Chaining the Lady c-2

by Piers Anthony

  “Untrue,” he said, squeezing liquid into a cup that strongly resembled a miniature Spican ship. That design was intentional; the knives were like Sword ships, the plates were Polarian Disks, and a large set of Canopian Wands was used to serve the canned salad from an atom ship container. Naturally his interests in the fleet and Tarot would be reflected here! “Your mind and aura appeal to me regardless of your form. More than you perhaps appreciate. I, too, am a transfer.”

  Melody looked at him, startled. “You?”

  “Body is mere convenience. It is not in my records; very few entities know, and none aboard this ship. It is, in fact, a deep dark military secret. But I feel I can trust you.”

  “No. Don’t trust me. I am not your kind.”

  He moved his closed human mouth about in an expressive Solarian gesture. “How can we know? They needed a high-Kirlian captain in a hurry, and a high-Kirlian anti-hostage agent. A similar situation brings us together. Perhaps we derive from the same Sphere.”

  “Unlikely. Auras such as ours are seldom discovered proximately.” That was one of the problems of aura; no one knew the rules by which it manifested. They were not genetic, certainly, but then what did account for the wide variation? Regardless, she was not about to reveal her origin, though it was possible he already knew it. Llume would not have told him, but he surely had other sources of information, and he was not stupid. Not stupid at all. She suspected he was smarter than she was, though he underplayed that aspect. Besides, how could she be certain that they were not being overheard, even here? With so many hostages around, no words were entirely safe.

  “True,” he said equably. “I have no right to pry. Still, I feel a certain affinity.”

  “It is the aura,” she said shortly. She still had not made up her mind whether to tell him about the six hostages, or even how to express it. The indecision irritated her.

  “That too. I am in love with that aura; it is the most remarkable I ever expect to encounter.” He brought out a small box. “You have adapted very well to your confinement aboard this ship, and I hope soon to have the clearance for your return to Outworld. But I must admit to a certain pleasure in your presence. You are an uncommonly attractive woman.”

  “He’s an uncommonly attractive man,” Yael murmured inside her, like an errant conscience. “I’d like to take him and… would it really be wrong to…?” The remainder of the thought was inchoate but powerful: the urge to be sexually taken.

  Melody was unable to debate it as she had the same urge. But she kept her voice controlled. “Captain, what do you know of my mind?” she asked him.

  “I have had reports of your expertise in Tarot,” he said. “It becomes apparent that you are no dabbler. I am inclined to verify the extent of your commitment.”

  “Do you want me to tell your fortune?” she inquired with a smile.

  “Yes. But not with your mechanical deck. Use this.” And he opened the box and lifted out a cube.

  “Watch it!” Yael warned. “Might be a hypnocube.”

  “I doubt I could be hypnotized by visual means,” Melody reassured her. “My mind is sonically oriented. But thanks for the warning.” Aloud, she said: “This is Tarot?”

  “This is Tarot,” Dash agreed, smiling. “Each face of it is a presentation, so you can do a full layout in one motion. You shuffle it by shaking it, so.” He shook it lightly. “Then you set it down firmly, so.”

  Melody stared. The sides of the cube had illuminated, each displaying a Tarot image. It was the Cluster deck, manifesting electronically.

  The top of the cube showed the key called The Lovers. Dash reached out slowly and tapped the cube without moving it. The King of Aura replaced the prior card. He tapped it again, and now it was the Queen of Aura. He tapped a third time, and the three faces became superimposed, the King and Queen moving into the embrace of The Lovers.

  Melody did not know whether to be more amazed at the capabilities of the cubic deck, the facility with which he managed it, or the message it contained. That last was an unspoken but quite specific proposition.

  He leaned back, letting her decide. Melody picked up the cube, shook it, and contemplated the multiple faces that appeared, a different one on each side. It was possible to bring up all the faces of the deck in turn on any side, to superimpose them in combinations, or to form split-screen presentations for special types of readings. When cards were superimposed, the pictures merged to form a new scene. There was never confusion or obfuscation. This was in fact a miniature, self-contained computer—and a dream deck.

