“I don’t really understand about such things,” Hath said. “And I do have duties elsewhere. Would you mind doing the reading now?”
So her bosom would not hold him forever. Well, he had a typical human reaction. Few sapients were sincerely interested in Tarot; they only wanted a slice of their future handed to them conveniently. This would not be a good reading. The querist really had to understand the cards for that. But then, the reading was not her purpose. “Please shuffle the cards now,” she told him, handing him the pack.
His eyebrow lifted. “I have to do the work?”
“You have to do the work. You may not be conscious of it, but as you shuffle the cards you are arranging them in an order that satisfies you. You determine their final order. I only lay them out and help interpret. There is nothing supernatural about it; the cards merely reflect your will.”
“I know you have to say that,” he said, his eyes straying at last from her décolletage to her legs, which she had disposed artistically to the side of the table. “There are laws, aren’t there? You can’t claim anything about spiritual influences, but they’re there all the same, right?” He shuffled the cards.
A born sucker; she had known the type in Sphere Mintaka. They wanted to believe in fantastic agencies, not in mundane reality. The truth was that modern space science had far more effect on most entities’ lives than any possible spiritual agency.
“I only help you interpret the cards,” she insisted, knowing he would take this as confirmation of his conjecture. “No spirits exist except as you have conjured them.”
He returned the deck. Melody dealt the first card of the reading. It was the Five of Serpents of the New Tarot, with the five snakes radiating out from the points of a five-pointed star. Too bad; these Minor Arcana were not complex enough to evoke the reactions she needed. What would she do if the whole layout turned out to be like this?
But she tried. “What does this suggest to you, Hath?”
He hardly glanced at it. “The patina of reproduction, of course.”
Melody forced her mouth to work. “Of course.” Was he teasing her or was this a completely alien reaction?
She dealt another card: Unity, equivalent to The Lovers in the more conventional decks. It could be considered as representing the commencement of a new way, though of course it was far more complex than that.
“There is the first shoot entering the nutrient globe,” Hath said. “Ready to fission in that egg into the five sexes that will consume the body of the female entity laid out as food, before emerging as shown in the prior card,” he said. He looked up. “I’m surprised they are permitted to print such graphic material.”
“Sometimes they do have trouble with local censors,” Melody said somewhat feebly. For she had abruptly identified the applicable culture, the only one she knew of that had five sexes. Sphere * of Andromeda.
By the time she completed the reading, she was certain. Hath was another hostage. She gave him a nice “fortune” and let him go. But her human heart was pounding.
Her first Tarot testing had been a success. But she was not precisely satisfied with its verdict. If a random sampling of personnel had so easily turned up another agent of Andromeda, how many more were aboard this ship?
Melody was tired, and so was her host. She had been awake and active for some time, and had experienced more new and unsettling things than ever before in her life. She had to relax.
“Let’s take us a subsonic dense and estivation,” she told Yael.
“What?” Bewilderment.
“Oh—sorry, I forget. I mean a hot shower and sleep.”
“It must be some life, on Mintaka,” Yael remarked.
“It is some life here, girl!”
Yael laughed, pleased. “It’s my dream come true. I hope we’re stuck here forever.”
Incurable lust for adventure! “Very well. Why don’t you strip us down and take us our shower, and I’ll tag along for the ride.”
Incredulous thrill. “You’ll let me run the whole body? Even though I’m only the host?”
“The Lord God of Hosts is with you yet,” Melody agreed. Then, feeling the instant reaction: “I’m not ridiculing your religion! It is possible to love and laugh at the same time, you know.” She was afraid that would not be enough, but Yael’s mind brightened. Another advantage of lesser intelligence: it was easily satisfied. Melody’s actual attitude toward Solarian religion was more complex and skeptical than the human girl could appreciate.
Yael took over the body, hesitantly at first, then with greater sureness. Melody had to school herself to let go, becoming completely limp in intent, so that it was possible. They/she began to shrug out of her blouse, letting the fabric tear down the front and back. As it was recyclable, it would be conveyed to the ship’s clothing unit and merged with similar refuse. The oven would melt it down, and the centrifuge would spin out the dirt, and the jet-molds would squirt new clothes on order into the system. Little was wasted in space—apart from the fact that the whole space effort was a waste. Monstrous fleets that could never do battle…
Yael stopped, her bosom half-bared. “The magnet!” she said.
Melody looked where the girl was gazing—the easiest of things to do, in the circumstance, since the eyes were under host-control. “Slammer’s all right; he’s just hovering.”
“That’s just it. He’s watching.”
Now Melody laughed. “Of course. He’s protecting us. With these hostages around, that’s just as well.”
“But he’ll see—you know.”
Melody had to work this out before responding. Solarians wore clothes, lest the males be sexually stimulated by the sight of the female torso, and impregnate… but she hardly needed to rehearse that fact again. “He’s not human. He’s a magnet. Breasts mean nothing to him— not even so fine a pair as yours.”
“How do we know?”
That stopped her. “Well, it does seem unlikely. Anyway, he has no eyes.”
