General points:  23   Analysis   "Ten minutes to lift off," announced the pilot via the cabin speaker, "please fasten your safety harness." Lincoln felt very self-conscious being the only passenger. He had been implored by several colleagues to take them along and it had been difficult to justify refusing. In everyone else's eyes an orbital flight for one person was an indefensible waste, a selfish squandering of valuable resources. He would have preferred some company, especially Ranjit. It had been particularly difficult facing him and several of his closest friends, the ones who had not asked to go. He knew they had been deeply hurt and mystified by his action. They had been content to work hard in making arrangements for others to make the journey of many lifetimes, tacitly assuming that in due course their turn would come. Now he had made the cruel decision to terminate the aliens' stay, and as a final insult was making the last visit on his own. But he had to do this alone. Whatever was about to happen would incur unknown risks, and he was not prepared to expose anyone else to danger. He even intended to order the ferry away once he was on board, and knew that many would think he intended to leave with the aliens. He watched the WSA complex flash past the windows and shrink rapidly as the small craft accelerated up and away to its predestined rendezvous. Soon it was lost amidst the contracting landscape. He looked down with inner pain to where his home and family were, and wondered whether he would see it or them ever again.  *************** "Welcome Doctor Lincoln. We are glad that you could come," said the Scout who was waiting inside the skin to ease him down to the surface below. It could have been the same one as came to the WSA complex, they all looked very similar. In any event it was not of course the Scout who was really speaking, but one of the real aliens, a so-called Guardian. "Thank you," said Lincoln without much enthusiasm. "We can make a general tour of the vessel, or if there is a particular part you wish to see then it will be arranged." "There is a special purpose behind your asking me here, what is it?" Lincoln was blunt. He had come this far and was anxious to get on with whatever had to be done. The Guardian seemed taken aback, but it was probably a contrived reaction. "Yes, ah, well there is a favour we were going to ask of you, but it hardly qualifies as a special purpose." Lincoln did not reply; he just waited. The Guardian continued. "We wondered whether you would submit to a scan, like the others we have had here, but you are of course under no obligation to accept. There will be no hard feelings if you prefer not to, but I hope you will allow us to try to persuade you, as we have very good reasons." Lincoln had considered this possibility but rather felt it would be something more daunting. After all upwards of six hundred people had already been scanned with no ill effects whatsoever. Perhaps there was some information in his own mind that could not be obtained from the others. "I am prepared to accept," he replied stonily, "but would prefer to undergo it immediately." "As you wish, but I promise you there is nothing to fear." Lincoln was escorted to a tunnel entrance and found the artificial gravity easier to manage than he had expected. He had studied so many visual recordings of the vessel interior and of people's negotiation of it that he almost felt at home. The strangeness that captivated everyone else was lacking for him. He was taken to a very large but comfortable sitting room. Several Scouts were there waiting for him and he was invited to remove his vacuum suit, be seated and relax. The room was constructed to resemble an ordinary lounge so that human visitors would feel at ease. It was one of several used for the mind scanning, although previously ten or fifteen people would be scanned together with twice as many Scouts performing the analysis. "Doctor Lincoln," began his guide, "we should explain why we have asked you to undergo the scan. You already know that in the past major unplanned changes in the human genetic structure occurred, but we were not completely open about what brought about those changes. In fact your own ancestors were responsible. By some means they were able to identify the descendants of our modified stock that had the most progressive genes. Having identified them they were then able to render those genes ineffective. All we do know is that the actions of your ancestors were deliberate, precise, and one hundred percent effective. The campaign lasted only a few years and involved only a tiny fraction of those descended from the modified population, but at the end of that time the evolution that we had planned for you was finished." How could such a thing be possible? Lincoln wondered. Even now humanity would find such a task all but impossible, and if it was possible it would be with the considerable aid of modern technology. His mind reeled at the implications. Somehow prehistoric man had demonstrated the power to make instinctive selections that could dramatically change the evolution of an entire species. Whatever its purpose the fact that we had this ability was staggering. Who knew what other latent powers we possessed, lying dormant and unknown until conditions arose that triggered them into action? "It has been our purpose to determine the basis of your ancestors' ability, and we have failed. We know almost the complete history of the human race, we know what happened in great detail, but we don't know how or why it happened. We believe the key to that mystery lies within your own mind." Perhaps a reaction of some sort would have been