“Lot of *,” Melody said, smiling.
He nodded. “Lot of * it is. If I don’t get that word, I’ll treat anything that comes in as a hostile craft. So you make sure you—”
“Don’t worry! I’ve seen how you shoot!”
Melody reviewed the transfer unit procedure with him, and they oriented on the nearest ship—another giant Disk of Polaris. Then she entered the unit.
“Oh, one thing,” Skot said before he activated the mechanism. “Is your host a nice person?”
“You’ll find out!” Melody said, laughing merrily.
11. Mating the Impact
*the other members of the council are becoming restive*
—I am aware of it they lack the patience or perspective—
*their position is comprehensible, dash we have a thoroughly worked-out plan of action, well implemented it requires only overt action at this stage, before too many individuals of the subject galaxy become aware of the hostages among them already our delay seems to be causing regression in segment etamin*
—you are very practical, * I suppose an explanation is in order—
*it would be appreciated*
—when I prayed to aposiopesis, I was granted a revelation, a small share of the nature of ultimate reality it is this: we are very like our sister galaxy—
*that hardly seems relevant*
—it is relevant, ast our leading spheres are very like theirs our / resembles their sword cultures, that the temple of tarot calls the suit of gas, of transformation both cultures employ laser weapons and have the thrust mentality—
*but our slashes roll, while their sword cultures such as the solarians employ frictive propulsion*
—rolling is frictive too but physique is of little significance it is the basic nature that matters our slashes cut enemies to pieces with their knife edges and lasers, and their solarian swords do the same it was that similarity of nature that caused the archcriminal flint of etamin to pervert our highest-kirlian agent, thereby blunting our first effort he was of sol, she of slash had we anticipated that affinity of types we should have modified our policy and prevailed then—
*perhaps so yet the other cultures do not*
—but they do, ast! our dash resembles their wands, even to the physical aspects of deriving from flying creatures, even to the social aspect of utilizing a companion-species beneficially, though I deem our £ superior to their humanoids our ast resemble their disks, quadpoint is like their cups with only the medium of rock exchanged for that of water our duocirc are like their auras being magnetically based—
*naturally all species fall into certain broad functional classifications this has long been known*
—the resemblances are too strong, too fundamental to be coincidence! they are in fact our brother species if we destroy them, how may we answer to aposiopesis? shall we not ourselves be destroyed?—
*yet our advancing civilization depends on this*
—that depends on how we define civilization progress based on the destruction of a kindred culture—
*I think it necessary for you to vacate your leadership the council will not accept your views*
—we must cease this attack against our neighbor we must seek accommodation instead together the galaxies can comprehend aposiopesis is this not clear?—
*I regret it is not*
She stepped guardedly out of the unit. If the hostages were alert, she could find herself in immediate difficulties.
Surprisingly, she was in a human body. And the ship seemed to be identical to the one she had just left. “Melody!” a voice cried. “Or is it—Yael?”
Melody did a doubletake. “Oh, no! It didn’t work!”
“You didn’t go?” Skot asked, looking relieved.
“Let me see. It doesn’t have to mean a malfunction. There has to be a suitable host at the other end. In this case, a female. If there were none aboard the ship, I should… bounce.”
“Oh. Yes, of course. That tells us something.”
“It does. If you have any communication with the Polaris, insist on talking with a female. You will know whether she’s a hostage or not.”
“Maybe we can check them all out that way.”
“No use. With almost four hundred hostages remaining in the fleet we know a good many ships are suspect, and we don’t want to alert them by checking. And it occurs to me there could be a number of female hostages whose auras are over one quarter intensity of mine, so I would not overwhelm them anyway. I have to get to those ships and eliminate the hostages directly. Otherwise the hostage ships won’t hesitate to blast the loyal ships out of space. That may have happened in one case already.” He nodded gravely.
They reoriented on a Cup of Spica, the Four of Cups. Skot activated the unit again. And Melody… Found herself in a battle for her life. It had not occurred to her that her potential host might resist. The transfer to Yael of Dragon had been so simple, but there was a deadly difference between a voluntary and an involuntary host. And that helped explain why the Andromedans destroyed the minds of their hosts: They had to, because the hosts resisted as long as they were able. She was in the body of a Spican Impact, a fin-propelled creature of the deep sea. Spicans were neuter or triple-sexed, depending on one’s viewpoint. There were three fixed physical types, but the sexual role of each was determined by the manner in which a trio came together. Any two could interact without sexual excitation, but the arrival of the third sex acted as a catalyst, and there was immediate and explosive mergeance. More correctly, implosive mergeance.
Melody, as a basically neuter Mintakan, could occupy any Spican host. But the hostage she happened to orient on possessed a female Andromedan aura. So this had to be considered a female form.
But it was a spitfire! It tried to push her out—but of course there was nowhere to go, and its aural intensity was less than a quarter her own. It had prior possession of the host, however, which gave it considerable initial leverage. The battle seemed to be about even.
:: Who? :: the alien female demanded, ramming again.
No concealment necessary or possible, here! “Melody of Mintaka—Galaxy Milky Way.” She let her aura flow around the thrusts, seeking the living heart of the host. This was aura against aura, but in certain respects it resembled a physical battle.
