I dream again and in this dream I see the past as Nala might, more vividly than I ever have before. I am in a large room, surrounded by lights so bright that they attract insects which are spread indolently throughout by large, useless fans; before me is a thin man of my own race who holds a pad and uses a pencil to gesture. He reminds me of one of the milder therapists although there is nothing defensive whatsoever about his position.
“We have to do this, you see,” he says to me in a high, quavering voice and I understand that he is somehow seeking justification; we appear to be in the middle of an argument. “We have no choice; it’s the only way they learn, the only thing that will change circumstances; as drastic as it is, it’s necessary. You’re not qualified to make any judgments; you don’t follow the stakes.”

My own words are not clear; I seem to be making some intricate kind of point about risk and morality but I am mumbling so, my speech is so convoluted that I am unable to make sense of it. Perhaps it is not contrived to make sense although the other man nods vigorously, seems to comprehend everything. “That’s an interesting point,” he says, “but it’s hardly germane. Besides, someone has to do it and it might as well be you. Random selection has its merits; it will convince you of the basic unfairness of the universe. It’s a change game, a lottery, why should you be any different? There’s manifest destiny for you!” he screams, rising to his feet on the last line and throwing a finger into my face, “you can take your manifest destiny and choke on it you silly fool!” and now I am protesting; I can make out my words perfectly, “No!” I am saying, “you can’t do this, you have no right,” and the old man giggles and says, “whoever said that you had to have a right?” and others appear in the room, several of them, hard to fix their number and I am dragged out of the old man’s presence kicking and thrashing. Their hands upon me are gentle but murderous; I know that they could at any instant perform actions which would make me faint and so I am sensible, I am reasonable, I do not resist but permit myself instead to be dragged at their will, taken where they want me and the scene shifts; I seem to be staring down into the barrel of an endless telescope with nothing but haze before me; when the haze clears I am alone in a room, writing something maniacally. Peering over my shoulder to look at the page I can see the words I am writing.Idreamagain, the words say,andinthisdreamIseethepastasNalamight . . . and quite naturally then begin to scream; it is, after all, the only proper thing to do at the density of what has happened to me and I feel the past recede, then; the past has nothing more to give me, the past has vomited up what it will tonight and I wake from the dream lying on the coldness of my bed rapidly reciting the Table of Elements so that I will keep my balance, and thinking: the escape has got to work, the escape has got to come off on schedule because I really cannot take much more of this, that is clear. For whatever reason, this prayer comes out as a set of assurances and relaxes me; I fall slowly back into sleep again and this time it is a sleep which has nothing to do with the past but instead seems to embrace the future:

In this dream I am back on the ship with my shipmates; we have set the controls for automatic fire and are quickly on our way back to the system. No one seems to know our destination but it is all in the charts and the machinery of the ship; ready for triggering at a command decision and so we are heading back safely, knowing that our destination is before us and that when we get there all questions will be answered. All sixteen or sev­enteen of us have made it; Nala carrying some slight scratches on her face as the result of a struggle with one unreasonable guard, one of the males lacking an arm which was hastily amputated as the result of a severe infection caused by a gunshot wound. In deference to my accomplishments I have been elected Maximum Leader; the old hierarchy has been reconstituted (as it must be because we are that kind of creature) and I am first and in that capacity I am giving my Speech of Ascension to my slender but devoted crew who pose around the bulkheads and machinery in various attitudes of respect and listen to what I have to say. What I want to say is to some degree pieced together from old Speeches of Ascension which I have heard or read but it is also highly original and now that the dreadful tension of the escape is past, I am free for the first time to unwind among my flock, to be the creature that I wanted to be and so I do not stumble in haste through the speech but rather talk with consummate and rolling ease, an articulate flow which has never before been at my com­mand.

“Brothers,” I say, “brothers and sisters, we have triumphed; we have overtaken and subdued the captors and we are now on our way back, at last, to our home. There reinforcements will be provided and we will return to free our brothers and sisters still imprisoned; but we need not worry about them because more than ever they are hostaged to our return. We will free them, all of them will be safe and this is a time of rejoicing and renewal, not of sorrow. We are free! We are free again! Let us say the words of our thankfulness,” and old, half-remembered ritual prayers as taught to Plotar bubble to my lips; I lead them haltingly through those prayers and end on a series of hosannas which move them to applause. “And remember this as well,” I say, “we come home with the cleanliness of soldiers who have fought successfully; we have delivered unto these aliens exactly what we were supposed to, which is the sum of our knowledge. They extracted it painfully and often cruelly but nevertheless it was given to them in the manner requested and therefore not even in that detail have we failed. The mission is successful! The mission is successful!” and I reach from the platform, gesture for Nala to join me which she does with a happy and rapid smile and I embrace her before them to ragged cheers and shouts. “Wonderful,” she whispers to me, “you were wonderful,” and I thank her, bow to my shipmates who stand, still crowing approval and say, “without this female we would not be here now; she has done everything for us, done the deed with rare courage,” and Nala says, “Oh, it was nothing; it was all you, Quir,” and I say, “Don’t be ridiculous; take credit, I couldn’t have done a thing without you!” and the crew shouts praises to the two of us; we embrace on a parapet as the ship continues its way madly toward our destination, accelerating at several thousand times the speed of light (like all starcraft of peo­ple as technologically advanced as we) toward our retrieval, our recovery, and our honor.