They carried ¢le to the border of the Master’s domicile. B:::1 appeared. “This is strange,” he remarked after hearing of ¢le’s violence.
“It seems you were mistaken about her mindlessness,” Flint said.
“We were not mistaken. Bring her to the examination room.”
Φiw held back. “Sir, I may not enter—”
B:::1 turned his faceted gaze upon the Slave. “You may do what I tell you to do.” Flint recognized this as a forceful rebuke. The Master’s word was law!
Φiw bowed his head, acknowledging. He had, at any rate, erred in the right direction. Then he picked ¢le up and carried her into the building.
Flint followed thoughtfully. So the Masters were not hidebound about their own rules.
At the examination room the technician tested the girl’s Kirlian aura. The indicator rose to the top of the scale.
“Another transferee,” B:::1 said. “You are fortunate.”
“But she tried to kill me!” Flint protested. “If Φiw hadn’t acted—”
“This is what is strange,” the Master agreed.
¢le stirred. Her eyes opened.
“Alien, there is a pain inducer attuned to your body,” B:::1 said to her. “Do not attempt any aggression.” He turned to Flint. “Question her.”
Yes indeed! “Who are you?” Flint demanded.
“I came—to seek you,” ¢le said.
“You’re from Sphere Sol?”
“From Sol, yes.”
Flint shook his head. “I didn’t know they were transferring another envoy!”
“It is a common enough procedure,” B:::1 assured him. “A backup agent sent without the knowledge of the first The first cannot betray what he does not know, yet the second is available to help in case of adversity. We employ similar safeguards.”
Flint realized he had been naive. He didn’t like it. “Then why did she attack me? I was true to my mission.”
“I did not know you,” ¢le explained. “I found myself imprisoned, and you touched my body. I—mistook your intent.”
After that magic contact of Kirlian auras? Some misunderstanding!
“An understandable error,” B:::1 said. “But the question of her intent can be removed by her performance in transfer technology.”
Smart, smart! “You are primed with transfer information—that differs from mine?” Flint asked her.
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“Go with the technicians,” B:::1 said.
One of the Masters handed the punishment-box to Φiw; such tasks were normally delegated to Slaves. But B:::1 made an unobtrusive gesture, and the other Master took the box back and departed with the girl. Φiw, left with no specific task, stood awkwardly where he was. He was obviously extremely uncomfortable, here in the Masters’ sanctum.
B:::1 turned to Flint. “Analysis of the female’s pattern reveals substantial differences from your own,” he said, reading a printout one of the technicians had given him. “Almost as though she were not only a different individual, but of a different species. We do not question your own motive—but we are less certain of hers.”
Sharp! The Masters had not put any dummy in charge of alien operations! It had not even occurred to Flint to have the specific Kirlian pattern analyzed. “Maybe she is an alien,” Flint said. “I thought there was no Kirlian aura above ninety-eight in Sphere Sol—but we are in contact with the Polarians and others informally. If one of those Spheres helped…”
“Perhaps so. Ninety-eight is within the margin of error for our equipment. I did not mean to cause you undue concern.”
“The major error in your equipment is in not being able to measure higher than a hundred,” Flint said. “I am able to judge relative strengths of Kirlian auras, crudely—and this one seems parallel to my own. Close to two hundred. So I doubt she’s human.”
“We merely look out for your welfare so that there will be no reason for any future contact between our Spheres—or between ours and any of your allied Spheres.”
“I appreciate that,” Flint said dryly.
B:::1 turned to Φiw. “Your comment.”
“Master, I trust him, not her,” Φiw said. “She attacked him without sufficient provocation. Keep her within range of the box.”
“Would your opinion be influenced by the fact that the female, ¢le of A[th], was one our agents, possessing information deleterious to your own welfare? There can be no carryover of personality; however, the present entity would have complete access to ¢le’s memories and talents.”
Φiw considered the loaded question. “Perhaps that influenced me. I know little of these matters, sir.”
“Yet, compensating for that aspect, you would not see fit to trust her as you trust this man of Sol? Both are transferees.”
