in on the double." "Understood," Ship replied. Stormont smiled slowly, pleased at the prospect of action after the long journey. "Let's eat," he suggested to Shader, "and set out on a full stomach." "Great idea," his fellow agent agreed. They waited for Ship to serve up the meal. Appetites satisfied, the two agents were rolling across the scrubland in the hovacar an hour later. Shader peered through a pair of binoculars towards the far horizon. He shook his head in disgust. "Nothing!" Stormont smiled at his companion's impatience. "That may be no bad thing," he said. "Rorn's a dangerous adversary." Shader snorted. "Huh! Then our trip out to the Splintered Suns will have been for nothing."' "You're too impatient," Stormont rebuked him. "We've only covered a fraction of this one area as yet. Even if Rorn has no agents here they may be elsewhere, either on this world or another. At any rate I doubt that Rorn would have a base right out in the open - it's more likely to be underground." "Then these binoculars will be no good," Shader cursed. "Keep looking anyway," Stormont advised. "You can never be sure. If the base is underground the detectors will sniff it out. I've had them on ever since we left Ship." Shader subsided somewhat. He glanced at his watch. "Isn't it about time we gave Ship a call?" Stormont nodded towards the instrument panel. "The timer's set for an alarm each thirty minutes." As he spoke, a dull ringing chimed through the cabin. "You weren't far wrong at that," he congratulated his companion. "That's our half-hour up." He flicked the switch of his communicator. "Ship?" "Yes?" "All okay so far. No signs as yet. We'll keep in touch." "Very well. Good hunting." Stormont grinned as he broke the connection. Sometimes that ship was almost human. Further thought was denied him as Shader clutched at his arm, peering intently at the horizon. "Look!" he hissed. "What's that?" Stormont peered through the windshield. A dark speck on the horizon caught his eye. It looked vaguely unnatural. "Use high power on the binoculars," he instructed Shader. The other agent raised the glasses to his eyes. "Yes," he muttered. "I see it better now. It's definitely an artificial structure of some kind. It looks almost like one of those old Sun-God temples from Earth's ancient eras." "Maybe this planet has got an auchtocthonous culture after all," Stormont mused. "Our surveys were inconclusive, remember, for none of our expeditions returned." "I doubt that a culture that was advanced enough to wipe out our expeditions would be building temples," Shader pointed out grimly. "This smacks of Rorn to me. Remember, something or other was tracked back to this cluster from the Multiple Man's Stronghold." Stormont nodded. "If this is Rorn's work we'd better proceed with caution," he stated. "It would be a great help if we knew who or what Rorn really is." "That is something that we may never know," Shader said pessimistically. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Rorn considered. Events were moving fast. He/she/it was not used to such speed. He/she/it preferred the leisurely pace of his/her/its own life. Nevertheless, the action to be taken must be appropriate and in this instance the pattern of the conflict was not being laid down by Rorn him/her/itself. That was what perturbed him/her/it most of all; it was a galling sensation to realise that you were responding like a puppet to the stimuli of others. However, in this conflict there was no other way; the end result could be his/her/its death, or continued life. Rorn considered further. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ The building was impressive. From a distance of a hundred yards it stood alone in the thorn scrub. No roads led to its doors; nothing in the way of transport stood at its portals. It stood alone in its immensity, alone and enigmatic. Shader fingered his blaster. "It looks deserted." "Looks can deceive," Stormont muttered. "But there's only one way to find out." He flipped on his communicator. "Ship?" "Yes? It is trouble? It is only twenty-two minutes since your last call." "We're not sure. We're outside some kind of temple out here in the scrub. The co- ordinates are -" and he rapped off a string of figures. "We're going to investigate. You'd better keep a look out for us in case of trouble, but from a safe distance." "Yes," Ship agreed. "You are going in?" "Yes. In full armour. But even that won't protect us against anything really advanced and if this building is Rorn's work, I can't imagine that it will be defended with peashooters." "I will keep my sensors fully activated," Ship promised. "Good," said Stormont. He