:: Chisel of quadpoint :: the alien said. :: Galaxy Andromeda. Now get out of my host! :: The emphasis was contributed by two more ferocious shocks.
The alien mode of communication was intriguing, distinct from all Milky Way modes Melody knew of. But she had no chance to cogitate on that at the moment. “Sorry, Chisel. You took a host against her will. You must now suffer the same conquest.” And Melody flowed again, enveloping and nullifying the thrusts.
The Impact body spun erratically in the water as now one mind, now the other activated its mechanisms.
Gradually Melody’s superior aura asserted itself. In a pure Kirlian contest, no entity of this galaxy could match her—and probably none of Andromeda either. She was the Kirlian entity, and now she appreciated the translation of her aura into raw power. She infiltrated, permeating Chisel’s lesser aura, nullifying it, reaching ever deeper into the essence of the Spican host.
Breakthrough! Melody found herself within the memory of the Andromedan. For a moment she experienced the state of :: consciousness. She was a quadpoint, moving through the warm deep layers of lithospheric rock. This was the habitable zone of the planet. Far above were layers of frozen ammonia, surmounted by turbulent frigid gases. Sometimes a quake opened a fissure and let in some of that awful gas, a reminder of the hell that was the surface. At other times boiling lava welled up from the nether depths—the opposite hell. It took an alert, resourceful entity to avoid both hazards long enough to reproduce itself. Yet it was these intrusions of gas that provided the pockets necessary for breath, and the hardened lava was the food of subsequent generations. Without both hazards, life within this planet would soon die out. Ironic.
Melody
didn’t like this. She was invading another entity’s intimate privacy, committing a kind of rape. Against an unknown enemy, she could do it, but this was becoming a known, understood entity—one who had feelings and comprehensible motives. It hurt to hurt her.
Through the rock, searching for sustenance. It was a pleasure to strike forward with the tongs, spearing into the hard vein, dislodging it, sifting out the nutrient element, imbibing it through the tong-orifice, heaving the refuse sand back to block the passage. To fail to plug the tunnel behind would be a severe breach of manner and potential hazard: open passages were apt conduits for descending surface gas.
Another block of rock came loose, leaving the :: imprint of her chisels: a neat extraction. This was a good vein! But in a way it was also bad, because she would fill herself faster, and have to report to the Imperial Annex for her next tour of duty. There were rumblings of excitement shaking the Galaxy of Andromeda (the name-concept differed from Melody’s, of course, but the identity was clear), but that meant difficult duty, probably transfer duty, for one of her aura. Transfer meant danger, and the occupation of strange, unpleasant hostile bodies. But she really had no choice. Duty to one’s galaxy…
Melody clamped down. The victory was hers. Yet it was too bad, this suppression of sapient, feeling sentience. A rock-boring entity, with pronged multiple-function extensions that speared into solid stone, powdered it, tossed it, and also were walking feet. And intriguing lifestyle, comprehensible. There were probably similar species in the Milky Way galaxy.
Then Melody made contact with the host entity, the Spican Impact, who was in a sorry state. The aural overwhelming involved in hostaging had severely damaged her psyche, and the Andromedan had driven her mercilessly. The suppression had been severe, much harsher than it needed to be. Chisel of quadpoint had taken care to preserve only the technical life of the host aura, so that the advantage of a living host would not be lost. Health had been superfluous. When the alien departed, only the shell of the Impact would remain.
This was what had happened to the hostages aboard the flagship. It was not merely that the hosts had fought; they had been deliberately brutalized into schizophrenia for the convenience of the invaders. The Lady Andromeda was a harsh mistress! Without question she needed to be chained!
Melody swam about, getting the feel of her new body as she explored the host and hostage minds for information. Apparently there were five hostages aboard this ship; the other four were male, three Sibilants, one Undulant. They had not yet taken over the ship, but at the signal from the command ship they would kill the Spican captain and his loyal officers and assume control.
This was, as Yael would have put it, a gold mine! The Andromedan code signal for action hour was “Six of Scepters.” A Tarot code! Scepter was another term for Wand, a more royal-sounding variant. The Suit of Energy was associated with Galaxy Andromeda, the greatest energy thieves in the universe. And the Six of Energy signified victory, victory for Andromeda—in a simple code few if any Milky Wayan space officers would comprehend.
She now had the information she would have gotten from Tiala—or did she? There was no hint here of the thing she suspected. But of course Chisel of :: had no need to know the details of the larger plan; she was concerned only with her ship. So Melody’s suspicion could still be valid. She hoped not.
Now she had a job. She had to eliminate four more hostages, advise the Spican captain of the situation, and return to the Ace of Swords. Then go out again—and again. She had no hope of neutralizing every hostage in the fleet, but she had to build a nucleus of secure ships for the moment the “Six of Scepters” was invoked. With luck they would be able to postpone that order indefinitely, since it probably was supposed to come through Dash. But it might be a generalized signal from Andromeda itself, unstoppable. Then it would be—
She tried to shake her human head, and of course it didn’t work, as she wasn’t human any more. So she played a complex chord of mixed emotions—and that didn’t work either. Her change of host and the battle with an alien aura had unsettled her, evoking inopportune responses. Her Impact body merely expanded momentarily, causing her to jerk toward the surface of the sea—only there was no surface.