“That is correct, sir.” Φiw’s discomfort was not abating. “Øro acted in an ethical manner; the female attempted to kill him. Perhaps she was confused—but she did not seem confused at the time.”
B:::1 turned to Flint. “In this matter we are as Slaves, glimpsing portents whose wider significance we do not comprehend. Hence the opinion of a Slave has relevance. It is possible that the possessed ¢le cooperates only because of the punishment-box, and will turn against you when given opportunity. It is also possible that she is indeed of Sol or allied to Sol, and suspects that we have tortured you to gain your compliance with our own designs. We leave the decision of her disposition in your hands; we do not wish to become involved in Spherical intrigues.”
“Ship her back to Sol with me,” Flint said. “If her original body is human, that is the only place she can go.” Then he reconsidered. “No—ship her one day later. I will have a thorough investigation made. If she is false, we will be ready for her when she arrives.”
“If she is not of your Sphere, where will she arrive?” the Master inquired.
Flint shrugged. “If she has no host-body available in our Sphere, she probably won’t transmit at all. There has to be somewhere to go, or the process doesn’t work. So if she does not transfer when you attempt to send her, you’ll know she’s no friend of ours.”
“Your Sphere would not then object if we interrogated her?”
Flint knew it would be an extremely thorough interrogation. “We would not object.”
B:::1 faced Φiw. “We have acquainted you with private matters of galactic scope. Return to your position, suffering no further stricture than this: If ever you overhear anything relating to this subject, make immediate report to me.”
“Master,” Φiw said, relieved.
Flint nodded thoughtfully. This was Φiw’s true penance. He was now in effect a spy for the Masters. Yet the assignment had been couched in such manner as to make it seem that the Slave had been promoted to the level of political counselor. No torture, not even any overt reprimand—yet a thorough job had been done. This was supreme skill in management.
After the Slave departed, B:::1 said: “In view of this development, and our uncertainty of decision, we feel we can no longer maintain our prior policy of disengagement. We shall participate in your coalition.”
Flint’s jaw dropped in a purely human reaction. “Because Sol sent another transfer agent, you’ve changed your minds?”
“One such visit is an anomaly. Two suggest a pattern. Were we certain that both emanate from Sphere Sol, we would not be concerned. But we cannot ignore the possibility that a third, possibly inimical Sphere has chosen to participate, perhaps competitively. There may well be others, in an expanding effort. We therefore choose to control to some extent the manner of our interaction with other Spheres by officially committing ourselves to this effort. We shall make a thorough search of our region of space in quest of aliens. Thus it will not be necessary for any other Spheres to seek us out to urge participation.”
Just like that, success! Flint did not delude himself that any special competence on his part had been responsible. The Masters of Canopus had seen the way to cut their losses and maintain muc
h of their isolation, so they had acted. Flint had blundered his way into it.
He did not belong in this business; if he ever transferred from Sphere Sol again, the odds were against his success or even survival. What a comedy of accident! At least he had discovered his inadequacy in a nonfatal fashion.
The end was routine. ¢le’s knowledge sufficed; the technicians were able to convert the Canopian mattermitter for transfer, invoking fairly minor but critical modifications of detail. The settings were arranged for the center of Sphere Sol. ¢le was held under guard with the punishment-box, scheduled for later transfer.
Flint stepped into the transfer chamber.
4. Lake of Dreams
*notice initial mission destroy 200 intensity threat entity failed*
—detail?—
*own agent 200 intensity dispatched contact made owing to suspicions of natives of canopus unable to eliminate sol transferee necessary to provide transfer information to sphere canopus in order to*
—WHAT?!—
*to protect identity of agent origin and allay suspicion per directive judgment call on part of operative we intercepted agent at time of retransfer from canopus*
—judgment call? more likely operative stunned by allure of equivalent aura and lost imperative for mission what sex agent?—
*female*
—precisely and target entity male route her through spot reorientation to ensure next time duty before pleasure and reassign for next available intercept unfortunate we have to work through these high-kirlian types never can be quite certain of their loyalties—
*POWER*
—CIVILIZATION—
Flint hopped rapidly over the surface of Luna, Planet Earth’s huge moon, putting the mining station at Posidonius Crater behind him. The hopper’s single plunger smacked into the bleak surface of the crater floor, compressing like a pogo stick, then thrusting him upward in a broad arc. He was only a fraction of his normal weight because of the reduced gravity, but the old-fashioned heavy-duty mining suit was twice his mass. The net result was a jumping weight of about two-thirds his nude-body normal. He needed the powered hopper to make real progress.