in order, some indication of surprise or shock, but Lincoln felt none. After what he had just heard he half expected as much. "You have demonstrated precisely that same power of identification that your ancestors possessed. You have selected the people that we were allowed to scan, and that selection has been one hundred percent effective in preventing our knowledge going beyond a very definite limit. "In order to learn the root of the selection process we need to analyse a few people with a genetic make-up related in a very precise way to the genetic make-up of one of the original selectors. That may sound a hopeless task, but knowing the laws of heredity and the facts of history we know that there is a small probability of any particular individual having the required make-up. The difficulty is that we don't know who those individuals are until we scan them, so we have to rely on scanning a large number of people from as wide a range of backgrounds as possible to be sure of finding several of the right type." Then the Scout leaned forward and spoke slowly to emphasise his next point. "We have scanned six hundred and eighteen people. If they had been randomly chosen there is less than one chance in thirty thousand that none would be suitable. They were not chosen at random; you chose them Doctor Lincoln." The aliens learned fast, Lincoln had to admit that. To lean forward and speak in that way was a particularly human characteristic, and they had built a wealth of expression into the voice. It was hard to believe that he was not talking to another human, except for the Scout's odd appearance. In fact he was much less impressed by what the Guardian said than by the way that he said it. In the absence of any visible reaction the Guardian continued. "That selection could not have been a conscious one, we know that, but somewhere within your mind lies the very ability about which we need to learn in order to help you. So you see how anxious we are to scan your mind. We feared that the selection mechanism would assert itself in preventing your acceptance, but we are delighted that it did not. You do not seem very surprised at this information?" "No," replied Lincoln. "I had half guessed as much, but I am as puzzled as you are to know how I made the selection. It seemed superficially that it was random, but something compelled me to select people, and I had an intuition that there was a pattern behind the process, but it certainly wasn't conscious. If you can learn anything from me then I myself would be glad to know what it is." "Wonderful, then shall we proceed? It shouldn't take more than half an hour at the most. Just lie back and try to relax." Lincoln did as he was bid. Five Scouts positioned themselves around his head. He was certainly getting special treatment. All the other subjects had only two Scouts each. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to go blank. George Dent had said to do exactly that when the time came, and if this was it then it would not present a problem. He soon felt pleasantly drowsy. The process was entirely below the level of consciousness. All he felt was the deliberate tranquillising sensation imposed on his conscious mind by the Scouts. A couple of minutes later or so it seemed he opened his eyes to find only his original guide still present. "What's the matter? Can't you proceed with the scan?" "The scan is over. We have spent nearly two hours sifting through your mind Doctor Lincoln." Lincoln sat up with a start. He had known others say how quickly the time passed but to experience it himself was quite disturbing. He checked his watch. Yes indeed, over an hour and three quarters had passed. "How did it go?" he asked. "Not well. We found nothing that was of any use at all." "What went wrong?" "There is some ability in your mind that can resist scanning. The information is all there, but we were unable to extract it. Let me explain. A living brain contains within it in almost complete detail the history of every ancestor up to the time of its conception. And not only the history, but the working of the mind of each one, the thoughts, feelings and beliefs, conscious and unconscious. I know that it is hard for you to understand, but believe me; very much more is handed down from parent to child than you think. The living brain contains not just ordinary matter, but matter of a much finer structure, layer upon layer of finer structures in fact, including the structure of thought and consciousness itself. When we scan a brain we don't merely study the atomic structure; we analyse the construction of the more finely structured layers as well, and in that way we can determine the history of almost a complete species from a single individual." In spite of his earlier lack of interest Lincoln was fascinated once more. "You didn't tell us all this before, why did you not explain?" "There are implications that it is better for you not to deduce. But let me continue. A dead brain only retains its basic atomic structure. The experience of the individual is recorded as indeed it is recorded in every cell of the individual. But the ancestral memory is lost, gone with the finer layers of matter that some humans call the spirit. The process of scanning is like a search through an intricate web of interconnecting paths. We have to follow the most promising paths until we uncover the information we want. In your case those paths are fluid, they can change direction apparently at random; we have no sooner found a promising path than it leads back to its starting point or off in some other equally fruitless direction. Such a phenomenon is entirely new to us; we cannot even begin to