broke the connection and turned to his fellow agent. "Armour on. I've a feeling that we may need it." Fully kitted out in the bulky space armour that would protect them against anything less lethal than a fusion blast, the two agents drove their vehicle up to the gates of the temple. It stretched high above them, its mighty towers and pinnacles seeming to scratch the sky. "No primitive culture built this," Shader hissed. "Well, we can't take the 'car any further," Stormont said, unhappily. "It's a case of legging it from here on in and on foot we're twice as vulnerable." Lumbering along, hampered by their bulky outfits the two agents made their way into the colossal structure. They found themselves in a vast anteroom from which corridors branched off in all directions. Shader gazed around. "Which way?" Stormont gestured across the huge hall. "Let's keep straight on, towards the interior. If this place is inhabited it would seem logical that whoever lives here would be towards the centre, in the most easily defended part of the building." "Hmm. True enough," Shader agreed. "In which case it might be prudent for us to go in the opposite direction." Stormont grinned. "Chicken?" Shader grunted contemptuously. "I just like to have some idea of what it is that I'm up against. Nevertheless, lead on - I'm right behind you." They passed across the impressive chamber, alert all the while for a sneak attack from the flank or the rear, but none came. Stormont led the way down a long, dimly lit corridor. It seemed to stretch for mile after mile, although reason dictated that since the temple was only half a mile wide the corridor could not possibly be longer. It seemed, however, that ten miles at least were behind them when the passage at last curved slightly to reveal a heavy door a few yards before them. "Oho," Shader muttered. "I think that whatever we're after must be behind that door." "Always assuming, of course, that we took the correct corridor," Stormont observed. "Optimist!" "Well, I'm not taking any chances," Stormont decided. He lifted his blaster and sent a jet of fire streaming along the corridor. It hit the door fair and square, dissolving it into acrid smoke that drifted back past them, filling the corridor. "Let's get in there quick," Stormont muttered, lumbering forward at the resultant opening, Shader hard at his heels. The agents plunged through the still smouldering gap that Stormont's blaster had left. They entered another vast chamber, the smoke from the dissolved door still swirling around their helmets. Suddenly, Stormont felt his feet fly out from under him and a coarse cry from behind told him that Shader had suffered a similar fate. He hung, suspended. Gradually, the smoke drifted away. "A zero-gee field," Shader cursed, "and we ran right into it like rats in a trap." "Yes," a sibilant voice hissed from below them. "Like rats in a trap." Stormont writhed around so that he could see beneath him. He caught his breath as he saw the figures below. There were six of them, huddled in a tight cluster. But that was not what had startled him - it was their faces. All six were exactly the same! "The Multiple Man!" he cursed. The multiple personality nodded its heads. "Yes," it stated, "or, at least, what is left of me." A tinge of regret entered its voice. Shader blinked. "But you were destroyed. You're nothing but a mass of compressed atoms in the heart of a neutron star." "The rest of me, yes," the Multiple Man confirmed. "But these six units of my personality remained here in the Splintered Suns as liaison between my home planet and Rorn and hence we survived. We guessed that you would have tracked the message capsule to this cluster. At first we thought that you, too, had perished in the collapse but when Rorn reported otherwise it was an easy matter to track your ship here and, by means of subconscious telepathic suggestion, steer you towards our little welcome. Now you will be eradicated.'' "Why?" Stormont hissed. "Why this unceasing conflict? Why does Rorn hate humanity so? Who is Rorn, anyway?" "Since your destruction is so near it will do no harm to tell you these things," the Multiple Man decided smugly. "You are wrong, you know. Rorn does not hate humanity. Do you hate the germs that give you a cold? You try to destroy them, yes, but you cannot hate the individual viruses. That would be pointless." "What is this nonsense?" Shader grunted. "Wait, and you will see," the Multiple Man promised. "Now watch." The centre of the vast room became misty, cloudy. Gradually, a picture formed in that milky fog. A fantastic cluster of gigantic suns hung in that cloud. Green suns, red and searing