Yael was reassured. “That’s right! He can’t see!” And she stripped away the rest of the blouse and skirt and stuffed them in the recycle chute.
Actually, Melody realized, the magnet could see. He merely used a different system. The human body’s presence and density distorted its magnetic environment slightly, so that Slammer could locate it precisely. Clothing made little difference. Yael would be shocked if she realized that the magnet could probably perceive her most intimate internal functions.
“We’d better use the john,” Yael said, heading for the refuse cubicle. Then halted again. “This is an open slot. And the magnet’s right here.”
So the action of elimination possessed different scruples from the mere exposure of flesh! “All creatures have natural functions,” Melody pointed out.
“That means it understands. It’s male, and its watching. Or listening. Or something.”
“That last covers the situation best,” Melody said. Odd that a function that both male and female Solarians practiced similarly should have greater social restrictions than one that involved sexual differentiation. Mintakans were not that way: they were quite open about intake and elimination. Sexuality seemed to extend well beyond the mechanisms of sex, here. She had no idea. “We can tie a curtain to conceal the seat.”
“Yes!” That solved the problem. The Solarian girl was locked on vision; the curtain made no difference to Slammer, but relieved her problem of propriety.
After the toilet, the shower. This already had a curtain, to prevent the fine spray of water from splashing out wastefully. Slammer hovered close, but did not intrude within the shower itself. The magnet seemed to be satisfied to maintain a distance of about one human body-length. It hovered closer when potential enemies were about, hung farther away when things seemed secure, as now. He was an excellent bodyguard.
Something about that very proficiency bothered Melody, but she couldn’t quite place her objection.
“I’ve checked six officers,” Melody said subvocal
ly to Llume’s ball. “And all six are hostages. High-Kirlian Andromedans masquerading as loyal Segment Etamin entities.”
“I am dismayed, not surprised,” Llume replied. “I had noted some possibilities, once put on alert. This is why I brought these entities to you first. Is it time to take the matter to the Captain?”
“Maybe,” Melody agreed. “But I don’t know how he’ll react. These are his trusted officers, after all. If he refuses to believe, it could be instant disaster, six against one. They’d kill him. I’d better play it pianissimo until I’m sure.”
“Yes.” The Spican, too, was uneasy. “We swim through treacherous waters.”
But if they didn’t swim, Melody thought, they would soon sink.
6. Chaining the Lady
*action hour revised approaches*
—we must delay it a little longer segment knyfh remains in doubt we must improve our situation there—
*quadpoint will object*
—droppings on quadpoint! let him hammer out his own tunnel I coordinate this effort—
Melody had been finding so many hostages she was beginning to wonder if there was anyone aboard who was not a hostage.
It was her off-shift, not that she really had shifts. Llume was sleeping. Spicans might not sleep, but the Polarian host did. Melody would normally be sleeping too, but now she was awake and restless. Should she tell the Captain about the hostages? When? How?
She garbed herself in reasonably nonprovocative attire and poked her nose into the hall. No one was in sight. “Slammer, let’s take a walk,” she said. “Lead the way—” She broke off. Where did she want to go? She really had no destination.
“I wonder where March lives?” Yael remarked innocently. “We haven’t seen him since we left the shuttle, and so much has happened… I hope he wasn’t hurt in the explosion.”
“The crew’s quarters!” Melody said with sudden inspiration. She might be able to make a quick survey for hostages.
Slammer moved down the hall. Melody followed, pleased to have the experiment work: the magnet could and would take her where she wanted to go.
The officer’s section of the ship seemed to be sealed off, a separate world, yet there was far more to this vessel of space than that. The whole sword-handle was almost a Solarian mile, 1/186,000 of a light-second, in diameter, and several miles long. Much of it was taken up with supplies and machinery and huge stores of emergency fuel, but even the residential levels were partitioned. Toward the end of the handle, away from the blade, was the crew ring, much larger than the officer ring. Crewmen did not even pass through the officer ring when on duty; they took light or heavy gravity bypasses. Melody regarded this as a form of discrimination. After all, March was just as much an individual entity as was Captain Dash.
Slammer brought her to an airlock. “An airlock—here in the middle of the ship?” she asked, surprised. But she saw that the pressure gauge indicated no differential, so she waved one finger over the OPEN panel. The barrier slid aside, and she stepped through.
A smart young man stepped up, saluting. “Sir?”
“Oh, I’m not an officer,” Melody said. “Just a wandering visitor.”
He looked at her again. “With a magnet, sir?”
“Well, the Captain assigned—a courtesy gesture, so I wouldn’t get into too much trouble.”
He politely let that stand unchallenged. “And your business here?”
“I… thought I’d…” Would it get March in trouble if she gave his name? She decided not to risk it yet. “I’d like to take a look at the crew’s quarters, just from curiosity. I am very new to space. Is this permitted?”
“Is this an official or unofficial visit, sir?”
“Unofficial. I have no authority, no rank. I’m just… I don’t want to be any trouble…”
“Lagniappe?” he said.
“Lan of Yap? I’m afraid I don’t understand…”
He smiled. “Lagniappe. One word, not a place. It signifies—sir, you really don’t understand?”