understand how it works, and it renders your mind inaccessible, at least by normal methods of analysis." So there's the rub thought Lincoln. "What will you do next then? Try some abnormal method?" "I am afraid so, yes." There was so sincere an apology in the voice that Lincoln felt a sudden chill of fear. "And if I refuse?" "We need to solve this mystery Doctor Lincoln, it is necessary for the future of your race. Please try to understand that." "So you will use force if necessary?" "You will not suffer any pain, I promise you." "But then why ask permission? Was that just for show?" "There is little point in deceiving you now. If you had not given permission then we would have gone ahead anyway, without your knowledge. Indeed we will pursue our work in whatever way we need to regardless of any permissions or otherwise from yourselves, though we would very much prefer not to do anything against your wishes." Lincoln felt as a frightened child. He wanted to scream, to run away, to close his eyes and wish himself out of this nightmare. But in the midst of his silent agony a calm and reassuring voice spoke within his mind. "Hold on Arthur. I'm right here with you, you aren't alone." Dent! It was George Dent's voice, and not imagined either, it was real; he could feel his strong presence within his mind. Suddenly the effect seemed so comical that he wanted to laugh. It must surely be a psychological phenomenon, but as soon as he had had that thought he dismissed it. No, it was real, as real as anything he had ever experienced in his life. The panic that had been rising within him subsided and left him rational once more. "What does the next stage entail?" he asked. "You will be taken to the central sphere, where you will be analysed by the central consciousness. Your mind will be probed by the Creator." Lincoln's imagination was racing now, who was this Creator? And what central sphere? There was no central sphere. "I can see you are puzzled, and I know what you are wondering. You were told only a part of the truth earlier. The central sphere exists but at a finer material level than the rest of the vessel. That is why you were unaware of its presence. But it is the seat of our communication with the Creator, the mind that guides us and countless billions of others throughout the galaxy." "So that is what development is all about," said Lincoln bitterly, "coming under the control of this Creator." "Yes indeed, but it is not to be feared or avoided as you might think, it is to be welcomed. And don't think of it as control. Rather it represents benevolent guidance." "And that is your intention for the human race?" he added with mounting horror. "I can tell you now that the human race is unique in the Creator's experience. No other living being including ourselves bears any comparison to you. Your combination of growth potential, drive and determination, ability to turn to advantage all that you encounter, and immense resourcefulness are unmatched anywhere. The Creator has devoted more thought to the human race since its discovery than to any other. We will never leave you, we will do anything and everything to understand your nature and bring it and its unique power into the hands of the Creator." Lincoln heard these words with despair. How could such a force be resisted? His dream was coming true; it had been a symbolic prophesy. The aliens were not bringing anything as crude as war, but the effect would be the same; humanity, as we knew it, would be destroyed. The subtlety, the cleverness of the alien strategy gave him a sense of complete impotence. Humanity had been outsmarted at every turn. There had never been any way to resist them, but there had been a way to delay them, and that way had been Raminski's. That poor maligned man had been right, and he himself had been wrong. "What about your own humans?" he asked. "They will be the Creator's vehicle on earth. They will multiply and interbreed, and we shall remain to direct their progress and prevent any hostile action against them. Eventually future generations will become directly compatible with the mind of the Creator, and by then all of your most dangerous characteristics will have been neutralised." Lincoln's hatred for the aliens and all they stood for became a raging passion. His role as an instrument of their evil tyranny consumed his mind. He clung to just one remaining shred of hope, and that hope was George Dent. Somehow Dent knew of the alien threat, he knew and had a plan to deal with it. At what level Dent was working Lincoln could not guess; he evidently had access to telepathic abilities. His knowledge was clearly greater than Lincoln had ever dreamt. He knew that his own death was inevitable, but that would be a small price to pay for the safety of the human race. "Let's get it over with," he said with resolution. He was taken not to the tunnel system as he expected but to a small adjoining room where a Scout was waiting inside one of the translucent bubbles that he recognised from his earlier encounters. "Please enter the bubble and stand on the platform beside the Scout," said his guide. Lincoln did not resist, there would have been little point anyway, but that was not the reason. He hated the aliens now, despised them for their deceit, for their calculated friendliness and efficient ruthlessness. No, he would be glad to upset their plans, to cause them temporary inconvenience even in a small way. He complied for only one reason, and that was because George Dent had asked him to do so. As soon as he was standing beside the Scout his surroundings began to fade. The room, the walls, the floor, everything became hazy and soon there was nothing but blackness. He could not even see the Scout at his side or the platform on which he was standing. He was in a finer material state and his normal senses were useless to him, except for touch, oddly he retained that sense. "I can sense your fear Arthur Lincoln," said a kindly voice close to his ear. "There is no need to be afraid." He tried to respond, to speak back, to ask why he could hear but not see, and why he could not utter a word. "Your eyes sense only visible light, you will not be able to see anything while you are in this state," answered the voice to his unspoken thought. 