"I—can't!" Tiala cried.
Melody frowned, not liking this but knowing she had to do it. She knew Skot was squirming; she was putting pressure on Tiala as she had put pressure on him, once. "You can. Only the manner of the telling is in doubt."
But Tiala only shook her head.
"You are aware that this constitutes reneging?" Melody demanded, forcing a fierceness she did not feel. Why did there have to be so much brutality to adventure? "You know the alternative."
The girl nodded mutely. Tears were on her cheeks. Oh, my sister of aura, why must this be? What sense is there in it? But Melody steeled herself. How could she afford to be moved by affinity or pity in the face of the savagery of Andromeda's thrust into the Milky Way?
She glanced first at Llume, then at Skot. "It seems I must after all make siege against the aura of Tiala of Slash. Opinions?"
"There is something she knows," Skot said reluctantly. "If you're sure it's safe for you...."
"We all do what is necessary," Llume said with unusual grimness for her. As an even closer sister of aura, she was highly sensitive to the implications.
Melody's course was clear. Yet she was uneasy. If the Tarot were guiding her to this, why hadn't it offered a face of the Suit of Aura? This was surely a matter of transfer, covered by that suit. Instead the Tarot had shown her Energy, the Andromedan suit. She was about to chain another lady—and this one really was Andromedan. Why should the auspices be dubious?
More correctly, why should she think they were dubious? The card had to be exactly right for what the Tarot had to say. The focus was on Andromeda, not on aura; aura was merely the means to the information. Melody would have her answer, though she might not like it.
She set the machine for the process of overwhelming. Tiala did not move or protest. Why should this entity of Slash refuse to tell what she knew when it would immediately be extracted from her mind anyway, at far greater cost? She had only to give one answer via the Lot of *, and she would be released, with her galaxy no worse off than it would be via the aural overwhelming technique. For Tiala to balk now did not seem to make sense; she well knew Melody was not bluffing about her ability to get the information. Melody was the one entity in this galaxy capable of accomplishing this.
Melody realized that she had a Tarot-type riddle to deal with. Like the pun for dilettantes: What has five suits but exposes everything? The Cluster Tarot deck, of course. The symbols and meanings were present; she had only to interpret them properly. What pattern fit this seeming irrationality? What was there about this Lot of *?
It had to be that the unknown question related in some way to this Lot of *, so that the revelation would somehow nullify it. Was this another trap? Yet what type of trap could it be, that a lie would not have fostered better than this balk? Tiala obviously did not want to have her aura overwhelmed; her readings showed her terror of it. Why this suicidal course?
Then, from somewhere beneath full consciousness, Melody began to get a notion. She could not quite bring it to the surface, but it was appalling. In fact, it was a thing she very much preferred not to know.
Melody reset the machine and activated it. Tiala slumped.
"You sent her away?" Llume inquired, surprised.
"Yes. We have other business to attend to."
"But she had not answered the question!" Skot said.
"She answered in her fashion." Melody pondered momentarily. "Now I must transfer myself to Imperial Outworld to give warning."
"What?" Yael said, astounded.
Melody looked at Skot. "You will have to run the ship. You and Llume."
"I can't run this ship!" Skot protested.
"Well, I certainly can't!" Melody retorted. "I know nothing of the operations of either ship or fleet. And Llume...." Again she paused. She liked Llume a great deal, but.... "Why don't you transfer to Outworld, Skot? We girls can take care of the crew until help comes."
Yael was screaming voicelessly. "You know Outworld is a death trap! You can't send him there!"
"Yes, that might be better," Skot agreed. "There is something about this I don't understand, but—" The ship shook.
Llume put her ball to the deck. "That resembles a meteor impact!"
"Odds are against it," Skot said. "Meteors strike the ship all the time, but it is extremely rare for one to be big enough to be felt like that. I think someone's firing on us!"
"The hostages!" Melody said. "They have taken over another ship and attacked us! We have no officer in the control room to keep track."
"We'd better check it out right now," Skot said. "My report to Outworld would be no good if you got blown out of space."
"Come on, Slammer," Melody said. "We have business."
Llume's assessment had been close, and so had Skot's. The command room's view-globe showed the glowing hulk of a Polarian Disk ship. It had been blown up, and shrapnel fragments were spreading through space. One of them had struck the Ace of Swords, but caused only slight damage.
"The hostages must have tried to take over that ship, and been balked the hard way," Melody said. "It could have happened here."
The message-input was alive. Calls were on tap from several other ships of the fleet. "This is the flagship," Skot said. "The nerve-center of the fleet. The other ship captains need directives."
"But our captain is nonfunctional," Llume pointed out.
"If this fleet loses its central organization, it will be a setup for hostage takeover," Skot said. "If we don't handle it, a hostage ship will."