“I really don’t. Have I given offense?”
His eyes traveled over her body, seeing what her demure clothing could not conceal. It was amazing the persistence with which the Solarian male observed the Solarian female. “Sir, there is no way you could give offense. If you will appoint me as your escort, and so advise the magnet, I shall be happy to explain and demonstrate.” He smiled again. “Lan of Yap—that’s clever.”
“Slammer, I appoint this man as my escort through the crew’s quarters of this ship,” Melody said to the magnet. Slammer nodded agreeably. Melody’s initial fear of the magnet had rapidly faded. Cannonballs weren’t dangerous unless someone activated the cannon.
The man spoke into the intercom. “Replacement to Officer’s Lock number Two,” he said crisply. “Lagniappe.” Then, to Melody: “It will only be a moment, sir. Please don this cover.” And he handed her a somewhat wrinkled brown jacket.
Perplexed, Melody put it on. The young man removed his hat, revealing bright yellow hair. “Now if you will give me your name…”
“Yael,” she said. “Yael of—”
“That suffices. I am… Gary. No more need be said.”
Another crewman arrived. “Take over, Sam,” Gary said. “I’m going Lan of Yap.”
The other smiled. “Lan of Yap.” Then he peered at Melody, his eyes seeming to strike right through the jacket. “With her? You lucky—”
Gary cut him off with a lifted hand. “Carry on, E-Two.” Then he took Melody firmly by the arm. “This way, Yael.”
As they walked down the passage, with Slammer floating sedately behind, Gary explained. “Officers have to act like officers, because that’s what they are. We enlisted men have more freedom to be ourselves. We fight, we cry, we laugh, we have wild parties, we goof off. So while the officers go slowly crazy, we enlisted men get along pretty well. When an officer can’t take any more of the gung-ho, he comes down here, off the record, and takes off his rank, and we let him in on some of the fun. We don’t recognize him, we don’t call him ‘sir,’ we just help him let go. It’s like a night on the town. No one ever says a thing about it afterward; it just doesn’t exist, as far as official ship’s protocol is concerned. It’s that little extra in his life, the lagniappe, the gift we give beyond the call of duty, no obligation… know what I mean?”
“Sounds like fun,” Melody agreed, though she was not entirely clear about the rationale.
“More than fun. Lagniappe is the way of space. You do a little something extra for your neighbor, and in turn he does it for you, because we all are here in space and there’s nothing else but the ship. If we don’t get along here, we don’t get along at all.”
“What do you do, Gary, when you aren’t… getting along?”
“I’m a foilman,” he said. “When I’m not pulling guard duty. I put on my suit and get out there and clean the blade. It gets pitted and holed and dirty from space dust, you know, and—”
“You go outside the ship?” she asked, surprised.
“Sure; that’s where the solar collection foils are. If we just let them go, next thing you know collection efficiency will be down ten percent, then twenty percent. We need that light-power to keep us energy self-sufficient.
“Yes, of course. All the ships have solar collectors. I saw that as I came in on the shuttle. But Gary, the ship is turning, isn’t it, and centrifugal force is more than one gravity at the outer shell. How do you stay on?”
“That’s what makes it a challenge,” he said, inflating a little. “I have magnetic soles on my boots, of course, and a safety line, but it’s a bit like hanging by your toes. And I can’t even do that on the sword-foil; it’d tear. So I have to use a support sling.”
“But if anything breaks—”
“I go swinging out into space,” he said. “That’s why I’m careful, very careful.” He guided her into a lounge. “The job isn’t bad, in fact I like it, but it takes a special kind of man. One who gets a bit paran
oid about carelessness.”
Five crewmen looked up. Rather, three human crewmen looked, and one translucent jellylike Antarian quivered, and a jumper from Mirzam angled an antenna. Evidently there was quite a bit of physical travel between Spheres, for Mirzam was about eight hundred light-years from Etamin. Maybe some entities had been mattermitted on a special mission, then left at Outworld to fend for themselves because of the enormous expense of the return trip. If the contingents representing other Spheres were staffed by Sphere-natives, this was another example of the tremendous waste of energy involved in the military—all for the sake of show. If all that energy were only used for more positive purposes—but probably that issue would never be settled. Waste, thy name is Empire, she thought. “This is Yael,” Gary said. “Lan of Yap.” The others smiled in their separate fashions, enjoying the mispronunciation. In turn they introduced themselves: “Adam.” “Joyce.” “Manfred.” “Slither.” “Bounce.” Melody was glad to find an integrated crew, regardless of the waste. The officership was almost entirely Solarian, but it seemed any entity could join the crew. There would be plenty of Solarians and Polarians in the crews of other-Sphere ships, too, serving under other-Sphere officers. She was sure this was a deliberate policy, to prevent prejudices from arising between Spheres of the segment. Of course some adjustments had to be made, as the atmospheres of all planets were not interchangeable. She could detect a faint odor in the air here; presumably something had been added for the benefit of one of the other species. And the Mirzam entity seemed to have a mask of sorts covering part of its face, much as a Solarian would carry an oxygen inhaler in an oxygen-deficient atmosphere.
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