'He can read my mind,' thought Lincoln uncomfortably. "And you mine," came the reply, "the only communication here is from mind to mind, there is no speech or hearing." Lincoln struggled to understand. He felt sure he was hearing the voice of the Guardian but realised that it must be his aural centre being stimulated directly. It made sense that he would not notice the difference, yet to experience it was a different matter and harder to come to terms with than the logic. Further questions were interrupted by a deep resonant vibration, not heard, but felt within his being, and growing more intense by the second. Lincoln could sense the presence of an immense source of power. He did not need to be told that here was the great Creator. He felt himself undeniably in the presence of a god. An involuntary feeling of humility filled his soul. To be so close to so awesome a mind was a uniquely privileged experience. The sheer power was overwhelming, numbing in its intensity. No wonder the Guardian had spoken with reverence about his god. All resentment and hostility evaporated. It was impossible to retain any ill-feeling in such a presence. Nothing could be denied this all-powerful being. There was no possible way Lincoln could even try to hold anything back, either consciously or unconsciously. There were no words or even discrete thoughts here. The Creator communicated by feeling alone. Lincoln sensed the warmth and deep compassion that was radiated towards him, and responded in spite of his earlier enmity. He became aware of an expanded power of insight, and found to his astonishment that he only need formulate a query in his mind for the answer to be there, not by communication, but by direct knowledge, as if a veil had been lifted from his mind. He had wondered earlier how the mind of the Creator could communicate across a galaxy, apparently with total disregard for the restrictions of relativity. Now he need only remember the problem for the answer to be clear. The restriction of light speed only applied to things that physically crossed the gap between sender and receiver; things that passed through each and every point on the path. Such a restriction did not apply to the communications between the Creator and the beings on this vessel since they passed directly from source to recipient without crossing the space between. In fact the sender and receiver were as one. Lincoln could now see and understand the unity of all minds that formed a part of the Creator's universal family. There was never any distance between them; they were connected at a level beyond the physical. His wife had been right. Her lack of knowledge had allowed her an insight that to him had been denied. He realised now that in dealing with the aliens he had only ever spoken to the Creator. Although various Guardians had communicated through the Scouts, even they were no more than further relay points in the communication chain with the Creator. But working through them the Creator could not reach deeply enough into Lincoln's mind. There had to be no barrier to accomplish that task; the two minds had to be linked directly. Nothing was hidden now. Lincoln could see his fate clearly. The probing that was about to take place could not be accomplished and leave his mind intact. His total destruction was inevitable. The process would uncover the most intricate and hidden depths of his mind. It would be an unfolding, a laying bare of his very soul. But it was a one-way process. There could be no way of repairing the damage, of restoring his mind to working order. Dissection was irreversible. Although he could see all this Lincoln was not afraid or even concerned. The Creator was a merciful god and did not relish his task. There was no other way to gain the knowledge that was essential. But the process would be painless, even pleasant. A calmness settled over Lincoln's mind. He was filled with the inevitability of his fate, but he was grateful that he would not be allowed to suffer. The end would come very soon now. The preliminary survey was almost complete and the dissection would then commence without further delay. A direct link between Lincoln's mind and the mind of the Creator would be established. It was the only way, the two, the great and the small had to become as one. Then, gradually, with great care and patience, the layers of Lincoln's mind would be removed, and absorbed into the Creator's great mind. Then and only then would the workings of his mind be understood, and one more obstruction to the unity of the universe would have been overcome. Lincoln's mind was quiet now. It was too laborious even to think. He let the wonderful peace and serenity wash over him, envelop him in waves of pure tranquillity. All cares were gone, all passions stilled, his mind lay defenceless and submissive. The survey was complete, and the door into that great mind and soul was opening. Lincoln had one brief mental glimpse into the limitless depths of that immense being, and then felt the terror, horror, and agony of his consciousness being forcibly ripped from his brain and body.