He bore west, searching out the gap in the crater wall. The station was inside a subcrater within Posidonius, capped over and pressurized. Nature had excavated the pit; now men used it as convenient access to the high concentrations of aluminum, titanium, magnesium, silicon, and iron there. It had cost a lot, a century or three ago, to emplace the first Lunar mines; they had paid their way many times over. Posidonius Mine was about worked out, as were most of the digs of this quadrant, and in fact the moon itself, but as long as the diminishing ores were worth more than the cost of operation, the mines continued to function. Today the planet Mercury of Sol and the larger moons of the outer Solar System—Ganymede, Titan, and Triton—were more important resources. Luna was largely forgotten.
Security was slack, which was why Flint had been able to pose as an itinerant miner and steal a suit and hopper to make a much better chase of it. By the time Imperial Earth traced him this far, he would be impossible to trace further. The Lunar surface was so pocked with the marks of other hoppers—and each mark was permanent the instant made, since there was no weather, no air to erase it—that his trail was not discernible. Once he got beyond the crater, beyond direct visual range, he would be lost. Bless that jagged rim!
He made it. The crater itself was fifty to seventy-five miles in diameter, depending on which way it was measured, and the mine was off-center, so he had about twenty miles to go. The hopper enabled him to do it in just about an hour without getting winded. Time enough; his next on-shift would not be for another two hours.
The crater rim, so fragile-looking from telescopic distance, was actually a phenomenal mountain ring several miles thick, though not tall. It had been formed millions or even billions of years ago by the impact of a large meteor, the material of the crater center scooped out and dumped in that circle. Not volcanic; there was very little volcanic activity on the moon. Here at the western pass the wall was broken, and he navigated the rubble without difficulty. It was against Sphere law to deface the visible landscape of Luna, but anonymous miners had blasted out an ascending channel at the narrowest part to facilitate passage from the central depression. It was too small to show up on most photographs taken from Earth, so no investigation had been made. Anyway, that had been in the heyday of the mine, when metals worth millions of Sphere dollars had been extracted every few hours. Miners were tough, ornery men and women; even the Imperium tended to let them alone, as long as they produced. The profession of mining, freed from the cave-ins and black-lung threats of ancient times, had become the stuff of adolescent fancy. Miners were heroes, prized and well paid and bold, and planet lubbers sought them avidly.
Now he emerged onto the broad Mare Serenitatis, the Sea of Serenity, an expanse of almost-level rock some four hundred miles across. The early Solarians, staring at their great moon from the vantage of misty Earth, had pictured these lava plains (here in the mare there had been volcanism!) as oceans and seas and bays, and named them accordingly. The illusion had been banished when Luna was physically explored, and perhaps even before then, but the intriguing names had remained. “Hope I don’t get my feet wet,” Flint muttered. His suit radio was turned off, of course; he would be a fool to let them trace him through his broadcast emissions.
His feet did not get wet, though the hopper made little splashes in the dust that disappeared almost instantly. With no air to hold the substance up, it collapsed without billowing. On the apex of each glide he could see over the Serpentine Wrinkle Ridge, an arm of which approached quite close to the rim of Posidonius. Had he been able to bound high enough, he might have been able to see all the way across the western edge of the Sea of Serenity to where its vast crater wall parted to give access to the even vaster Mare Imbrium, the Sea of Rains. His line of sight would give him a glimpse of one of that sea’s craters, probably Archimedes. Flint had studied, and therefore had an exact visual memory of, the map of the adjacent geography of Luna—but this would be a narrow line-of-sight view between the encroaching mountain ranges of the Caucasus to the north and the Apennines to the south. Mountains on Earth were named after these—or maybe it was the other way around. There were three craters in that vicinity, so he couldn’t be quite certain which one he would see from five hundred miles away. It really didn’t matter, since the tight curvature of the moon put the whole area out of sight and he was not going there anyway.
