For several minutes all remained in silent meditation. Melody tried to compose her thoughts, but they were a jumble of uncertainties. What decisions could she have made to avoid this present doom? Had there ever been any hope, or was the Andromedan onslaught prevailing galaxywide? Surely Segment Knyfh was holding out, and the other center-galaxy cultures. Maybe Captain Mnuhl was whining the battle at this moment! But how could she be sure? Regardless of the condition of this ship, the service might be in order—for the termination of the Milky Way galaxy.
Then she spoke aloud. “I yield my floor to my host, Yael of Dragon.” And she released the body to its natural mind.
“Everybody here stayed to save the ship,” Yael said. “To save the galaxy. Even if it didn’t work, I think that’s great, and I love you all.”
After a moment, the man on Melody’s right spoke. “I always admired the Society of Hosts, and I thought about being a host myself. Now I admire it more. I hereby proffer my membership, for what it’s worth now, and I hope the God of Hosts will accept my spirit.”
He didn’t know that the hostages on Planet Outworld had infiltrated the Society of Hosts and nullified it. Still, did that make any real difference? The Society had sent Melody herself out here, and she had done her best to honor its original aims.
Then Llume: “Let this struggle be resolved without loss of a galaxy, though it take a thousand years. Let my people of / redeem themselves as truly civilized entities, not as exploiters.”
The other man did not speak, but hummed a tune. He had inexpert control, but it was recognizable as a folk song common to Solarians. After a moment Melody picked it up, drawing the tune from Yael’s memory, using her inherent Mintakan musical ability to fill out her host’s voice. She had been without music for this whole adventure, and suddenly she missed it terribly. To die in music; that was her real wish.
Llume joined in, her ball vibrating against the deck in such a way as to make the sound seem to rise from the entire deck in descant, adding a dimension. Her body glowed in time to the beat, adding visual appeal. Now the two remaining men added their voices, and though they also were untrained, the imperfections seemed to cancel out, leaving the whole more perfect than it might have been.
Yet there was more, a special tonal quality that Melody did not at first recognize. In her own Mintakan body she could have identified it instantly, but the human ears were far less precise. She searched it out while she sang—and suddenly placed it. The magnet! Slammer was vibrating in such a manner as to produce a sustained sound, varying in pitch in time to the musical beat. And Beanball contributed a high pitch.
The magnets were singing too.
The harmony swelled, becoming much more than it had been, more than the mere total of the contributing voices. It expanded into a transcendent experience that suffused air, body, and spirit. It was almost like home, after all!
At last it faded. Melody opened her eyes, unaware of when she had closed them, and saw a ring of spheres around the kneeling group. The other magnets of the ship had come, attracted by the sound. How could she have forgotten them? They were all living, feeling creatures, doomed to die with the ship. Magnets could not travel well on lifeboats; there was not enough metal, and the necessary coal-crushing was too hard on the light hulls. They all belonged in this Service of Termination. But she made no immediate sign, letting it proceed.
Now the song was over, and it was Slammer’s turn. Of course he could not speak—not in human voice—but the magnet was entitled to its space. It vibrated.
Llume spoke. “I translate the message of the magnet,” she said, as though this revelation of magnet speech were routine. “He is aware of the crisis, and wishes to help. The magnets do not wish to perish. They can make this ship operate to a certain extent, but they lack direction.”
Nice gesture, Melody thought. But the human crew could make this ship operate, too—if it were operable. About all they could do was close off a section and enhance life-support mechanisms there, so as to extend life and comfort. The magnets had even poorer comprehension of such realities than Melody herself had had. That made their offer useless.
It was March’s turn. “In this my last day, perhaps, I want the truth to be known. I was a guard at the Ministerial Palace of Imperial Outworld. I shot a Minister by accident, but he turned out to be an agent from Sphere * of Andromeda, the first hostage we discovered. I was exiled so that the hostages on Outworld would not know they had been discovered. But we were already too late, for the hostages had taken over the fleet. So it was for nothing. Had we known…” He faltered, then continued. “It is pointless, but I did not want to die under an alias.”
There at last was the answer to the riddle of this man! He had, in his fashion, been responsible for bringing Melody here. He had done what he could to preserve the Milky Way galaxy, and now feared, as she did, that it had not been enough.
“This time I speak for myself,” Melody said in her turn, suddenly appreciating how well the Service of Termination served to ease its participants. “March’s sacrifice was not wasted. Because of the discovery he made, the segment’s highest Kirlian aura was summoned, drafted against her preference to fight for her galaxy. I am that entity, and though the effort may have failed, we believe we came close to repelling the Andromedan takeover. It was worth the effort, and now it is an honorable demise. I thank you all for showing me the nobility that exists in your several species. I was near death anyway; this is a better termination than I would otherwise have had.” And why not accept it, remaining here, instead of going out again in transfer to witness the humiliation of her galaxy?
Their statements complete, they paused for another period of meditation. Then, slowly, guided by a common impulse, they turned inward. Those in Solarian form reached out their arms to touch their neighbors. The men on either side of Slammer touched his surface with their fingers, and it was the same with Llume.
