A Call to Arms by Robert Sheckley

did a good business.
    He was really tired, and he needed a good night’s sleep. Getting to Hennesey’s Planet had been no piece of cake. It had been a slow, difficult, tedious job, navigating through the dense asteroid belt that surrounded Hennesey’s Star and its single planet. He got a good price for the motors. But it all made him very tired.
    Ni’im went to sleep in his rented quarters and woke up on a desolate plain, with fires burning across the broken landscape. He knew at once it was a dream, but he wasn’t surprised by it. He’d been having a lot of weird and upsetting dreams of late. He was ready for this one.
    “Look at it, Ni’im” Galen said, gesturing toward the ruined land. “And ponder its meaning.”
    “Who are you?”
    “I am Galen.”
    “I know the meaning of this dream,” Ni’im said, a note of defiance in his voice.
    “And that is?”
    “You’re warning me to do what you tell me--or I’ll wind up in a place like this.”
    “That’s an odd sort of reaction,” Galen said.
    “I’ve been waiting to tell it to your face.”
    “But I’ve never met you before,” Galen noted.
    “Not directly, no. But you’re the one who’s been sending me the nightmares. And now you think you’ve softened me up so you can make me do what you want.”
    Galen was genuinely surprised. This was not at all what he had expected. It hadn’t gone this way with the others.
    Galen said, “I don’t think I’m getting through to you.”
    “You’re getting through just fine,” Ni’im said. “That’s a cute trick, transporting me here. This is a dream, isn’t it? I suppose you’ve manipulated my astral body. Is that how it’s done?”
    “Something like that,” Galen answered.
    “It’ll do you no good. I’m on to your tricks.”
    “My tricks? Who do you think I am?”
    “You’re one of them.”
    “One of who?”
    “The enemy.”
    “What enemy are you referring to?”
    “The Drakh, that’s who. The only real enemy.”
    “This is preposterous,” Galen said. “Look at me. Do I look like a Drakh?”
    “Of course not. What would be the point of that?”
    “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
    “A Drakh trying to get me to do something would of course disguise himself. For whatever reason, you’ve chosen to appear as an Earther. Though frankly, you haven’t done a very good job of it.”
    “Where have I gone wrong?” Galen asked.
    “The features. No Earther ever looked like you look.”
    “First I ever heard of it. I don’t look like a Drakh, though, do I?”
    “You look like someone trying to disguise himself in a dream as an Earther. But essence will out. I know what Earthers look like, and you’re not one of them. Lucky you didn’t try to disguise yourself as Drazi. You’d really have botched that!”
    “This is crazy,” Galen said. “What could the Drakh possibly want from you?”
    “That’s what I’d like to know,” Ni’im said. Galen looked disgusted. “I’ll get back to you later.”
    “Take your time,” Ni’im said. “You won’t get anything out of me.”
     
    Galen broke off the contact and sat very still for a while, frowning. He was alone in his darkened room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, illuminated by the light of a single powerglobe. He was disturbed.
    His plan called for contacting four people. That was the minimum number he needed to make it work. He had selected them with care, had found just the ones he needed. His order had been aware of Sheridan ever since Galen’s teacher, Elric, had encountered him years earlier. His will made him a perfect choice.
    Success seemed to be within his reach. His only problems had seemed to lie entirely with his fellow techno-mages, their reluctances, their timidity.
    He hadn’t counted on difficulties among the four he needed to contact. Initial skepticism, yes. Downright refusal, no.
    But he should have known that visions of the sort he dealt in inspired different reactions in different people. And the