Chaining the Lady (6 page)

“With pleasure. It is merely a matter of–”

“Never!” the Colonel roared. “We made a pact, the five of us, to save our galaxy. Do you want to summon the Canopian? She stays here!”

So Sphere Canopus was involved in this, too. But not Segment Etamin's own government?

The Polarian was undaunted. “This is not circular. Neither my culture nor the Society of Hosts permit involuntary transfer.”

“Well,
Andromeda
does!” the Colonel said. “If we don't stop them, we'll all be hostages. Then where will your precious individual rights be? That's what this war is all about.”

Fltosm addressed Melody: “I regret I cannot assist you without exchange of debt. In matters of interhuman protocol I cannot interfere.”

“I'm not human; I'm Mintakan,” Melody said. But the Colonel's remarks about the galactic situation alarmed her. If another Energy War was really upon them, there was no security in Sphere Mintaka. “I will exchange debt.”

“Watch it,” Yael advised. “Debt is a mighty funny, mighty serious business with Poles. I don't understand it, really, but–”

“I am roughly familiar with the concept; it is in the Polarian aspect of Tarot,” Melody told her.

“In accordance with the Compromise Convention of System Etamin,” the Polarian said formally, “I proffer as modified debt exchange, abatement inherent.”

“As an entity of vassal-Sphere Mintaka, I accept,” Melody said.

“You can't do this!” the Colonel shouted, stepping between them.

“You sure
can't
,” Yael agreed. “We're under martial law here.”

“Shut up and watch,” Melody told her. “Flotsam's one smart musician.”

“I hereby impress you, Entity Melody of Mintaka, into the Society of Hosts,” the Polarian continued. “The Society is now your representative, and will require your return to your own physique within one Sol-day of now. You will perform one single service of exorcising and interrogating one hostage-entity.”

“This is preposterous!” the Colonel said. “No one can–”

“Agreed,” Melody said. “Tell me how.”

“Necessary review,” Fltosm said. “Originally transfer was to 'empty' hosts, those bodies whose minds had vacated, and who were effectively dead, with no Kirlian aura associated. The true essence of personality lies in the aura, what some viewpoints call the soul. When the aura of one entity was transferred to the vacant body of another entity, that body became the living personality of the first entity. But the aura could not survive long away from its natural host, and faded at the rate of one normal intensity per Sol-day, approximately. Thus only high-Kirlian entities could transfer.”

“Hey, I didn't know this!” Yael murmured.

“More recent developments in the science of transfer have resulted in voluntary hosting,” the Polarian continued. “That is, the host is not vacant, but retains its aura, permitting the temporary occupancy of the more potent aura of a transferee. Because the host-aura is able to maintain its body compatibly, less energy is drawn from the visiting aura, and the fading of that visitor is thereby lessened. We now have enabled the transferee to survive in a foreign host as long as time times the duration originally possible. In certain cases, tenure can be ever longer, as with transfer between compatible siblings of the same sphere. You, Melody, now occupy the voluntary host of a young Solarian female native to this planet. You are not aware of her aura, as it is less than half of one percent the intensity of yours. But that aura is nevertheless promoting your welfare in transfer, and that aura is protected by the Society of Hosts.”

“See, I was supposed to stay hidden,” Yael said. “If they find out I came out–”

“It's our secret,” Melody assured her.

“Now it seems the entities of Galaxy Andromeda have perfected a technique through which involuntary hosting is feasible,” Fltosm continued. “They are able to transfer their high-Kirlian auras into lesser-Kirlian hosts without the prior consent of those hosts. And they have done so, taking over a number of our most sensitively located entities. We call them hostages: involuntary hosts. There is no way to discover a hostage except by aural equipment. Thus we do not know which of our government officials are hostages, for we cannot require them to undertake aural verification without alerting them to our suspicion. It is an uncircular situation.”

“Agreed,” Melody said.

“I'll say!” Yael exclaimed. “Can't test the spies without making it worse.”