“God of Hosts, be with us yet,” Melody said with feeling. Slowly, in the course of this adventure, she had come to believe in this concept.
“Lest we forget, lest we forget,” the others responded sincerely. Lest we forget our galaxy!
Now Melody projected her aura along the channels provided by the touching bodies. It merged with Llume’s aura, and with Slammer’s magnetism, and as the song had done, it expanded in circuit. The trifling auras of the three Solarian males were magnified beyond anything they could ever have experienced. Like an invisible flame it rose, like the glow of sunrise on a planet, transformed into ethereal radiance, health, joy.
This is nirvana! Melody thought, and felt the agreement of the group. The failings of her body and of her mind faded, replaced by exhilaration, by perfect health and beingness. Nirvana—the final unity of all sentience, in which self did not exist because self had become the universe. It was not bliss so much as fulfillment, that fulfillment that sexual congress only hinted at. It transcended male-female mergence, because it was the mergence of life itself. We are all siblings, she thought, and felt the concurrence of the service.
For a moment that was eternal it remained, this holy unity, this fragmentary vision of identity; then the glow subsided. Melody opened her eyes again, feeling her body and mind healed, and saw the face of the man across from her, shining wet. Then she became aware of her own face, soaked with tears.
Their hands dropped. The service was over.
Melody felt clean.
Then she stood and turned to face the waiting ring of magnets. “I think there is little we can do,” she said. “But we have to try. To what extent are you capable of making this ship function?” She felt no particular emotion; she was satisfied to allow her life to end, now. But as a matter of consistency, it was necessary to explore all available avenues.
Beside her, Slammer hummed. Llume translated: “We can activate magnetically controlled systems and manual systems. These include life-support and weaponry.”
“Let’s go back to the control room and see what we
can do,” Melody said, putting a positive face on what she knew remained disaster. They were all doomed, and had accepted that doom. She herself might escape it, but for what purpose, if the galaxy had fallen? Only by saving this ship, it somehow seemed, could she save the galaxy.
Now there was some light from lens-vents in the hull; the slow turn of the ship had brought this side sunside. But even though rotation was greatly reduced, they would be darkside again in due course. And there would be no lenses in the interior levels.
So first they needed light—reliable light. The power remaining in storage had to be conserved for emergency life-support, or they would perish as the quality of air in the ship deteriorated and the temperature changed. Unable to rotate the vessel, they could not get the solar collection system functioning properly; there would be no power renewal. But there were so few breathing entities aboard now that the reserves could be made to last for a long time. A worse problem might be the interior weather caused by the uneven heating and cooling of the hull. Hot air was already beginning to push through to the cold side, making vague howling noises in the distance. A true poltergeist—a noisy ghost. The ship was a haunted tomb.
“There are lamps at the hobby shop,” Llume said. “Antique fossil-fuel devices for novelty parties, cumbersome and inefficient, but self-contained.”
“Excellent,” Melody said. “Will you fetch some for us?”
Llume’s glow disappeared down the hall. Melody watched it fade with mixed emotions. She liked the Andromedan, but still could not afford to trust her completely. If this dead ship should not be the end for them, would they be enemies again?
“We’d better get some emergency supplies, too,” March said. “Food, water.”
“Yes,” Melody agreed. It was amazing how the acceptance of death had stimulated them to handle the little details of life! “I’ll wait here.”
They departed, using oddly gliding steps. Melody was alone with the magnets, who simply hovered in place. She started for a sanitary cubicle; tension and exertion had a certain effect on the Solarian body. But with her first brisk step she sailed into the air so forcefully she banged her head on the ceiling. Without her foot-magnets she’d have to watch her step, literally! She rubbed her hurting human head as she bounded-glided the rest of the way to the cubicle and used it.
Too late she realized that, in the absence of power, the refuse could not be pumped up to the reclamation unit. Well, no help for it. The functions of life continued unremittingly while life endured.
The men returned with packaged supplies, forming a pile on the deck. Llume rolled back with a contraption of metal and transparent glass.
“I recognize that!” Yael exclaimed. “It’s an old-fashioned kerosene mantle lamp! My folks used them all the time.”
Melody gave her rein, and Yael removed what she termed the “chimney”—a glass tube open at both ends —turned up the “wick”—a fiber tube whose top end was barely visible as it projected from the body of the lamp —struck a “match”—a tiny stick of wood with a dab of frictive flammable substance on one end—and touched it to the fuel-soaked wick. When it ignited the whole way round, she turned it to a low circle and replaced the chimney above it. The whole thing was so incredibly complex that Melody wondered how the primitive Solarians had ever managed after the sun subsided.
Yael turned up the flame, slowly—“so as not to crack the glass,” she explained—and abruptly the suspended mantle—an inverted cup of webbing—glowed with a pure white light. The transformation was miraculous; from a flickering yellowish flame had issued a steady, strong, beautiful illumination.
“That’s lovely!” Melody said appreciatively. “This is a Tarot analogy. Solid circular shape like a Disk, liquid fuel, using air to make flame, and from it emanates a brilliant aura. The light seems a thing entirely apart, yet it is dependent on the crude material body.”
