"Yes," purred the Sun-child. "Myself. A tiny particle, to activate the shell. A perfect likeness, no?"
A slow, creeping chill touched Falken's heart. "Why?" he asked.
"Long ago I learned the art of lying from men. I lied about reading minds. Your plan to trick me into building this world and then destroy me was plain on the instant of conception."
Laughing wicked colors coiled and spun.
"Oh, but I'm enjoying this! Not since I built my shell have I had such a game! Can you guess why I made your double?"
Falken's lips were tight with pain, his eyes savage with remorse at his own stupidity.
"It—he will go in my ship to bring my people here."
He knew that the Sun-child had picked his unwitting brain as cleanly as any Hiltonist psycho-search.
In sudden desperation he drew his blaster and shot at the mocking likeness. Before he tripped the trigger-stud a wall of ebon glass was raised between them. The blast-ray slid away in harmless fire and died, burned out.
The other Falken turned and strode away across the new land. Falken watched him out of sight, not moving nor speaking, because there was nothing to do, nothing to say.