me, when a far more important
contest is brewing ... with the fate of Earth as a reward for the
victor."

"What do you propose?"

"I will arrange Temple's final dream. But if he disappears from this
room, don't be alarmed. It's a dream of a different sort. Temple won't
know it until the dream progresses, you won't know it until
everything is concluded, but Temple will fight for a slave or a free
Earth."

"Can't you tell us more?"

"There is no time, except to say that along with the rest of the
Galaxy, you've been duped. The Nowhere Journey is a grim, tragic
farce.

"Awaken, Kit!"

Temple awoke into what he thought was the third and final dream.
Strange, because this time he knew where he was and why, knew also
that he was dreaming, even remembered vividly the other two dreams.

* * * * *

"Stealth," said Arkalion, and led Temple through long, white-walled
corridors. They finally came to a partially open door and paused
there. Peering within, Temple saw a room much like the one he had
left, with two white-gowned figures standing anxiously over a table.
And prone on the table was Sophia, whom Temple had loved short moments
before, in his second dream. Moments? Years. (Never, except in a
dream.)

"She's lovely," Arkalion whispered.

"I know." Like himself, Sophia was garbed in a loose jumper and
slacks.

"Stealth," said Arkalion again. "Haste." Arkalion disappeared.

"Well," Temple told himself. "What now? At least in the other dreams I
was thrust so completely into things, I knew what to do." He rubbed
his jaw grimly. "Not that it did much good the first time."

Temple poked the partially-ajar door with his foot, pushing it open.
The two white-smocked figures had their backs to him, leaned intently
over the table and Sophia. Without knowing what motivated him, Temple
leaped into the room, grasped the nearer figure's arm, whirled him
around. Startled confusion began to alter the man's coarse features,
but his face went slack when Temple's fist struck his jaw with
terrible strength. The man collapsed.

The second man turned, mouthing a stream of what must have been
Russian invective. He parried Temple's quick blow with his left hand,
crossing his own right fist to Temple's face and almost ending the
fight as quickly as it had started. Temple went down in a heap and was
vaguely aware of the Russian's booted foot hovering over his face. He
reached out, grabbed the boot with