... COMMUNICATION DESCRIBED
IMPOSSIBLY LIMITED ... INCONSISTENT/HIGH-LEVEL INTELLIGENCE.

_Challonari limited ... must accept. (Command) Challonari
sleep ... sleep ... sleep._

(EXTREME AGITATION) CANNOT/MUST OBEY.

_(Command/pity) Challonari has destroyed intelligence! Must
sleep ... sleep ... sleep!_

(AGONY ... HORROR/CONFLICT ... INSANITY).

_Challonari! (No response. Grief) Ultimate withdrawal ...
Challonari! Challonari!_

* * * * *

Phil frowned, looking at his empty hand. It seemed to him that the spray
of flowers had inexplicably vanished. There was an elusive sense of
disorientation, a feeling of something overlooked. There was the tag-end
of a remembered grief. There was--

"You were right, Uncle Phil. They have no scent."

"What?" He looked around blankly, saw Timmy tossing the spray aside.
"Oh ... there it is. I thought I ... uh ... forget what I was going to
say." Two voices that were not voices--a dream, a despairing cry. An
elusive memory faded, faded. "There's mud on your cheek, Timmy. Did you
fall?"

"No ... that is, yes." Timmy scrubbed his cheek industriously.

"Make up your mind. Hurt yourself?"

"No, I'm all right."

"Well, whip around to the other side and hop in." Phil watched him in
the rear-view mirror and noted the hasty dab at moist eyes. It seemed
like a significant giveaway, but he couldn't imagine why. "Get your mutt
in and let's go."

"Come on, Homer." The boy settled himself with his dog between his feet,
and Phil laughed, his good spirits returned. He turned the car without
much trouble and they bumped back over the wagon ruts.

"Why do you call him Homer, Timmy?"

"Well, on account of the Odyssey, you know."

"I see. Some day when I have a clear mind and a couple of hours to
spare, you can explain the connection between Homer's Odyssey and a
flea-bitten semi-airdale."

They rode in silence for a while, until the dirt road changed to
pavement. Phil let his thoughts wander idly, thinking of nothing in
particular. Scraps of this and that seemed to float to the surface and
drift out of reach before he could capture them, had he been interested
in trying. One fragment somehow caught in an eddy and remained in sight
long enough to draw his attention.

"Challonari," he said, wonderingly, and almost ditched them as stabbing
pain shot through his temples. He held the wheel with one hand, the
other clappe