“So we have initiated a quasi-legal program of hostage identification and research. This is not under the direction of our governing ministers, because we know that at least one of them is himself a hostage. But our program is essential to the welfare of our segment and our galaxy. If the Andromedans infiltrate and conquer us, our entire galaxy may perish—literally. For they mean to draw away the binding energy of our atomic structure to facilitate the power required for their advancing civilization, and our very substance will disappear in the course of a few thousand years.”

Melody understood. She believed the Polarian, and knew now that it was no idle reason that chained her to this host. The survival of her galaxy was at stake. She would have to do what was required, however inconvenient it might be to her personal life.

“We operate through the Society of Hosts,” the Polarian went on, “because they alone possess the aural expertise to assure the absence of hostages in their own ranks. This is why it is necessary for all our operatives to join the Society. Aural verification is an unquestioned requirement for entry. No suspicion attaches. The Society has undertaken research into hostaging, but has been unable to duplicate the Andromedan technology. Perhaps if a living hostage could be studied—but we dare not touch any that we know of on this planet, because that would give away our knowledge of the Andromedans and precipitate an immediate crisis that could cost us the war.”

The Colonel smiled approvingly. “Not only are you sounding like a Solarian now, you're talking like a military man.”

“At times thrust has its applications,” the Polarian agreed, glowing with distaste. “But circularity will be required for the resolution.”

“Agreed,” the Colonel said. “Sorry I butted in.”

“It is the nature of your kind,” Fltosm said generously. Then, to Melody: “Society calculations indicate that a hostage can be reclaimed through our existing technology, provided the hostage is rendered unconscious and laid under siege by a completely superior aura of the same family. Perhaps a different aural family would succeed also; that is less certain. You understand how auras exist in related types, apart from intensity, some being compatible and others so diverse as to be incompatible?”

“Yes,” Melody said. “This accounts for what was historically known as 'instinctive' attraction or repulsion between given entities. A parallel could be made to your Solarian or Polarian blood types.”

“Yes. But even with a reasonably close match, the margin of superiority would have to be at least four to one over the besieged aura. The technology of Andromeda has evidently abated this necessity, but we of the Milky Way must resort to comparatively crude force. Therefore–”

“I believe I understand you at last,” Melody said. “You have located a hostage whose controlling aura is of my own aural type, too high for any other entity to overwhelm.”

“Precisely. It is a female hostage governed by an aura of fifty-two times normal intensity.”

“So you need an aura of two hundred and eight,” Melody finished. “Not many exist.”

“This is true. The highest available in Segment Etamin is one hundred fifty nine, female—and she is of the wrong type. In fact there are no female auras above one hundred and eighty in the galaxy—except for yours. You are thus indispensable. By the time the hostage's aura fades to under forty, enabling another agent to make the attempt (ignoring for the moment the complication of aura-typing, which may after all be irrelevant), one hundred and twenty days will have passed. We shall have lost a crucial advantage, perhaps even the war itself. The potential information this hostage possesses is incalculable, and the element of surprise is also vital. Because she happens to be in a situation in which the Andromedans are unlikely to suspect any attempt at counterhostaging, we may be able to conquer her without their knowledge.”

“So you will retransfer me into that body, whereupon I will be able to tap the secrets of Andromeda,” Melody said. “This is the mission for which you originally summoned me, isn't it?”

“True.”

“But you cannot require any more of me than this one service. Within one day I'll be home, and imperial Outworld won't bother me again, though the galaxy perish.”

“True. The welfare of the individual preempts that of society in our sphere, and the terms of the debt exchange must be honored.”

“Fair deal. Show me your hostage.”

“It is a Solarian officer aboard a Sphere Sol ship in space—the flagship of the Segment Etamin fleet. It will be necessary to mattermit you to a shuttlecraft, that is now completing its voyage to that fleet. After the mission, we will transfer you directly back to your Mintakan body.”

”Very pretty,” Melody remarked. “Were I a Polarian host, I could think of another manner to abate dept.”

