Chaining the Lady (40 page)

“Milk from contented cows,” Melody murmured to herself, drawing on an expression that had spread like Tarotism through the segment but had lost its meaning in the process. Informed scholarly opinion was that cows had been bovine pets connected with a fluid called milk, noted for their placidity. The meaning today was that it was a waste of effort to try to change anything that lacked the desire to be changed.

Melody shook her head, mentally. She had known intellectually that sphere-level intelligence could exist without the drive toward dominion, but this was the first time she had experienced it personally. How many other sapient species existed in the universe, as deserving of spherical status as their neighbors, but denied it owing to circumstance?

“We desire space no more than your kind desires the bog,” Cnom pointed out.

An apt parallel. “Very well,” Melody said. “I shall not wish for you a lifestyle foreign to your nature. But you should understand that not only my own lifestyle, but the very existence of my kind are being destroyed by Dash and its allies of Andromeda. They are attempting to deprive my galaxy of its energies. All of us will perish. In your terms, it is as though Dash found a way to dry up the entire bog, leaving only a blank hole.”

Horror swept through the £. “That would be wrong! The bog is vital to our existence!”

“A problem always becomes more serious when it affects your own demesnes,” Melody remarked.

But she got no further rise out of her host. “Were our bog threatened, we should have to act. But this is not the case.” Cnom marched on up the channel toward the rarefied jelly that phased into atmosphere, bearing her precious burden of lemoncurl.

As they emerged onto solid land, a Dash mounted on a huge male £ hailed Cnom's mahout. The challenger's triple wings whirled, emitting the controlled vibrations of speech sound. “Pause, Dash, for inspection.” The £ skin picked up the vibrations and the £ mind comprehended their meaning, but Cnom paid no attention; Dash affairs were not of much interest.

Melody, however, listened closely. The moment she was exposed, she would have to act, destroying the inspector and mahout and retreating into the bog. But that could be only a temporary reprieve, and she hoped to escape detection entirely if possible.

–Dismount, enter the aural booth,– the officer said. Now that they were close, Melody was aware of the peculiar Dash speech intonation, a function of the wings. It was sound, but not the kind of sound she normally heard.
Dash
sound.

Then she realized: They had brought a portable Kirlian detector. This was a serious search, all right.

Cnom curled a free tentacle up so the mahout could perch on it. She lifted the mahout across to the back of the other £, where the box was tied, without ever disturbing her load of lemoncurl. She did not communicate with the other £, because here in the rarefied air her skin could not create a suitable vibration. The £ were necessarily mute outside of the jelly, another reason their intelligence was ignored by the Dash.

Tho mahout emerged from the box. –What is this nuisance about?– he inquired. –My aura's the same as it ever was, and it was verified only a while ago.–

–Imperial matter,– the officer said. Then, his wings whirring confidentially: –Some captive missed the host, and they think she's in one of us.–

–A female? If she were in
me
, I'd know it!– The two males whirred together in male humor, the same across the universe with minor variations.

The mahout remounted. –On– his claws said by their pressure on Cnom's hide. There was no malice in this; the creature's feet were not strong enough to cause pain to a £.

Cnom resumed her rotary progress.

“But they didn't check
us
!” Melody exclaimed.

“Why should they check a £?”

Melody realized what had been hidden in her host's mind amid the myriad other facts. The Dash did not regard the £ as true participants in sphere civilization, though the level of the £ intelligence was known. Millennia of experience had demonstrated the £ disinterest in the artifacts of interstellar empire. Thus the £ were ignored, apart from their laboring capacities; they were beasts of burden who never gave away private matters. Male and female Dash routinely copulated upon the backs of their great steeds. Military consultations were held while riding; thus the £ were aware of Dash strategies, but the information never leaked to other Dash.

The hostages aboard the Segment Etamin flagship had treated the magnets in a similar fashion. Melody had capitalized on this attitude in reviving the derelict ships. Yet she could not conclude that there was anything wrong in this. If some species liked it that way and they were mutually satisfied, why not?

But more immediately, it meant that this ingrained cultural conditioning had caused the Dash command to overlook the obvious.
It had not occurred to them that a £ could be a host.

Chapter 20:

Foiling the Lancer

–I said she escaped us, quadpoint–

::must I do everything myself? is there no end to your incompetence? after winning the war for you must I chase after the high-kirlian prisoner I forwarded directly to you? How could you bungle such a simple thing as a transfer?::

–inquire of your quadpoint in etamin
he
transferred her using captured adapted milky way unit unreliable for an aura of that magnitude–

::
her
? I had understood it was a male entity::

–your quadpoint command neglected to inform our local technicians of that modification we provided a male host–

::so that nemesis who extended the resistance in segment etamin far beyond what it should have been is now loose in andromeda! trace her and kill her!::

–we cannot do that, quadpoint she is in a special situation not anticipated she occupies a £ host–

::I have heard of your groundbeasts why should that make any difference?::

–the covenant prevents direct damage to an £–

::covenant! surely there are mechanisms! employ them!::

–the mechanism of proper caution at the outset would have–

::POWER!::

–CIVILIVATION–

* * *

Cnom deposited her load of fine lemoncurl at the mill, and her mahout received congratulations on its quality and a note of credit on his record. No praise was wasted on the £, of course, and Cnom neither expected it nor desired it. It was her task to do the work; the intricacies of record-keeping were the responsibility of Dash.

They returned to the bog, following the routine. Melody had to protect her thoughts by clothing them in technical terminology of little interest to her host. She didn't want to reveal her developing strategy. Whatever she decided to do, Cnom was unlikely to see it her way.

One thing was certain: She could not afford to settle into the scentwood-hauling operation indefinitely. Once the vital power started flowing from the Milky Way to Andromeda, this robber-galaxy would become so strong that effective resistance would become impossible.
Now
was the time to act, and Melody was the one to take the action.