But she would have to meditate on the significance of these things another time. Gravity was still declining, and she wanted to get to the control room while she still had weight enough to walk. If she had to, she could use the net to summon help. Now that the ship really was a derelict, why not say so?
But if a rescue craft came, and lifted off the flesh-entities, what of the magnets? Could Melody accept her rescue, knowing she was leaving these loyal allies to slow death?
The men fashioned packs and bags, and the group started the trek toward the officers’ section.
Motion was easy, too easy. They took increasingly long strides despite their loads. When they ascended the ramp to the next inside level, their weight diminished further.
In the heart of the darkest interior, the lamp flickered and puffed out, its flame expiring in a desperate lunge. “Out of fuel?” Melody asked, chagrined.
“Out of air,” March said in the dark beside her.
“But we have air!”
“Gravity’s gotten too low. Fire needs circulation, to bring in new oxygen. The hot air expands and rises out of the way. But without gravity, there’s nowhere to rise, so it just stays there—and stifles the flame.”
“Yes, of course,” Melody said. Elementary physics! “We shall have trouble breathing, too.”
“Not if we keep moving. The force of our exhalations circulates the air; convection doesn’t have much to do with it. If we can rig a forced-draft for the lamp, it’ll burn.”
“Better just to use the battery-flash,” one of the others said. “We have three, and they’re good for several hours. By then we’ll be at the control room, and can turn on what lights we need.”
Melody took one flash and March another, and they continued. They had stepped forward several thousand years in basic technology, perhaps, but were no better off. The gravity was so slight it was difficult to get friction with the deck; now they had to use the handholds to hurl themselves forward.
When they were about halfway to the control room, the ship shuddered violently, as though suffering its final death agony. Gravity ceased altogether. The anchors had completed their grisly work.
Suddenly the passage was filled with floating junk, jostled loose by the terminal convulsion. Theoretically, everything in the ship was secured, but in practice the steady gravity had permitted considerable laxity. Tools, articles of clothing, books, fixtures—all were drifting in the wan beam of Melody’s flashlight.
“We’re in trouble,” March said.
“We can shove this stuff aside; it won’t hurt us.” Melody said, though the eerie drifting alarmed her.
“The solids, yes. The liquids, no.” And he pointed with his beam.
Now she saw it: a spreading python of liquid emerging from an open cabin. It was sanitary refuse that had not reached the recycling unit because of the power cutoff. Now it was diffusing into the air, closing off the passage. “I’m not unduly finicky,” Melody said, “but let’s see if we can find an alternate route.”
They took a side passage, but that, too, was clouding up. “Soon we’ll be breathing vaporized urine,” Melody muttered to Yael. “Unhealthy prospect”
“Ugh,” Yael agreed.
“I think we’d better get back into our suits and plow through,” March said.
Quickly they unboxed the suits and donned them. The magnetic shoes helped now, making the footing secure. Then they tramped through the sordid mists to the control room.
The ship was in a shambles. The loss of gravity had caused the fail-safe mechanisms to lock and the controls did not respond. The magnets were willing to help, but had to be given precise directives to enable them to override the fail-safes and establish workable partial systems.
Melody, Llume, and the men hardly knew what to do themselves. Poring over the instruction manuals, they gradually got portions of the ship functioning again, including the main computer. Then it became easier.
The laser cannon were partially operative, but the drive mechanism was beyond repair. The Ace of Swords might be able to fire, but it could neither pursue nor avoid an enemy ship.
They had only confirmed what the Knyfh officers had known all along: the ship was a derelict.
18. Fleet of Ghosts
*report: segment qaval has fallen segment knyfh is in final stage*
:: then conquest is complete! ::
*not yet resistance continues in segment etamin*
:: oh, yes but that will fall when knyfh support is lost ::
*this is uncertain resistance seems to be native*
:: etamin! why so much trouble with that insignificant region? we did not anticipate trouble there! ::
*dash did*
:: dash was a supercautious coward! why did he fear etamin? ::
*because it was the segment of flint of outworld, who foiled us before*
:: flint of outworld is long dead! no such fluke can occur again all the rest of the milky way galaxy has fallen! ::
*the dash command of etamin has been recalled he feels otherwise*
:: the one who was discovered and nullified? who yielded his command to slash and finally to quadpoint, who is about to complete this conquest? the opinion of this creature is irrelevant he shall be assigned to degrading duty why does he feel otherwise? ::
*he says there is another like flint of outworld who coordinates the resistance*
:: another super-kirlian? then capture that aura and bring it here [pause] no, send it to sphere dash let them handle their nemesis and know it for illusion ::
*POWER*
:: CIVILIZATION ::
The ship was a derelict, but it lived. It had no spin, no gravity, refuse littered its passages, and it drifted without external drive—but deep inside it functioned.
“No one blasted us,” Melody said. “They think we’re dead; no sense wasting valuable energy on a finished hulk.”
She looked into the reactivated globe. The Knyfh cluster charge had brought the ship into the center of the battle area. It was a graveyard; ships and pieces of ships littered space much as the smaller refuse littered the halls.
Chaining the Lady c-2 Page 28