  “Do you like it?” Dash inquired with a straight face.

  “It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” she said sincerely. The fact that most of her life had been spent without vision as she knew it now was hardly relevant. The perfect Tarot!

  “It is yours,” he said.

  She did not answer. There was no answer she could make, no thanks she could proffer. No possible gift could have meant more to her, and there was no way she could refuse it. Her mental image of the Star-card returned, but this time it was fleeting, faded. Her greatest hope of the past had been weathered down, had lost its luster, become a matter of lesser concern. Now a brighter star was rising to preempt it.

  She shook the cube once more, randomly (she thought), and set it down. One face lighted: the Two of Cups, in the ancient Thoth format. The picture showed a flower about whose stem two Solarian fish twined. From the flower poured twin currents of water that deflected off the heads of the fish to plunge into two great chalices, finally overflowing into a lake. And the written hieroglyphs spelled out the single word: LOVE.

  It was her inner emotion, betrayed by the Tarot. She had been taken by surprise and overwhelmed.

  Dash put out his hand. Unable to demur, she took it. Their auras interacted powerfully, more strongly than before, compellingly. She found it significant that he had not invoked this power before; he had let her wrestle with the cube and lose on her own. Slowly he lifted her to her feet and drew her body into his embrace.

  Slammer shivered momentarily, then drew back to the far side of the room, having decided that no attack was being made on her.

  “Wow!” Yael said. It was her maximum response to the situation, embodying virtually complete desire and abandon. Melody herself had no better comment.

  Dash led her to the couch, sat her down, and gently removed her dress. Her full human mammaries were exposed to his male gaze and touch, but now she had no fear. Then her primary sexual characteristics were similarly exposed. His amazingly evocative hands slid over the contours of her body, amplified by his aura. Then he brought his lips down to kiss the human nipples.

  The sensation became so strong that Melody gave in to a low sigh. Never before had she felt such exquisite physical and emotional stimulation. She reached up to enfold his head and press it to her bosom. Her heart was beating rapidly, and a pleasant warmth expanded in her chest. She wanted to give herself to him utterly, to be consumed by him, to merge, starting with those breasts. She wanted—impregnation.

  “God of Hosts!” Yael whispered. “I never knew it would be like this! I’m bursting!”

  Dash paused momentarily to doff his own clothes. His host-body was a handsome figure of a man, lean and muscular and well proportioned. At its center, just at the bifurcation of the legs, projected a small limb: the copulatory organ of this species.

  And she wanted that organ inside her body. It was pure Solarian-animal lust, whose true meaning she had never before properly understood in the Tarot. “Thoth Eleven,” she whispered, visualizing the variant of the card that best symbolized her need. Girl astride lion, wide open: LUST.

  Yet it could not be. For she was not a young Solarian female, but an old Mintakan neuter. She could not allow herself to bud—or in the present circumstance, to be impregnated. True, Yael had taken her contraceptive shot, but the meaning remained. For her, this was reproduction; the acts of love and lust and mergeance and creation could not be sepa
rated emotionally. If she did this thing, it would be real. Real in the only manner that mattered to her fundamental self-view.

  She had to desist. Yet she simply lacked the will to deny the Captain’s imperative, or her own. She was in this incarnation a young woman, and he was a handsome man. He had given her a gift of incalculable value, and touched her with his aura, and made her live. He had fairly won her.

  The man came down on her, his phenomenal aura penetrating hers again, his flesh following.

  Melody summoned her only remaining defense: her knowledge of what she was. “Take over, Yael!” she cried, and blanked out.

  7. Taming the Magnet

  :: why has there been no scheduled council? ::

  *dash suffers pangs of doubt*

  :: that birdbrain! we require more forceful leadership summon council ::

  *but*

  :: do you wish to answer to the force of sphere quad-point? ::

  *council shall be summoned*

  Suddenly it opened into realization, that elusive objection she had to Slammer the magnet. He was an excellent bodyguard—but also a most effective jailer.