The first problem was how to eliminate the mahout, while retaining the freedom to go into the Dash city.

As the jelly thickened, the £ vibrational interchanges resumed. This dialogue was ignored by the mahouts, if they were able to pick it up at all.

“Weak section of lattice,” someone announced. “Route around it until it strengthens.” And Cnom noted the location carefully, for she did not want the inconvenience of coming upon it accidentally.

“Alien intellect visiting, overlooked by Dash,” Cnom announced. Melody was startled. While she was shielding her own thoughts, she had not been monitoring those of her host. Well, perhaps no harm was done, since the Dash paid no attention to the £ net.

“This explains the search,” another responded. “Dash does not like alien visitors.”

There was a vibration of generals mirth. The ways of the Dash were so quaint. They, who ranged the galaxies, objected to visitors!

“Spoor of predator,” another announced

“Another?”

“Some one as before. Lancer, large.”

“Were not the Dash notified?”

“They aborted their chase, concentrating on the alien presence.”

“The alien among us.”

“Then let the alien disperse the lancer.”

Melody liked this less and less, but hesitated to speak on her own behalf. For one thing, she wasn't sure the Dash weren't listening; they surely could if they wanted to. The £ would not give her away directly—not intentionally—but she could give herself away. And what was this about fighting a predator?

The vibration of agreement had, it seemed, committed her. Already, by what means she lacked the time to verify, they were routing the predator to her vicinity. She was responsible for its menace, since she had distracted the Dash authorities, even though she was here in Andromeda at Dash instigation. Therefore she must abate the menace. Quite logical and immediate, to a culture that did not concern itself with things distant in place or time. Unexpressed, but inherent, was the understanding that if they honored their part by not exposing her to the Dash, she must honor hers by dealing with the lancer.

“But how can
I
do anything about this predator?” Melody demanded of her host. “I don't even know what it is!”

“It will be difficult,” Cnom agreed. “I could not do it myself. We depend on your alien knowledge.”

It seemed the £ had a stiff requirement for intruders who caused inconvenience. Yet it was fair in its fashion.

They were back near the lemoncurl stand. Abruptly Melody received the vibrations of an approaching creature, a large, smooth one whose passage was too fast and straight to be bound to the latticewood paths. A swimming entity.

Cnom went rigid with terror, and so did the Dash mahout. No help there! Melody took over the body totally, having no choice. She was on her own.

Balancing on the lattice, she oriented on the lancer. She did not face it because she had no face, no fixed aspect of body. She used the sonic vibrations to identify its size, shape, location, and motion. The echoes of its emanations identified the lemoncurl stalks to the side, the neighborhood lattice, and, fuzzily, the more distant branches of latticewood passing above and below this level. It was as good as seeing, better in a way, because she did not have to focus on it all.

The lancer was a sleek, long creature, propelled by three threshing fins to the rear and guided by three more along its torso. It was superbly equipped to slide rapidly through the jelly; no other bog denizen could match it. Its front end tapered into a long, hard, deadly spike designed to pierce the globular body of its prey and to suck out the life-juices therein. While it was traveling, that spike sprayed out a thin mist of acid that dissolved the jelly in front, causing it to give way more rapidly to the thrust of the main torso.

In a flash, Melody's £ memory filled her in on related details. Once the middle layers of the bog had been fraught with terror. The upper section was the domain of the land creatures; only the bottom deeps were secure, for the lancers could not move well there. But the £ could not live in the deeps continuously; their bodies required the release of the upper regions. So their population had been culled in the region of thickest jell, and few lived to old age.

Unusually the victims survived the first attack, but an uncomfortable convalescence was required to restore the depleted juices. As most of the necessary food was on land, the £ had to walk up through the bog repeatedly, and be subject to repeated attacks by the lancer. The second puncture was more apt to be terminal, and a third almost invariably.

A convalescent £ could not work effectively; therefore the Dash had initiated their bog-safety program, which had been of immense mutual benefit. Far better to haul heavy wood than to suffer the ravages of the lancer!

Melody had thoughts of her own. If the £ were able to direct a lancer to a specific region of the bog, why couldn't they have directed the creature all the way
out
of the bog, and been free of the menace long ago? It was strange that so large and fierce a predator should show up now, after a long period of relative quiet. Few dangerous predators were left in the region. They kept mainly to the park bogs elsewhere on the planet where they were not hunted.

But her main concern was how to deal with this particular thing. The creature was so large that even this huge body of Cnom's would be severely depleted by the feeding. It would mean a great deal of pain and inconvenience for the host, and would eliminate Melody's chance to go after the secret of hostage transfer. She simply could not afford that.

The lancer was not a sapient; it could not think in civilized terms or master stellar technology. It was merely an animal, a super-predator who had never needed more than its mobility and power. Melody had intelligence, information, and aura, yet what could these avail her against the direct simple thrust of that spike? The lancer could move much faster than she could, and if it happened to miss the first thrust, it would merely circle about and attack again. She could not flee it, and she could not even dodge it well, for she was limited to the narrow lattice branch.

There was no time to consider further. The lancer slid through the jelly, its rigid tubular spike centered on her body. Melody reacted automatically for her own kind: she jumped to the side.

Disaster! She was not in her Mintakan body, where as jump would have lifted her only fractionally amid a ferocious clatter of castanet-feet. She was not in her Solarian host, in which the same effort would have hurled her to the ground. In her present £ host, she went spinning to the side of the lattice branch, over-balanced.

The lancer cruised past, one of its stabilizing fins almost brushing her body. She had avoided it, but now she was falling, unable to recover her balance. If only she had flippers to thrust at the jell and purr her through! But that was the mode of the Spican Impact.