Conditioning took over and flung the fighting Barrents backward through
subjective time, to those stress points in the past where death had been
near, where the temporal life fabric had been weakened, where a
predisposition toward death had already been established. Conditioning
forced Barrent-2 to re-experience those moments. But this time, the
danger was augmented by the full force of the malignant half of his
personality--by the murderous informer, Barrent-1.
* * * * *
Barrent-2 stood under glaring lights on the blood-stained sands of the
Arena, a sword in his hand. It was the time of the Omegan Games. Coming
at him was the Saunus, a heavily armored reptile with the leering face
of Barrent-1. Barrent-2 severed the creature's tail, and it changed
into three trichomotreds, rat-sized, Barrent-faced, with the
dispositions of rabid wolverines. He killed two, and the third grinned
and bit his left hand to the bone. He killed it, and watched
Barrent-1's blood leak into the soggy sand....
* * * * *
Three ragged men sat laughing on a bench, and a girl handed him a small
gun. "Luck," she said. "I hope you know how to use this." Barrent nodded
his thanks before he noticed that the girl was not Moera; she was the
skrenning mutant who had predicted his death. Still, he moved into the
street and faced the three Hadjis.
Two of the men were mild-faced strangers. The third, Barrent-1,
stepped forward and quickly brought his gun into firing position.
Barrent-2 flung himself to the ground and pressed the trigger of his
unfamiliar weapon. He felt it vibrate in his hand and saw Hadji
Barrent's head and shoulders turn black and begin to crumble. Before he
could take aim again, his gun was wrenched violently from his hand.
Barrent-1's dying shot had creased the end of the muzzle.
Desperately he dived for the weapon, and as he rolled toward it he saw
the second man, now wearing the Barrent-1 face, take careful aim.
Barrent-2 felt pain flash through his arm, already torn by the
trichomotred's teeth. He managed to shoot this Barrent-1, and through
a haze of pain faced the third man, now also Barrent-1. His arm was
stiffening rapidly, but he forced himself to press the trigger....
* * * * *
_You're playing their game_, Barrent-2 told himself. The
death-conditioning will wear you down, will kill you. _You must see
through it, get past it. It isn't really happening, it's in your
mind_....
But there was no time to think. He was in a large, circular,
high-ceilinged room of stone in the cellars of the Department of
Justice. It was the Trial by Ordeal. Rolling across the floor toward him
was a glistening black machine shaped like a half-sphere, standing
almost four feet high. It came at him, and in the pattern of red, green,
and amber lights he could see the hated face of Barrent-1.
Now his enemy was in its ultimate form: the invariant robot
consciousness, as false and stylized as the conditioned dreams of Earth.
The Barrent-1 machine extruded a single slender tentacle with a white
light winking at the end of it. As it approached, the tentacle withdrew,
and in its place appeared a jointed metal arm ending in a knife-edge.
Barrent-2 dodged, and heard the knife scrape against the stone.
_It isn't what you think it is_, Barrent-2 told himself. _It isn't a
machine, and you are not back on Omega. This is only half of yourself
you are fighting, this is nothing but a deadly illusion._
But he couldn't believe it. The Barrent machine was coming at him again,
its metal hide glistening with a foul green substance which Barrent-2
recognized immediately as Contact Poison. He broke into a sprint, trying
to stay away from the fatal touch.
_It isn't fatal_, he told himself.
Neutralizer washed over the metal surface, clearing away the poison. The
machine tried to ram him. Barrent tried half-heartedly to push it aside.
It crashed into him with stunning force, and he could feel ribs
splintering.
_It isn't real! You're letting a conditioned reflex talk you to death!
You aren't on Omega! You're on Earth, in your own home, staring into a
mirror!_
But the pain was real, and the clubbed metal arm felt real as it crashed
against his shoulder. Barrent staggered away.
He felt horror, not at dying, but at dying too soon, before he could
warn the Omegans of this ultimate danger planted deep in their own
minds. There was no one else to warn of the catastrophe that would
strike each man as he recovered his own specific memories of Earth. To
his best knowledge, no one had experienced this and lived. If _he_ could
live through it, countermeasures could be taken, counterconditioning
could be set up.
He pulled himself to his feet. Coached since childhood in social
responsibility, he thought of it now. He couldn't allow himself to die
when his knowledge was vital to Omega.
_This is not a real machine._
He repeated it to himself as the Barrent machine revved up, picked up
speed, and hurtled toward him from the far side of the room. He forced
himself to see beyond the machine, to see the patient droning lessons of
the classroom which had created this monster in his mind.
_This is not a real machine._
He believed it....
And swung his fist into the hated face reflected in the metal.
There was a moment of dazzling pain, and then he lost consciousness.
When he came to, he was alone in his own home on Earth. His arm and
shoulder ached, and several of his ribs seemed to be broken. On his left
hand he bore the stigmata of the trichomotred's bite.
But with his cut and bleeding right hand he had smashed the mirror. He
had shattered it and Barrent-1 utterly and forever.