e watched objectively as his hand pulled the
black object out and handled it. His body was evidently familiar with
it, though it was strange to his eyes. His finger slipped automatically
into the trigger sheaf. His legs were still working under two drives:
the manythoughts' urging, and something else, buried in him. A longing.
Up-and-down, back-and-forth.

_Where is it?_

Anger, frustration flared in him. His hand shot out, gun at ready. He
turned around slowly. Through the settling trail of suspended sand,
nothing was visible.

* * * * *

Again he was moving. Something made his legs move. He walked on through
the shrouds of Death until he felt a taut singing in his nerves. An
irrational fear sprang out in him, cascading down his spine, and Cully
shuddered. Ahead there was some_thing_. Two motives: get there because
it (they?) calls; get there because you must.

_Where is it?_

The mind-voice was excited, demanding. Something was out there,
besides the sameness. Cully walked on, trailing gold. The death-curtain
parted ...

An undulating garden of blue-and-gold streamers suddenly drifted toward
him on an unfelt current. Cully was held, entranced. They flowed before
him, their colors dazzling, hypnotic.

_Come closer, Earthling_, the manythoughts spoke inside his head,
soothingly.

_Here it is!_ Cully's mind shouted.

Cully's mind was held, hypnotized, but his body moved of its own
volition.

He moved again. His mind and the manythoughts' spoke:
fulfillment--almost. There was one action left that must be completed.

Cully's arms moved. They detached the small black box from his pack. He
moved on into the midst of the weaving, gold-laced plants. Little
spicules licked out from their flexing stalks and jabbed, unsensed, into
Cully's body to draw nourishment. From the manythoughts came the sense
of complete fulfillment.

From Cully's mind came further orders.

_Lie down._ It was a collective concept. _Lie still. We are friends._

He could not understand. They were speaking words; words were beyond
him. His head shook in despair. The voices were implanting an emotion of
horror at what his hands were doing, but he had no control over his
body. It was as if it were not his.

The black box was now lying in the sand among the streaming plants.
Cully's fingers reached out and caressed a small panel. A soundless
'click' ran through the murkiness. The strangely beautiful, gold-lac