Fltosm glowed. She had paid the Polarian the courtly compliment of suggesting it was a suitable partner for mating. Polarians, like Mintakans and in contrast to Solarians, arranged for mating on intellectual grounds. It was a system that made sense to the mature mind.

“I am jealous,” the Colonel said, smiling. And this was a lesser compliment, for he had seen up her host-legs and was reacting on the Solarian manner. But it reminded her: In this host, sex was not merely a mode of reproduction, but a tool of social influence. She must keep that in mind, in case she had need of it.

Chapter 4:

King of Aura

*you missed a council meeting, ::*

::necessary omission swallowed a hard rock progress?::

*located focus of resistance in segment etamin it is the society of hosts*

::that will require a special effort::

*I am sure dash will make it*

::with what result remains to be noted::

* * *

The fleet was impressive. It was rather like a great city in deep space, or a miniature galaxy. A concentration of planetoids, a diffuse globe—no, a
cluster
, she decided, with the concentration in the center and thinning hands extending out. Beautiful.

It was of course an anachronism, since such ships were limited to sublight speeds, so could not ever traverse a single sphere, let along a segment, in a normal sapient lifetime. But the rationale was that it might one day be possible to transfer spaceships. At such time as that particular technological breakthrough occurred, the military reasoning went, the Age of Empire would come. So these ships were built and maintained and operated at phenomenal expense—in a parking orbit around Star Etamin. The other segments all had similar fleets. Similar follies, Melody thought. But the fleet was spectacular, at least in the shuttle's viewscreen.

The shuttle shot toward the center, decelerating with a vigor that caused respiratory discomfort to the host-body. Melody had been phased in to the travel-velocity of the shuttle, which itself was phasing in to the orbital velocity of the fleet; now there was a lot of inertia to counter. But Melody insisted on sitting up so that she could watch the screen. There was also a port, but it was useless; the ships were not visible to her untrained naked eye. So she braced the sagging mammaries with one forearm, clenched her jaw to keep it from drawing down painfully, and stayed with the screen. She had never seen a space fleet before, and never expected to see another; this was interesting.

Beside her, a novice Solarian crew-member also watched. His head-hair was of reddish hue, and at the moment so were his eyes. Melody knew this was from the temporary stress of deceleration on the surface veins of the eyeballs; the normal color of the main part of the ball was white, even on brown or black-surface entities. But the contrast of red eyes and blue skin was momentarily striking.

Though she probably looked much the same. Her host's skin, now that she thought about it, was a delicate blue. That was the native color of Outworld.
Green
, rather; Melody was not yet precise about color vision. It occurred to her, however, that this could be a handy coding system for species with a lot of skin surface, like this Solarian: a different color for each star.

“Isn't that—something!” the man gasped. Although he had been aboard the shuttle when she mattermitted on, he had not seen the fleet before.

“New to you too?” Melody asked. This formal query when the answer was either known or irrelevant was one of the little Solarian niceties of interaction.

“Yes, I've never been to space before.” He, like she, spoke through clenched teeth, though his jawline still sagged somewhat.

“Neither have I.” Now they had a common framework and she was surprised to discover that it did make her feel more at ease. She paused for several shallow but difficult breaths, aware that his eyes were following the labored movements of her chest. The sidewise torque did his eyeballs no good; he should have clomped down his eyelids for added support. But it seemed the male liked to see even the suggestion of female points of distinction, despite the concealment of cloth and discomfort of gravity. “Who are you?”

He hesitated. “Call me March,” he said at last.

There was a suppressed stress on it that did not seem to be entirely due to the deceleration. Was that his real name? But he could not be another transfer agent; his aura was merely galactic norm. Normals could not detect the feel of neighboring auras, but high-Kirlians could. Maybe he had even been drafted, and did not like being reminded of his happy past. Possibly he had been assigned to watch her, in case her own inexperience led to complications. Yet he had started the shuttle trip well before she had been summoned to Imperial Outworld. Could he have been a convict, released from the prison-colony planet of this system, now shunted to space service? No; he seemed too young, too innocent. She was inclined to trust him. To a reasonable extent. “Yael,” she said.