He veered north, changing direction by shifting his weight to make the hopper lean. He skirted Posidonius, now shielded from observation by its rim. Ahead of him was Lacus Somniorum, the Lake of Dreams. Primitive that he was, he loved that imagery. Flint had dreams—of escape, of freedom, of eventual return to Outworld and his green darling Honeybloom. Pnotl of Sphere Knyfh, that alien transferee from the inner galaxy, had dazzled him into undertaking the mission, but in Sphere Canopus reality had caught up with fancy. He had encountered no high-Kirlian natives there, and had suffered torture and the constant threat of death. The one high-Kirlian entity he had met had turned out to be another transferee. He was unfit for this type of work; the edge was off. He hadn’t even been able to complete his mission; the girl transferee had had to bail him out. Let her initiate the next mission! The Imps would not search for him long; they would know his suit-air could last no more than a day, so could assume he had perished. There was nothing like dying to avoid being pestered.
But he was not the suicidal type. He had a destination in mind, barely three hundred miles to the north. Burg Crater—where an abandoned mine shaft still had leftover stores of oxygen, water, and food. It was one of a number of craters within reach. By the time they checked them all—if they ever did—he would be gone again. They had little chance to catch up with him.
It was a fair distance. Even with the hopper it would take him about fifteen hours. He had picked a site near the limit of his range—but not too near it�
�so as to make it that more difficult for them to locate him quickly. But the marvels of the Lunar landscape soon palled. He was traversing a dull, seemingly endless plain, in the confined silence of his suit.
He remembered more of the bits of information the Shaman had given him. Flint had supposed they were mere stories, intended for entertainment or for dealing with immediate needs, such as the hunting of dinosaurs, but now he understood their true relevance.
Before mattermission, Earth had been in desperate need of new sources of supply and living room for its horrendously teeming population. Lifeship colonization had been inadequate and too expensive. So they had tried desperate measures, such as colonization of near space. The first settlers went to Luna, drawing most of the construction substance from its crust. Then space itself was claimed, drawing on what was there: the particles of rock and ice in orbit, the planetoids. It was much easier to collect materials from there than to bring them up out of Earth’s gravitational well, and a number of the orbiting rocks were big enough to become homes themselves.
Gardens were planted, within shells of air, rotating slowly so that the light of the sun struck them half of every day, Earth-time. That same rotation provided gravity via centrifugal force. Flint had never really understood that concept when the Shaman explained it, but his recent experience on the space shuttle from Earth to Luna had brought it into sharp focus, along with a spot of “spin sickness.” The rotation provided weight in a small craft, but the head was nearer to the center than the feet, and so became slightly lighter. The body reacted to this unbalance by becoming uncomfortably ill. Flint had never been ill before in his life, and it was a horrendous experience. So he had learned about practical centrifugal gravity the hard way. Knowing and comprehending were different things! Flint had known much, understood little. But he was mastering his background knowledge now, right down into his gut.
The Ministers of Imperial Earth had relied too much on his presumed naiveté, falling into the trap of supposing that ignorance equated with stupidity, though they knew better. (No one was immune from the know-comprehend dichotomy!) They had given him cram courses in the most advanced technology of the galaxy—that of matter-mission and transfer—by relying heavily on his eidetic memory. He could now repeat paragraphs of complex formulas whose meaning he would never understand. He could now read—just enough to get by. In conversation he sounded like a highly educated ignoramus, which he was. But they had also trained him in multiple combat and escape techniques… and never supposed he might employ these more practical skills against them. It had been child’s play to escape the Ministry of Alien Spheres, buy a black-market tourist’s pass, switch places with a disgruntled miner on furlough, and land at Posidonius Mine.
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