Acuna watched Creek twist for a while and then got up from the counter and walked over to him. "That takes care of the arm," Acuna said, and kicked Creek square in the face, causing a burst of blood to fountain out his nose. "And that should square us for the broken nose." He stepped away and raised his gun. "And this is the interest on both. Goodbye, Creek."

Takk was only mildly interested in the interaction between Acuna and Creek. What he was more interested in—indeed, what he was almost entirely consumed with—was Robin.

Acuna had retrieved Robin while Takk had carried Creek into the comm center; once inside, however, they swapped. "Try not to lose her," Acuna had said, shoving the girl at Takk, who looked up at him with terrified eyes.

Takk gently put his huge paw on her shoulder. "Don't worry," Takk said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You just clubbed my friend into a coma," Robin said. "Pardon me if I don't relax."

There it was. Just like it was prophesied by Dwellin:

The Lamb will come to the house of strangers 

With a journey of many miles behind it; 

It will be made welcome by those who dwell within 

But will be yet full of fears.

Takk had been reading the prophecies pretty much nonstop since Archie McClellan had handed them over prior to ingestion; if d be fair to say that he'd memorized most of them at this point (Nagch had excellent memories for the written word). They had fascinated Takk. He was not by inclination one easily swayed by mysticism, preferring instead the sense of order and comforting ritual religion could provide (after reading the preface to the prophecies, he would have considered himself more of an Ironist than an Empathist, if he were a member of the Church). Yet there was something compelling about the idea that these prophecies not only might come true, but were thought to come true through the conscious decision of the Church members to make them so. It was an interesting juxtaposition between fate and free will that allowed for both to exist—nay, required them to go hand-in-hand, skipping merrily through the field.

Takk recognized of course that the prophecy he was thinking of was not an exact fit. The communications hut could be considered a "house" only in the broadest and most liberal .sense of the term, the one that granted that any structure could theoretically be a home to someone. And yet other elements fit very well. Had not the Lamb traveled many miles? Indeed—light-years, in fact, a distance that made mockery of the term "mile." Did Takk not just tell her not to worry (and did so unprompted by prophecy—he only consciously thought of the prophecy afterward)? And was she not, and reasonably so, Takk thought, full of fears?

Takk racked his brain for other prophecies that matched the situation, but came up empty. There was nothing in the prophecies that said anything about someone like Acuna antagonizing someone like this Creek fellow. This didn't entirely surprise Takk, either. There's not a prophecy for everything in the universe, even if one is willing to deconstruct the writing down to its most general and symbolic level. Dwellin was understandably focused on the issues surrounding the Evolved Lamb and its trials; he'd naturally skip parts here and there. From what Takk understood of the background of the prophecies and Dwellin, by the end he was well-nigh incoherent off of alcohol and cheap over-the-counter pharmaceuticals. It would have been difficult for him to develop and sustain more than one prophetic narrative.

Acuna shot Creek in the arm; Creek, who been propping himself up with the arm, fell back to the floor, bleeding and moaning. Robin screamed.

"Oh, God, oh God," she said. "Oh God, Harry. Help us, Please help us." She started repeating the sentence, with variations, for the next several seconds.

And it was here that Takk recognized a situation similar to another prophecy—or if not an exact situation, at least a situation where one of Dwelliris exhortation stanzas could certainly apply:

Lo! The Lamb stands not alone but with those

Who see themselves within it.

He who helps the Lamb helps himself.

He who serves the Lamb saves himself.

Dwellin wrote this particular stanza at a time when Andrea Hayter-Ross experimented with holding back the pitiful allowance she provided him, just to see what he would do. Dwellin wrote this stanza, among others vaguely hinting that it was good to serve the Lamb (at the last minute prior to sending them to Hayter-Ross, he excised one of the more desperate ones in which he flat-out asked for cash), and was also shortly thereafter arrested at a Vons supermarket for stealing a Clark Bar. Hayter-Ross paid his bail, and in one of the rare moments where she felt bad about making Dwellin jump through silly hoops, gave him a bonus on his cash installment and took him out to dinner at a smorgasbord.

Takk knew nothing of this backstory, nor would it have mattered to him if he had. What mattered to him was the Lamb was asking for help—and that by asking for it, had invited Takk to help himself as well.

Truth to be told, Takk was getting tired of the Ftruu. It was overwhelming and exciting and even a little gratifying at first—a nice adventure and an interesting way to see the universe. But over the last few months and especially the last few days, what Takk mostly felt was tired. Tired of living with the criminal element, which was not an especially invigorating element in any meaningful sense, tired of feeling the obligation of trying forbidden things, tired of meeting new people only in circumstances where he beat them or ate them.

In other words, Takk was primed for a religious epiphany, and as he watched Acuna jam his boot into Creek's face, one hammered into him with lightning-hot intensity. His time of Ftruu was over, suddenly and irrevocably, and thank God for that. It was time for him to make the choice to return to the ranks of the moral, and to those engaged in the process of bettering the universe, not destroying it as a way to get they wanted; people like the Nidu ambassador or the human Jean Schroeder or even Rod Acuna, who didn't actually want much of anything other than to be angry and get paid for it

Acuna lifted his gun again to aim at Creek's head; Robin turned into Takk's chest to avoid the scene, still whispering for help. With one enormous paw, Takk swiftly but gently moved Robin aside, stepped forward, opened his insides, and sent his intestinal tendrils whipping toward Acuna. One hooked Acuna's arm just as he fired his gun, twisting the barrel to the right and ricocheting the bullet off the concrete floor into the wall. The gun flew from the surprised Acuna's hand. Other tendrils hooked and wrapped around Acuna's legs, waist and neck. In less than a second Acuna was secured in Takk's constrictive grip.

Acuna nevertheless managed to crane his neck, Takk's tendril hooks tearing his flesh as he did so, to get a glimpse of the Nagch.

"What the fuck axe you doing?" Acuna managed to croak out.

"I'm serving the Lamb," Takk replied, and with a mighty jerk swallowed Acuna whole.

"Holy Christ," Brian said to Creek, who was sitting at the comm center's terminal. "What the hell happened to you? You look worse than usual."

"Let's skip the pleasantries," Creek said. "Just tell me what"s going on."

Brian did, catching up Creek with tales of lawsuits, usurpations, church schemes, and intelligent computers waging the Barde of Pajmhi over and over and over and over. And then he told Creek what he learned from Andrea Hayter-Ross. Creek sighed and put his head into his (right) hand.

"You look tired," Brian said.

"I look like I've been shot in the arm and kicked in the face," Creek said.

"That too," Brian said. "But I meant besides mat."