blue. Then the viewpoint changed and the tremendous cluster receded. Stars and planets shot past, vanishing into the dim distance, until there were no more suns, only the terrible empty gulfs of intergalactic space. The haze of suns receded still further, until they merged into a vast lens-shaped blur, hanging, swollen and tremendous in the black abyss surrounding it. "The Galaxy," Stormont muttered. "The whole Galaxy." Something was happening in that vast conglomeration of suns and planets. It pulsed with an unearthly rhythm, a strange glow of ... life, Stormont decided, as a shiver ran down his spine. "That is Rorn, your arch-enemy," the Multiple Man said mockingly, enjoying his triumph. "That is what you are up against." "But ... You mean, the Galaxy is a living being?" "Precisely. Think, what is it that enables your mind to function? Nothing but the billions of connections between the cells of your brain. Every sun of the Galaxy is a cell of Rorn's vast brain and all are linked by impulses travelling on a higher level than any that your puny science has yet to penetrate." "So all of Rorn is one vast brain. But why is he fighting us? Why?" "Fools. Are you so blind that you still cannot see? Your race - humanity - is the only dangerous intelligent form of life in the Galaxy. Just how the infection began it is impossible for Rorn to decide. It may have been seeded by another Galaxy - one of Rorn's enemies. Be that as it may, Rorn was unaware of it whilst it remained confined to one cell of his brain - your own solar system. But then you began to spread outwards - just as infection spreads through your own bodies; like a virulent cancer, eating its way through the Galaxy. To Rorn that's just what you are. A cancer. To fight you he must utilise creatures on your own level. After all, you would not fight a disease virus with your fists. So Rorn fights you with others like you - we are his vaccine. He has altered us from our original human state and we fight for him. When our victory is complete we will have a free run of his body - the Galaxy. But first, the infection must be wiped from the stars. Your deaths will be one step in that process." But, as the Multiple Man spoke, a tremendous crash echoed through the vast temple that was his link with Rorn; whose pinnacles and spires were the telepathic antennae via which this strange, altered being communicated with his Galactic master. Chunks of masonry tumbled down, falling past Stormont and Shader as the zerogee field broke away. The agents began to fall with the masonry but invisible fingers of force grabbed at them and drew them upwards. As Stormont flew up he caught a last glimpse of the Multiple Man, screaming curses at them and struggling to bring some vast weapon to bear. Then both he and the weapon were gone, buried in a hail of crashing rock. Soon, the Temple of Rorn was mere rubble. "Ship?" muttered Stormont, as he caught a glimpse of the metallic shape above them. "You've saved us again." "At your service," the happy reply came. Back aboard Ship, Stormont and Shader clambered out of their bulky armour whilst the robot spacecraft explained how it had saved them. "The bulk of the Temple's interior was underground," Ship stated. "The tunnel that you followed sloped downwards slightly, so that the Multiple Man's sanctum was several miles from the temple itself. I tracked you the whole way and was about to move in and rescue you when you were trapped in the zerogee field. Then that creature started spilling the beans about Rorn so I decided to wait until he was finished. When it looked as if he was going to kill you I blasted the roof in and grabbed you with a couple of tractor beams." "Good work," Stormont congratulated. "At least now we know what it is we're up against." "The entire Galaxy," Shader said quietly. "How can we hope to win a battle against that?" Stormont shook his head. "We can't. We must try and find some method of communication - try and convince Rorn that we're not the threat he thinks we are. In the meantime we'll have to try and fight a holding campaign. Perhaps the powers that be back on Earth will have some better answers. The chess game goes on. Let's get back to Earth and report." Ship sped onwards, through the stars. The stars that somehow seemed now to be alive with menacing purpose. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Rorn brooded. His/her/its latest protection had failed. The infection was not stemmed. Still it spread. He/she/it considered the situation. What could be done next? Further measures must be taken, that much was certain. There must be a way ... A new vaccine, maybe. A stronger antiseptic. |