After the usual nonreaction by the moon—what had the Solarians expected?—the Monster ships settled down on the surface. Actually there were several types and sizes of them. The larger ships remained in orbit, as they were unable to withstand the effect of surface gravity. The medium-sized ones went on down, and the smallest shuttled between, conveying specimens to the large ones. Rondl realized that, coincidentally, this operation was organized very much like his own; the alien command post was also in space.
Wheeled vehicles emerged from the landed ships and commenced their canvassing. They moved rapidly, as each had extensive territory to cover. Perception devices extended from them, emitting radiation. Now at last the rationale began to manifest: the Band communications system relayed news that the Monsters reacted to anything metallic. Were they short of metals? Surely not; their ships were mostly metal, suggesting that they had substantial quantities of it in their home system. Therefore it was likely that the metal merely signaled the possible presence of something else the Monsters wanted. What could that be?
Rondl thought he should know. But when he concentrated on that thought, it vanished as though deliberately hiding from him. He let it go, being by now well used to this frustration.
The Band body was to a large extent metallic, though evidently not the kind of metal the Monsters wanted. That was just as well; it would have been terrible if the Solarians had charged in to Planet Band and begun capturing Bands for their metal content, in the manner of the Kratch! Now some Bands were located and ignored; others were taken aboard the land-traveling vehicles. There seemed to be a preference for those Bands who had coated themselves with metallic dust and fragments, holding them in place magnetically. It seemed that this additional concentration of metal made them of interest. But not compellingly so; the Bands were merely dumped in hoppers with other objects and ignored. That was exactly what Rondl wanted.
A new hint came. There was a concavity in the surface of one of the large lava-flow plains, and several vehicles converged on this. Rondl's planetary geologist specialists had already advised him that this concavity was natural, the result of the long-ago collapse of a volcanic bubble of gas. At times some water had condensed in it, leaving concentric marks; now it was dry. It really was of very little interest to anyone except a geologist—and it turned out to be of no further interest to the Monsters, once they too had ascertained its nature. The vehicles went on. But this diversion indicated that it was not merely metal, but special shapes that they were searching out. Perhaps they collected the small bits of metal in the hope that these were fragments of the main mass, so that an increasing density of them would chart its presence.
In due course the vehicles reached rendezvous points and delivered their samples to the shuttle ships. The shuttles blasted off with much flame and smoke and wastage of energy—and with a few concealed Bands within.
Now it should get interesting. Each Band had been drilled in the procedure, and knew what to do. Rondl was not in contact with these captives, but did not need to be. The effects of his strategy should become apparent soon.
The first shuttle homed in on its command ship. A docking-hatch opened in the larger vessel. The shuttle flew neatly in—and misjudged slightly, colliding with the rim of the aperture. It seemed to be an accident of chance, a minor malfunction causing a small but awkward deviation in course.
There was a pause. Then the dented shuttle backed off, reoriented, and moved forward again—and banged into the other side of the hatch, staving in its nose-point.
"It's working!" Cirl flashed with almost unsocial glee. She was becoming hardened to violence by her association with Rondl, especially during the dreams and the Kratch hunt. "Our plan is causing them trouble!"
So it seemed. There was a Band aboard that shuttle—and that Band had used its magnetism to distort the internal control signals of the shuttle, so that the craft moved slightly off the mark. The Monsters did not know the cause; they thought it was a real accident. Apparently Monsters were accustomed to equipment failure, and took it in course.
Other shuttles were arriving. Similar accidents occurred. The shuttles had to park in orbit, waiting for robots from the command ships to clear the debris and fix the crushed mechanisms. A spreading ripple of complication developed, as delayed shuttles missed their scheduled rendezvous back on the moon, and the collector vehicles had to wait to deliver their loads.
"Snafu," Rondl flashed contentedly.
Cirl was not familiar with the concept. Rondl started to clarify it—and lost it himself. "But it covers what is happening to the Monsters," he said.
Finally space-suited Monsters emerged from the command ships and crossed clumsily to the shuttles that had been misbehaving. Rondl felt humor; he knew the Monsters would find few genuine malfunctions. The Bands would remain quiescent as long as any Monster was paying attention. So at last some shuttles were properly docked and their cargoes unloaded.
The troublemaker Bands were now inside the command ships, undiscovered. The arrogant ignorance of the Monsters, who took no note of Bands in their cargo, was about to cause them grief.
"Situation normal," Rondl said.
The flow of shuttles resumed—until more accidents happened. One misjudgment was worse than most; the shuttle accelerated instead of decelerating as it entered the docking port. As a result, it collided violently with the interior mechanism of the larger ship.
"All fouled up," Rondl continued.
There was the flash of an explosion. Smoke puffed out the port, dissipating into space about the ship. "I think that Band interfered with the wrong circuit," Cirl remarked. "They weren't supposed to do that much damage." But she did not seem unduly disturbed.
Rondl gave her a satisfied flash. His prior efforts to stop the Monsters had been failures; this abrupt success was highly gratifying. But he was not sure how long it would continue. The Monsters were gruesome, but not stupid; they would investigate, and eventually catch on. What would happen then?
