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.12Down the streets of his brain a procession moved.As youths and maidens,garlanded with flowers, danced in his honour the grave elders gathered at theshrine of Pallas Athene.There they made ready the wreath of bay with which tocrown the champion.For all their boasts and cunning, the barbarians had gonedown to defeat.The city was safe;civilization and freedom survived, while far away a tyrant cursed and orderedthe execution of his generals.There was a city, certainly.There were, in a sense, elders gathered to thepresence of their champion.But Aesculapius was closer to their minds thanAthene, and the crown they had prepared for his head was a light metal frametrailing leads to a complex encephalograph.There was no tyrant, apart fromthe demon of hate, but there were definitely barbarians, although they hadpassed for civilized until they were broken and demoralized.They hadconquered Pericles Phranakis, and were still defying the forces sent againstthem.He had refused to face that knowledge, and now he had forgotten.His swarthy face contented, he lay in what was basically a bed, but couldbecome an extension of his body if required.Apart from the instrumentsmonitoring every physical response - heartbeat, respiration, brain rhythms,blood-pressure, and a dozen more - there were elaborate prosthetics attachedto him.At present he was being fed artificially, while the other devicesremained inert.Should the shock of recoveryPage 38 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlprove as violent as the shock of collapse, he might relinquish all attempts tolive.Then the heart masseur, the oxygenator, the artificial kidney wouldfight against vagal inhibition and maintain life in his body until he hadpainfully accepted the frustration of his planned escape from the world.Near by Ilse Kronstadt had composed herself amid a similar array ofinstruments.In a chair at her side was a young man with a pale anxious face -a recently qualified receptive telepathist serving as her therapy watchdog.Once she had entered Phranakis's self-glorifying world, she would be unable tocommunicate verbally with the nervous doctors supervising the process.Byturns around the clock this young man and three others would 'listen' to herstruggles, and report anything the doctors needed to know.One by one the technicians, the specialists, the telepathist nodded toSingh, who stood at the foot of Ilse Kronstadt's bed remembering her pasttriumphs and trying not to pay too much attention to the mass of canceroustissue spreading beneath her brain.She looked very small and old lying amongthe machinery of the bed, and although she had not told him directly he knewshe was afraid.'We're ready, Ilse,' he said in the levellest tone he could manage.Without opening her eyes, she answered, 'Me too.You can keep quiet now.'Then, with no further warning, she let herself go.How it could be perceived,Singh had never been able to work out, but it was unmistakable - one second,she was conscious and aware of her body;the next, it was a shell, and she was in another universe.He kept his aching eyes on the pale face of the watchdog, and was dismayedafter only a couple of minutes to see a shock of surprise reflected there.Inthe same instant Ilse stirred.'Strong.' she said in a far-away voice.The alarmed audience oozed tension almost tangibly.She licked her lips andwent on, 'I have the picture of his fantasy now - he's the great hero,defender of Athens, darling of the gods and idol of the people.Ican't break in, Pan! Not without making myself so obvious he'll summon all hiswill to resist.''Take your time,' Singh said reassuringly.'There's bound to be a chance toform a covering role in the fantasy.It may take time to develop, but it'llcome.''I know.' The voice was faint - almost ghostly.Singh wondered how much of ithe was actually hearing, how much experiencingtelepathically.The bloodless lips scarcely moved.'He has fabulous control,Pan.The schizoid secondary are unbelievably contrasted
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