"In fact," Llume said, "this ship was slated to handle it—as a hostage-command."
"Yes," Melody agreed, seeing it. Dash of Andromeda, the highest aura of the hostage force, operating in the name of Imperial Outworld, had in fact been forwarding the interests of Galaxy Andromeda. But for her freak of luck in converting the magnets, Dash would now be in control. "We have to conceal what happened—not only from the legitimate officers of the fleet, but from the hostages—until we have identified and nullified those four hundred Andromedans."
"But if the legitimate officers don't catch on to our state here, the hostages will," Skot pointed out. "Either way, disaster."
Melody walked around the room. She had discovered that muscular exertion facilitated the operation of the human brain, apparently by pumping more fresh blood-fluid into it. "I can't bluff either group. I'm no space entity or military entity, just a visiting non-Solarian civilian. Skot...."
He shook his head. "I'm only 03. I was never privy to command decisions, and never a hostage. I'd flub it, both counts."
Melody faced Llume. "But you're 04, and you have associated with all the officers, and substituted for most of them at one time or another. You know their jobs about as well as they do. And you helped me run down the hostages; you know where they're from, how they react. You could bluff other hostages—for a while; at least until we have a better idea of where we stand."
Llume glanced at the Polarian hulk in the globe again. Her Polarian host-state had to affect her reaction. "Yes... I could... for a while."
"Then you handle communications. Tell them Captain Boyd is occupied with pressing internal problems—the hostages will know why you can't mention it on the fleet net—so you are handling coordinations. Keep the ships reassured; don't let anyone panic. Meanwhile, Skot and I will try to get one of the real officers into operative condition. I know it is not good for the health of an ex-hostage, but this is an overriding emergency. With luck, in a couple of hours we'll have Boyd or someone else able to put up at least the semblance of competency. We must keep up appearances."
Llume glowed briefly, knowing that was a futile hope. The officers would hardly be ready that soon. But she had the grace not to say so. "I will try to coordinate," she agreed. "The secret must be kept."
"Come on, Slammer," Melody said. "We have to revive your master." And she led Skot of Kade away too.
But she didn't go to the infirmary. She went back to the transfer unit and set it for
her own aura.
"I don't understand," Skot said. "If you go to Outworld now, the fleet—I thought we had agreed that I—"
"Not to Outworld. The hostages have taken over the key positions there. I never intended to ship you there, either."
"But this unit won't reach farther—" He paused. "You're not going after the Andromedans we sent to the sunside mines!"
She shuddered. "No—they'd crucify me, literally!" She took his hand. "Skot of Kade, I need your opinion. My aura is supposed to be able, with the aid of special equipment, to overwhelm a hostage of one-quarter my own intensity. Do you think this is possible at a short distance as well as in close proximity?"
"I'm no transfer expert. But I don't see why not. Transfer is essentially a long-distance mechanism, and the Andromedans did it all the way from their galaxy, a million light years away. But what relevance—"
"You see, I wouldn't want to make a hostage of one of our own people, and damage her as the Andromedans did. But I wouldn't have such scruples about an already existent hostage. That host has already been hurt, and the Andromedan deserves no better."
Skot gaped. "Yael, you're not thinking of—"
"I am Melody of Mintaka. No need to conceal it anymore. Skot, someone has to identify and deal with the hostages on the other ships. We can't let those ships fall into enemy hands."
"If I transfer to Outworld, maybe I can—"
"No! That would only give us away. I need you here. I'm going to transfer to some of the other ships, but I don't want anyone else to know. My host, the real Yael of Dragon, will conceal my absence, but you will have to help her, because she knows no more about space than I do. If she makes a slip, your ingenuity will be needed."
Skot shook his head. "Llume's the only one who might catch on, and we don't need to worry about—"
Melody put her hand on his arm, turning him about to face her. "I don't want Llume to know. It could only distract her at a very inopportune time."
Skot looked down. "Oh. Yes. Of course." Then he looked into her eyes and she knew she had a conquest if she wanted it. "Just how dangerous is this mission?"
"No worse than my mission on this ship."
"Thanks for the reassurance," he said wryly. "You're limping, bruised, and bloodshot, lucky to be alive. You look like a worn-out witch. And you say—"
Melody reached up to kiss him. "The physical violence has not affected my aura. This is the only transfer unit in the Fleet, so I will have to return in another host. Will you recognize me as a lovely Polarian?"
He had to smile. "No problem," he said, letting her go after a slight hesitation. "I'll know your aura. But we'll need a code word when you come in by shuttle. I can handle that part of it; ship-to-shuttle is on a different beam, not part of the fleet net, and Llume won't even know about it."
"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, de
pending 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.