As it turned out, the confusion caused by the series of accidents prevented the Monsters from concentrating on the origin of those accidents. The Band connection remained undiscovered. Signals flashed from ship to ship, comparing sites and actions—and the orbiting Bands were able to intercept and modify some of these signals, causing further mischief. One command ship changed its orbit when it was not supposed to, disrupting the shuttle schedule again.
Rondl could not resist participating. He located the laser-signal lenses and positioned himself carefully between the lenses of two ships. This was the sort of maneuver a Band was naturally equipped for. Laser beams were narrow and plainly visible to Bands; it was child's play to intercept a fixed beam, as though talking to a distant Band.
Sure enough, messages were crossing. Rondl expected to intercept gibberish, for the Monster language differed from that of the Bands, and even when translated into light it should not be intelligible. But to his amazement he understood it. Was this another dream? Surely not! But he refused to be concerned at the moment; he would exploit this anomaly to the utmost while he could. By rotating in place he could pick up both sides of their dialogue. The Monsters were very crude conversationalists; first one would transmit a complete thought, then the other would. That gave Rondl plenty of time to reorient.
"...thought that was the directive, sir. We have it on recording. 'Correct orbit to Specification DL-11.' We did not question—"
Here the signal was interrupted by an imperious override beam from the other ship. Quickly Rondl reoriented.
"...should have questioned, Major! You know we have not completed Stage Four of this assignment. Now get that tub back to the Stage Four rendezvous orbit!"
Rondl reacted with the ability of his kind, modifying the message as though he were participating in a circle-communication. He did not need time to reflect; the message he relayed became part of his thought, and his input was automatic. The tiniest, most precise flux in his magnetic lens modified the light passing th
rough it very slightly. Thus the second "four" became "five," changing the directive a little bit.
"Return to what stage, sir?" the major queried, confused. Rondl did not know what the numbers of the stages signified, but he was sure that the wrong number would make further mischief.
"Are you deaf?" the senior officer retorted with typical Monster courtesy. "I told you four!" Only Rondl changed it again to "five." It was so simple to add one light-bit to the relevant sequence.
"Yes, sir," the major replied dubiously. This was all in laser, which was the machine-translated form of the Monster's verbal communication, but Rondl could almost see the creature's mobile, fleshy mouth-orifice rims rippling and his liquid-centered eyeballs squishing in confusion. "Five." And, of course, Rondl converted that back to "four."
That out-of-place ship shot out its voluminous gases in the clumsy way these machines had, looking like the System's messiest Kratch with indigestion (Rondl liked that image), and lurched toward the new position. This turned out to be the jump-off orbit for the return journey to the Monster base station set up near Moon Spare.
Rondl was not able to intercept the following communications between the two ships, as he had to pay attention to his own operations. But he could guess their nature. He saw the major's ship move out, then pause, then travel back to its proper orbit: Stage Four. By this time the shuttles had stacked up horrendously, and two had collided in space—surely an accident facilitated by the Bands aboard. There was an almost hopeless tangle to sort out.
Meanwhile the Monsters were having other problems. Rondl had other Bands monitor the laser communications; the Bands were unable to comprehend the meanings, but reported that messages were continuous and seemed increasingly irate. Many things were going wrong inside the ships, as the Bands in the cargoes exerted their mischievous influence. More shuttles went astray, causing more damage. Several ground vehicles got lost, some wrecking themselves on rough terrain, requiring special expeditions to extricate them. Some shuttles got confused and traveled on the wrong schedules, causing further obstructions.
By the time the mission was finished, it had taken three times as long as the one that surveyed Moon Spare, and the Monsters were evidently tired and irritable. An increasing number of their errors were now of their own making. A number of Bands had been lost, but most found their way back to Rondl's headquarters. The overall mood was one of satisfaction.
Rondl regarded this Band operation a success. They had disrupted the Monster schedule, giving themselves more time to organize for their next effort, and they had learned a great deal about the vulnerabilities of the enemy. Next time they should be able to do a more competent job of interference!
Cirl was especially pleased. She organized several circles, so that participants could exchange information and assimilate larger perspectives and plan superior future efforts. Now everyone knew that there was an alternative to mass disbanding as the Monsters advanced. It was possible to fight back—without actually doing brute violence.
Chapter 9
Monster
Rondl woke into another nightmare. He was back in the gruesome body of a Monster, complete with fleshy projections and orifices and those dreadful, paired, fluid-filled eyeball sacs. He had thought they had conquered these dreams, but evidently he had let his guard down and been caught again. Because this had happened unexpectedly, Cirl was not with him.
Yet this was different, and much worse. He was not merely a prisoner in the Monster's head, but now occupied the entire body. He was not observing the Monster's actions, he was actually experiencing the Monster's sensations and remembering the Monster's memories. He had been able to tap into some of these during the last nightmare, but now he was wholly immersed in them.