The ship was a huge cup, the hollow of it oriented on the near star, Etamin, reflecting its rays of light into a focal point for collection and conversion to ship’s power. Power, as always, was crucial. Every ship of space had two prime requirements, and the first was power. The Swords of Sol slashed against sunlight, the Disks of Polaris intercepted it, the Cups of Spica dipped it. Small ships could operate on stored power, but they reported often to their host ships for recharging. The big vessels had to have a continuing influx of energy, and only the stars could provide that. Thus the big fleets were always parked near stars, their orbits eliminating the need for drive-power and their shapes serving as solar collectors. They might resemble the five suits of the Tarot, but this was no mere fancy; these were efficient shapes for prolonged action in space. Any interstellar ship that did not possess substantial light-collection apparatus was suspect; it could not support living entities directly.
The other requirement for spaceships was gravity. No better mechanism had been discovered for controlled artificial gravity than centrifugal force. So every major ship had to spin, which meant that it had to have an axis of rotation and be symmetrical; an off-balance ship could not spin effectively. While there was no need for streamlining in space, the requirements of symmetry and light collection produced ships that were fairly simple in outline, and smooth.
Gravity was less of an immediate factor in the water-medium of this ship, since the liquid was all-supporting. But gravity was still necessary to avoid the chore of pressurizing the entire ship, and to provide orientation. There had to be an “up” and a “down” or swimming became awkward. Spicans also required the continuing exercise of adjusting to changing pressure; of rising by expanding the tissues, and sinking by contracting them. If these abilities atrophied by too-long immersion in constant pressure, the space-going individuals would be unable to return to their home seas. Solarians faced a similar necessity of gravity, for their muscles atrophied if not constantly exerted. Gravity was not a matter of mere comfort, but of survival.
Melody came to a colored marker suspended in the water. Her host-mind gave warning; this was the boundary of the Sibilant zone. Unlike Solarians, Spicans had to be segregated by sex. Any two sexes could associate, but never all three, unless mating were intended, and even then, never in groups.
Melody had excellent reason not to mate! She shied away from the marker. However, this posed a problem: She was an Impact, and the other hostages were Sibilants and an Undulant. She had to get into the other zones— and that meant the risk of mating. For once the three sexes met mating was not voluntary. Three together meant immediate mergeance and parturition—and a shift of sexual identity for Melody. Of course in one sense it would not matter, while she was in a Spican host, for this same Impact could accommodate a male or a female mind. But it would become impossible to return to her human female host. And Melody dreaded to think what forced participation in Spican reproduction would do to her if she were trapped into it in the masculine role. She might forfeit her sanity. For she could not turn the function over to her host-mind; the host Spican was borderline insane now, and Chisel of :: would not readily yield control once she recovered it.
Well, she would have to manage. Maybe she could report directly to the Captain. She fished for information in the host/hostage minds. He was Llono the Undulant, an experienced, competent spacer and a high-Kirlian, which was why he had not been taken hostage. The few higher-aura entities in the Andromedan invasion squad had been reserved for more important positions. Good. Melody would be able to relate to him. She thought of the Captain as male, though this was meaningless in the Spican scheme. He had procreated before, therefore he was male by Mintakan definition, even though his next mating might make him a mother. In Sphere Mintaka there was no mot
her-father distinction, anyway.
She swam for the command chamber, which was around the side of the cup. She used one of the reserved corridors, so that no non-Impacts would be encountered. The water was not in the center section of the cup, but in what Solarians thought of as the rim and sides. The center was of course hollow, to focus and collect the light energy. So she had to follow a broadly circular route. Fortunately her host, who was Datok the Impact, was off shift now, and free to circulate. When on shift, Datok was Chief of Gunnery, in charge of the huge water bombs that were the primary offensive armament of the ship. Melody was not certain how this weapon operated in space, but she didn’t want any squirted at the flagship.
She came to the Undulant markers. No help for it; she had to enter this zone in order to reach the Captain. She dared not use the ship’s communications system as the Communications Officer was a hostage. The Captain was a practical sort; he would not be easy to convince without direct evidence—and that would be impossible to provide without a transfer unit. She would have to convince him of her identity, then have him message the Ace of Swords under the code phrase “Lot of *” and get confirmation from Skot—
No, that message would go through Llume, as it was not a short-range shuttle beam, but Llume did not know the code. That would distort the response, and leave the Spican Captain unconvinced. No message!
Then how could she convince him? She would simply have to tell him the truth, and hope he was smart enough and objective enough to verify it in his own fashion. If she failed…
“I’m only an old neuter,” she told herself. “I hate adventure!”
Then she swam on through the dread Undulant zone toward the command pool.
She was in luck. Captain Llono the Undulant ran an “open” pond, and was freely accessible to his officers. His alarm net informed him of Melody’s approach, and by the time she arrived he had cleared the pool of other entities.
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