Last Enemy | Page 2

the discarnate Assassin, Sirzim. Normally, he's a low-grade imbecile, but in
trance-state he's wonderful. And there can be no argument that the communications he
produces originates in his own mind; he doesn't have mind enough, of his own, to operate
that machine."
Garnon of Roxor rose to his feet, the others rising with him. He unfastened a jewel from
the front of his tunic and handed it to Dallona.
"Here, my dear Lady Dallona; I want you to have this," he said. "It's been in the family of
Roxor for six generations, but I know that you will appreciate and cherish it." He twisted
a heavy ring from his left hand and gave it to his son. He unstrapped his wrist watch and
passed it across the table to the gray-clad upper-servant. He gave a pocket case,
containing writing tools, slide rule and magnifier, to the bearded man on the other side of
Dallona. "Something you can use, Dr. Harnosh," he said. Then he took a belt, with a
knife and holstered pistol, from a servant who had brought it to him, and gave it to the
man with the red badge. "And something for you, Dirzed. The pistol's by Farnor of Yand,
and the knife was forged and tempered on Luna."
The man with the winged-bullet badge took the weapons, exclaiming in appreciation.
Then he removed his own belt and buckled on the gift.
"The pistol's fully loaded," Garnon told him.

Dirzed drew it and checked--a man of his craft took no statement about weapons without
verification--then slipped it back into the holster.
"Shall I use it?" he asked.
"By all means; I'd had that in mind when I selected it for you."
Another man, to the left of Girzon, received a cigarette case and lighter. He and Garnon
hooked fingers and clapped shoulders.
"Our views haven't been the same, Garnon," he said, "but I've always valued your
friendship. I'm sorry you're doing this, now; I believe you'll be disappointed."
Garnon chuckled. "Would you care to make a small wager on that, Nirzav?" he asked.
"You know what I'm putting up. If I'm proven right, will you accept the Volitionalist
theory as verified?"
Nirzav chewed his mustache for a moment. "Yes, Garnon, I will." He pointed toward the
blankly white screen. "If we get anything conclusive on that, I'll have no other choice."
"All right, friends," Garnon said to those around him. "Will you walk with me to the end
of the room?"
Servants removed a section from the table in front of him, to allow him and a few others
to pass through; the rest of the guests remained standing at the table, facing toward the
inside of the room. Garnon's son, Girzon, and the gray-mustached Nirzav of Shonna,
walked on his left; Dallona of Hadron and Dr. Harnosh of Hosh on his right. The
gray-clad upper-servant, and two or three ladies, and a nobleman with a small chin-beard,
and several others, joined them; of those who had sat close to Garnon, only the man in
the black tunic with the scarlet badge hung back. He stood still, by the break in the table,
watching Garnon of Roxor walk away from him. Then Dirzed the Assassin drew the
pistol he had lately received as a gift, hefted it in his hand, thumbed off the safety, and
aimed at the back of Garnon's head.
They had nearly reached the end of the room when the pistol cracked. Dallona of Hadron
started, almost as though the bullet had crashed into her own body, then caught herself
and kept on walking. She closed her eyes and laid a hand on Dr. Harnosh's arm for
guidance, concentrating her mind upon a single question. The others went on as though
Garnon of Roxor were still walking among them.
"Look!" Harnosh of Hosh cried, pointing to the image in the visiplate ahead. "He's under
control!"
They all stopped short, and Dirzed, holstering his pistol, hurried forward to join them.
Behind, a couple of servants had approached with a stretcher and were gathering up the
crumpled figure that had, a moment ago, been Garnon.
A change had come over the boy at the writing machine. His eyes were still glazed with

the stupor of the hypnotic trance, but the slack jaw had stiffened, and the loose mouth
was compressed in a purposeful line. As they watched, his hands went out to the
keyboard in front of him and began to move over it, and as they did, letters appeared on
the white screen on the left.
Garnon of Roxor, discarnate, communicating, they read. The machine stopped for a
moment, then began again. To Dallona of Hadron: The question you asked, after I
discarnated, was: What was the last book I read, before the feast? While waiting for