Having ascertained that, O Honored Cog, I could not conveniently disengage, for we were now amidst the Solarians’ primitive hunt. There was danger to the Flintsmith, and because we maintain amicable relations with these stick figures, I felt constrained to protect him somewhat. Though his body is grotesque in the fashion of his kind, there may never be his Kirlian like again within our region of the Myriad-Mote Galaxy. In fact, taking no presumption to suggest to advise so massive a Revolver as Your Wheelship, I would be inclined to spin into the tightest cultural and economic affinity with the Solarian Sphere, in the interests of exploring this remarkable Kirlian manifestation. Perhaps when our breakthrough into the secret of transfer occurs—apology, my association with Solarians has affected my vocabulary: I mean when our revolution of transfer occurs—we can discover how to engender similar auras in our own kind, where at present our highest intensity is about fifty.
I was able to preserve the Flintsmith’s life from extinction by the animal they hunted, “Ancient Nose-Blow.” (Solarians of most species, sapient and sentient, possess separate respiratory apparatus capable of producing sounds, particularly in the presence of infection. Thus the creature frequently honked or snorted; hence its name, variously rendered as “Aged Honk” or “Old Snort.”) But thereafter, the Flintsmith also preserved my own life from a similar threat. In this manner we inadvertently exchanged life-debts, and were obliged to make the Compact—the first, if I mistake not, between a Polarian and a Solarian. (And there have not been many between Polarians and Nathians either. In fact, Exchanges between Spheres are quite rare.) (But of course Sphere Nath is our longest association.) I therefore terminate my report as of the moment our mutual vow was completed, and resign from this case. In no way shall I betray the interest of my Debt Brother, and should he ever manifest within our Sphere I claim Debt Priority with regard to him.
FROM: Small Bearing, Pole Agent Tsopi, Perimeter Detail.
APPENDED CIRCULAR by Big Wheeclass="underline"
How brazenly the Small Bear twists her tail into Wheelish matters, presuming to inform us of elementary history and even proffering advice! Yet despite her frequent irrelevancies and truncated spin, there goes one of our best field agents. Note how subtly she imposed on the Solarian in the interest of her mission, and how loyally she protects his own interest now that she has wangled Debt Exchange. The little disk has rolled into love with an alien stick, overwhelmed by his Kirlian aura. Beauty and the Beast! She probably wanted to get into the Round of Records: first Debt Exchange between Pole and Sole. Now she even demands Consummation! Well, we can gyre through this vortex too; if the Solarian Flintsmith ever does manifest here (fat chance!), assign Tsopi as his guide. A cycle or two of forced association with the alien will cure her of such looping fancies; she’ll have her notoriety, and soon her wheel will be spinning normally. (We’d never put up with this, if she weren’t such an efficient operator, and cute as a whirlbug too.)
Flint started to fall, tried to put his foot forward, found he had no foot, grabbed with a hand, and had no hand.
A strong, supple tentacle caught him. “Gently, friend,” a soft voice said against his glowing skin. “Use your wheel; you’re a Polarian now. No rodlike appendages, no human reactions. Think circular.”
He used his wheel, gaining a precarious balance. It was like logrolling in a river; he had to keep reversing to avoid getting dumped. Intellectually as well as physically. “You know!” he said—and discovered that he had spoken by spinning the little ball in the end of his trunk against his own illuminated hide.
“Our Spheres maintain diplomatic channels,” the other replied. “We were advised of your coming by matter-mission capsule, and I was summoned from the Fringe to escort you.”
Now he contemplated his companion. He had no eyes, but his skin-surface was a radiation receptor that provided a less specific but quite adequate notion, somewhat like human peripheral vision extended into a full circle—or rather, a full sphere. He could literally see in all directions at once. He was in the presence of a female Polarian, shaped like a huge chocolate candy kiss and very nicely proportioned from little ball to great wheel. In fact, she was beautiful. “Then you know that I am Flint of Sphere Sol,” he said. “May I know you?”
“I am Tsopi of Sphere Polaris,” she replied.
Something clicked. “Topsy—of Outworld?”
She glowed good-naturedly. “The same, Plint.”
“But you should be out at the Fringe, two hundred light-years from—”
“I claimed preemptive right. We are debt-siblings.”
Oh, yes. She had attached some importance to that, he recalled. They had saved each other’s lives from Old Snort. Still… “And your government mattermitted you two hundred light-years to nursemaid me?”
“It is our way,” she said. “I will see to all your needs.”
Several trillion dollars’ worth of energy expended to bring her here—because it was their way. Yet he found he liked that. It was not just that she was the prettiest entity in the limited memory of his host-body; it was also that he knew her from his human experience, and respected her. This was the first time he had seen a creature from both the human and the transfer views; it provided an added perspective.
But business first. “I must deliver the secret of transfer to your government.”
“There will be occasion for that,” she said. “We shall meet with the Big Wheel himself in a few days.” Local days, his memory informed him, were somewhat longer than those of either Outworld or Earth, but the essence was similar.
His communication ball made a sound like a human fingernail rasping across slate. (He noted peripherally that the little talk-ball was termed a ball, while the ambulation-ball was called a wheel, though both were spherical. And the tentacle-appendage was a male trunk, or a female tail.) “A few days! Topsy, this is urgent!”
“There will be occasion,” she repeated, like a nurse calming a distraught patient.
Flint let it drop for the moment. Tsopi knew him, and shared a bond with him that was evidently important to her. Was she trying to tell him something? After the mannered intrigues of System Capella, he was not surprised to find complications here in Sphere Polaris, but he was disappointed.
She showed him the way through the building. It reminded him strongly of its counterpart at Earth-Prime, with its broad halls, high ceilings, forced-circulation air and lack of growing things. What was there about civilization that made it so restrictive? Yet his host-mind informed him that this was natural to Polarians, even pleasant; individuals of this species, like native Earthians, liked to be massively enclosed by their architecture.
How did no-handed creatures manage to build such edifices? Again his memory provided the answer: Polarians were adept at circular manipulation of objects and concepts. They did not carry building blocks into place, they rolled building spheres into place. Where men laid bricks, Polarians rolled stones. Where men hammered nails, Polarians squeezed glue. The end result was rather similar, as though civilization shaped itself into certain configurations regardless of the sapient species invoking it. Here there were no square skyscrapers, but domed dunes serving the same purpose.