The three men exchanged glances in the light of Llume’s glow. “Sir,” March said after a moment. “This is generous of you—and your host. You are surely aware that you have the aspect of a remarkably attractive woman, despite your present dishabille. Physically and mentally. But I have lived in a civilized manner, with the interests of my world and my species paramount, and I prefer to die that way. I would not touch you or your host unless it were your honest preference, with the prospect of life ahead of you—and I doubt that is the case.”
“That’s all you know,” Yael muttered. “Who cares about Kirlian aura—that’s a man.”
“I suggest we hold a Service of Termination,” March continued. “Then see how we feel.”
A Service of Termination. This was a segment convention, so Melody understood the concept directly. It was a means by which entities of different Spheres could together comport themselves for approaching demise without the rancor of contrasting philosophies or customs. It was contrived to have no objectionable elements, yet to provide strong support for all participating entities. And it did not have to wait for the certainty of death; any reasonable likelihood sufficed.
“I agree,” Melody said. She knew she should transfer out, because of the value of her aura to the segment, but this was a matter of personal integrity. These people were here because of her; she could not desert them. Not before the service. She glanced at Llume.
“I also agree,” Llume said. “This convention is known to Sphere /.”
March stiffened. “The Polarian is of Andromeda?”
“Andromedan—Spican—Polarian,” Melody said. “She is a transferee of the enemy, but she renounced her galaxy in favor of ours. In this situation we may not discriminate against her.”
Again, the men exchanged glances. “Agreed,” March said tersely.
They gathered in a circle, facing out. March flanked Melody on her left, and another man was on her right. Then Llume, and the third man.
“One moment,” Melody said. “Slammer. The magnet is entitled too. He’s a sapient entity.”
No one protested. Slammer and Beanball moved to March’s left, completing the circle. The humans kneeled, Llume settled, and the magnets dropped near the deck.
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.