  Slammer was the Captain’s creature, not Melody’s. The Captain was a fine man, and Yael was, as she put it, head over heels about him. (Heels over head better described the position actually assumed.) Only extreme discipline and awareness of her own nature prevented Melody from being the same. Sexual attraction was potent stuff, and she wasn’t used to it. Perhaps it was already too late. And what would she do when she finally had to leave the ship? She knew Dash could not go with her. Love between the species was an exercise in futility.

  Regardless, the magnet was not hers. Should things sour with Dash—and Melody’s old neuter mind had to consider that possibility—she was in trouble. Love could turn suddenly to hate. Lovers had quarrels at times—this was in fact an aspect of their relationship—and sudden flares of anger. If Dash had such a flare, and Slammer took it literally—

  She, Melody of Mintaka, could be abruptly defunct, along with her human host.

  “Yael,” she said silently.

  “You’re worried about something,” Yael said wisely. “It’s heating up my nerves.”

  “I think we should tame the magnet,” Melody said. “Make friends with him, convert him loyalty to us.”

  “But it must be loyal! You saved his from drifting into deep space!”

  “He tried to save me, too, remember. In Polarian terms, we exchanged debt. But we have no evidence that magnets operate the same way. Do you have any idea how to proceed?”

  “I tamed a dinosaur once,” Yael said. “At least, I tried to. You can’t ever really tame anything that big.”

  “Slammer is every bit as dangerous as a dinosaur,” Melody told her. “Maybe similar methods would work. What exactly did you do?” As usual, it was easier to ask for the information than to delve for it herself.

  “I put out food for it. It was a needle-eater, of course; I wouldn’t go near one of the meat-eaters.” Now there was a welling of emotion, as she was reminded of what the carnivorous dinosaur had cost her.

  “It ate needles? Those ancient metal sewing slivers?”

  Yael’s humor returned. “Vine needles, silly! Tough, green things. But that’s what they eat. Only this one was lame, and couldn’t get enough because it couldn’t jump. So I shinnied up a vine and cut down a lot of high tendrils. He’d come every day for more, but he never would let me get close to him.”

  “Feeding,” Melody said. “But our magnet is already well fed.” She considered. “We don’t want to take over feeding; it would make people suspicious. What else would Slammer be interested in?”

  “Girls,” Yael said simply.

  “Oh—are magnets sexed, too? I assumed the ‘he’ was merely the convention.”

  “They must be. How do they make little magnets?”

  “Oh, there are lots of possibilities. Fission—” But she realized this concept would be difficult to explain, and might not be relevant. “How do they?”

  “Maybe we should ask Slammer,” Yael said.

  “Slammer might not wish to discuss so private a subject,” Melody said. “And how would he answer?”

  Yael had no suggestion. Magnets were silent, except when they banged into something. They could hear and understand, but not talk.

  “They’re physical creatures,” Melody said at last. “They must have needs. If not sexual, something else. Entertainment, perhaps. How do they relax?”

  “They just hover.” Yael pointed out.

  “On-duty, they hover. But off-duty?” Aloud, she said: “Slammer, you never seem to rest. I am concerned for your welfare. Would you like some time off?”

  The magnet bobbed agreeably. That meant he understood, but was otherwise noncommittal.

  “I’m sure I’m safe, here in my cabin. Why don’t you take a float around the ship for an hour?”

  But the magnet waggled sidewise: no. He remained the perfect guardian—or guard.

  “Suppose I walk with you, Slammer? Anywhere you want to go.”

  The magnet was amenable. Perhaps he thought she was obliquely commanding it to take her somewhere, such as back to the crew quarters for another romp in space. Well, she would keep refining the directive.

  They moved out into the hall. “Where to?” Melody asked, stopping. “This is your walk, remember.”

  It took a while for the magnet to really understand or accept, but finally he set off slowly down the hall. Melody followed, and when Slammer saw that the correct proximity was being maintained, he speeded up. Soon she was running, and that brought her a new human phenomenon: breathlessness.