In fact, he had become the Monster. This was truly horrible! But at least he had the security of knowing that in due course he would wake, escaping this. Next time he slept, he would be sure to have Cirl with him to abate the effect.
This time he was not in a spaceship, but in a planetoid station. It seemed his nightmare had telescoped, eliminating the tedious buildup; it picked up somewhat beyond the situation of the last one. His jellybrain Monster memory filled in the details how the Solarians—they did not think of themselves as Monsters, any more than the Bands thought of themselves as Ringers—had suffered a population problem in the System of Sirius and had to colonize a number of planetoids, hollowing them out and pressurizing them and establishing extensive hydroponic gardens, mineral refining factories, and production facilities. Each planetoid was a self-contained city, with its own government and its own legal status. This one happened to be a military base, from which troops and supplies were mattermitted as necessary to regions elsewhere in space. It was not a bad place to live; there were extensive recreational facilities for off-duty personnel, including a torus-shaped pool in which Monsters could swim round and round without ever turning a corner, if they didn't get dizzy. Some nice effects were possible in free-fall space.
It was amazing how much he knew when he concentrated. All the oddments of information that Rondl had been unable to explain before, now fitted into a cohesive whole; there were no blanks when he concentrated. No wonder he had been good at organizing the Band resistance to invasion: he had been trained for exactly such things. To transfer to some alien host, organize the natives, foment a rebellion against the government that opposed the interests of Solarians—
Now, wait! He had not been trained! The Monster of this nightmare had been trained to these iniquities! Rondl could not have—
He stiffened in horror. Not unless—
He forced the unwelcome thought through reluctant flesh-nerve synapses. Unless he was the Monster.
His memory filled in relentlessly, as if a tap had been opened and was gushing fluid information into his chamber. He, Ronald Snowden, a Solarian, had been sent on a mission to the Band region of space, his memory blanked. He had become Rondl the Ringer. He was indeed the Monster.
Talk about nightmares!
Now he sat in a padded cell in the debriefing section of the Station, as was standard procedure for returning Transfer agents. It usually took a while to readjust, and this could not be rushed. It was not easy to adapt to a new host, even for an experienced Transfer agent, and not easy to revert instantly to oneself. Whole new systems of organization had to be adapted to, such as the solid-state magnetic patterns of the Bands, and now the stringflesh nerves of the Solarian form.
The imposition of amnesia compounded the complications. His present confusion authenticated that. He had retained the Ringer identity. That was a laugh.
"Okay, slobs, I'm back!" he called. "Let me out of the can."
Immediately the chair restraints released and the chamber door opened. Rondl got up somewhat unsteadily, stretching his limbs. The Society of Hosts took good care of the bodies of Transfer agents, but even so there was always some stiffness, and a few kinks. The debriefing officer had been through this before, and knew that regardless of his physical condition, once Ronald had collected himself enough to announce his ire, all was well.
He stepped out of the chamber into the debriefing room. The computer screen was on; the machine always handled this part. Once, centuries ago, a Transfer agent had returned criminally insane; the man had been clever enough to conceal his malady from the human debriefer, then had gone amok when free and killed several people in the name of the "Ghost of Ganymede." He hadn't even been to Ganymede, and did not believe in ghosts. Or so he had claimed before his ill-fated mission. Unfortunately he had fought recapture to the death, literally, so they had been unable to determine the specific nature of his malady. The SolSphere government disliked this sort of complication, so no one since had been permitted contact with human beings until cleared by the machine. The computer would wring Ronald dry before turning him loose. The best way to get through comfortably was to cooperate completely, harboring no secret reservations. It really wasn't so bad, with the proper attitude. In fact, it was beg
inning to get perfunctory.
"Did you find the Ancient Site?" the computer asked. It spoke exactly like a human being, complete with idiom and occasional uncertain pauses at awkward places, though in fact any uncertainties it might have were rectified in microseconds. Traditionally, sapient machines were called "Robbie"; this one tended to get nasty when so teased, and it had enormous capacity for subtle mischief, so smart Transfer agents avoided that particular ploy.
The Ancient Site. Ronald had forgotten about that. "No. It would have helped if I had been allowed to keep my memory of my mission." He became angry, remembering his confusion during Transfer. "You robbed me of my chief asset." He slurred the end of the word "robbed" slightly, so that it made a small warning light blink on the computer. A foolish thing to do, he knew, but his anger made him reckless. "I had no notion what I was looking for. In fact, I was not aware that I was looking for anything. I didn't even know what an Ancient Site was, for God's sake."
The computer ignored that. It was not required to justify the policies of Sphere Sol to a mere Transfer agent. "Did you learn anything that might indicate the possible location of the Ancient Site?"
Ronald considered, still smoldering. "I really did not. I might as well have been looking for the Ghost of Ganymede. My whole attention was taken up by the Solarian advance into Band space. And that's another question: why the hell did Sol commence the occupation before acquiring the essential data? That messes up the whole search and wastes resources foolishly, not to mention imperiling our relationship with Sphere Bellatrix."
Again the computer ignored the irrelevancy. "Did you identify any individuals of the Ringer species who might have this information?"