that I was trapped. Finally I went back to Lhar. She hadn't
moved an inch since I had left, nor had the robot, apparently.

"Lhar," I said. "Lhar, can't you help me?"

The white flame of the flower was motionless, but the robot's cilia
moved in quick signals. Lhar moved at last.

"Perhaps," her thought came. "Unless both induction and deduction
fail, my robot has discovered a chance for you. The Other can control
your mind through emotions. But I, too, have some power over your
mind. If I give you strength, wall you with a psychic shield against
intrusion, you may be able to face the Other. But you cannot destroy
it unless it is in its normal shape. The Indio girls must be killed
first...."

"Killed?" I felt a sense of horror at the thought of killing those
poor simple native girls.

"They are not actually alive now. They are now a part of the Other.
They can never be restored to their former life."

"How will--destroying them--help me?" I asked.

Again Lhar consulted the robot. "The Other will be driven from their
bodies. It will then have no hiding-place and must resume its own
form. Then it can be slain."

Lhar swayed and curtseyed away. "Come," she said. "It is in my mind
that the Other must die. It is evil, ruthlessly selfish, which is the
same thing. Until now I have not realized the solution to this evil
being. But seeing into your thoughts has clarified my own. And my
robot tells me that unless I aid you, the Other will continue ravening
into your world. If that happens, the time-pattern will be broken....
I do not quite understand, but my robot makes no mistakes. The Other
must die...."

She was outside of the banyan now, the sphere gliding after her. I
followed. The three of us moved swiftly across the blue moss, guided
by the robot.

In a little while we came to where the six Indio girls were squatting.
They had apparently not moved since I had left them.

"The Other is not here," Lhar said.

The robot held me back as Lhar advanced toward the girls, the
skirt-like frill at her base convoluting as she moved. She paused
beside them and her petals trembled and began to unfold.

From the tip of that great blossom a fountain of white dust spurted
up. Spores or pollen, it seemed to be. The air was cloudy with the
whiteness.

The robot drew me back, back again. I sensed danger....

The pollen seemed to be drawn toward the Indios, spun toward them in
dancing mist-motes. It settled on their bronzed