  Abruptly the magnet halted. Melody drew up beside him. They were in a passage that turned at right angles a short distance ahead. It was a handsome section decorated with fiber paneling that showed the grain of its organic state. Unusual, in this ship; elsewhere there was little nonfunctional display. “Where now, friend?”

  Slammer jerked back and forth, then hovered expectantly.

  “You want to go that way? Very well; we’ll go.” And Melody walked on into the paneled section.

  But the magnet did not follow, though she passed the body-length limit. Melody paused. “Not this way, Slammer? Sorry, I misunderstood.” She went back, passing the magnet, and started down the hall they had traversed.

  The magnet still hovered in place. “Not this way either? Slammer, I don’t understand, and I really do want to. Is there a—a secret door here? Another route?”

  The sidewise shake: no.

  Melody brightened. “You want to rest right here, where it is so pretty and peaceful!”

  But again it was no. Slammer jerked forward, pointing out the way he wanted to go—but didn’t go.

  “Yael, do you understand this?” Melody asked.

  “It’s a mystery to me,” Yael answered. “Maybe he doesn’t like wood.”

  Startled, Melody stared at the hall with new understanding. “Wood! Not metal. This must be a solid wood section, not mere paneling.”

  “Yes, it’s pretty,” Yael agreed.

  “Don’t you see: the magnet can’t go in here!” Melody said. “Wood is nonmagnetic. The force of magnetism is very strong, but it fades rapidly with distance. The wood must extend so deeply that Slammer has no purchase.”

  “Hey, like skidding on ice!” Yael exclaimed.

  Melody fathomed her analogy: ice was cold, solidified water that had a greatly reduced surface friction. Entities that propelled themselves by means of frictive application against available surfaces—such as the Solarians aboard a spaceship—could suffer loss of efficiency on frozen water. In fact, they might become almost helpless, or even be injured by a fall. Skidding on ice—the inexplicable become explicable. “Yes, the magnet is unable to propel himself through this region,” Melody agreed. “Yet he wishes to go there.”

  “Why doesn’t he just roll?”

  “There is a bend in the hall. He would be stalled, powerless,
there, until some frictive entity carried him out.”

  “Well, we could carry him.” Yael pointed out. “So we could! Child, at times you are brilliant!”

  “I’m not a child. Not after what I did with Captain Boyd.” Yael spoke with a certain rueful pride.

  “I had no facetious intent about either your age or your intelligence. Sometimes the simplistic way is best.” Melody was unable to comment on the culmination with the Captain; she had blanked out. But from Yael’s memory she gathered it had been quite a performance; the man was an excellent lover.

  She approached the magnet. “Slammer, I’ll carry you, if you’re not too heavy. May I put my arms around you?” Slammer nodded. At last they understood each other! Melody reached around him and drew him into her body. The magnet’s surface was warm and was vibrating. She had of course held Slammer before, but that had been out in space, and she had never actually touched his surface. Probably that space episode was the main reason he trusted her now. Magnets did not give their trust casually, she knew.

  Slammer’s powerful magnetic field phased through her aura, making her slightly dizzy. She had been right: The intensity of its field varied exponentially with distance, so that even a few feet brought it too low to be useful for propulsion. A magnet an inch away from metal could not be resisted; six feet away it was helpless. “Now let go slowly, so I’ll know if I can handle your weight.”

  The magnet grew heavy. But when he was about half her host-body’s weight, it leveled off. The host-body was young and strong; this burden could be handled.

  “We’re on our way,” Melody said aloud, feeling the tingle of incipient adventure. It seemed she was acquiring the taste for this sort of thing! “I hope it isn’t far.”

  She marched forward into the wooden hall. At the turn she swung about—and was baffled. For the passage immediately reversed to pick up on the other side. It had no likely purpose—except to inhibit the progress of magnets. “But you know, Slammer,” she gasped—for she was tiring already—“you could get through here if you had to. All you have to do is get up speed in the metal section, and cannonball right through this obstruction. You’d have enough impetus left over to roll the rest of the way, I should think.”