One was a Polarian suspended by its trunk so that its wheel could not touch the ground, rendering it helpless, yet it did not seem to be in distress: “This is yourself, unable to make an informed decision.” Next a tower being blasted by lightning: “Yet your illusions will soon be destroyed to make way for new understanding.” Then a pattern of six swords, their points touching within a cross: “The Six of Gas—your hopes and fears expressed within the concept of science. Your mission surely involves some modern technological concept.” And the last: a dancing human skeleton wielding a scythe. “A strange animation—we Polarians have no bones—but it represents what is to be, the culmination of all these influences. And it is—”
“I see it!” Flint cried. “Death!”
“Not necessarily,” the Hierophant hastened to clarify. “It is also called Transformation, a shifting from one plane to another. All of us die a little with every experience, and are reborn a little. Life itself may be considered as the process of dying.”
“Maybe so,” Flint agreed. “I’m not sure this is getting us anywhere, though. It’s all drawn from my own mind, isn’t it? That’s why it seems so damned relevant. So it represents what I think will happen, nothing more. The reality could turn out entirely differently.”
“What will happen is governed by what we are,” the Hierophant explained. “And you are very special. The reading does not predict the future, it only tells what is in you. On its own terms it is valid. Your mission is important; you cannot give it up.”
“I wasn’t about to. But what I need are specifics. Such as who exactly is this Queen of Energy who is balking me? Can you name her?”
“No. I do not pretend to comprehend the full meaning of your reading. But you can identify her. Here, let me take this key as the Significator and further define it, using the keys as you have arranged them.” The other images faded and the flaming Queen formed. “This covers her.” And the next image showed: a huge, goatlegged, horned creature, laughing.
“The Devil!” Flint exclaimed. “And look—he has us chained to his post—” For there were two small human figures manacled to the Satanic perch, and they seemed familiar.
“Satan is God as seen by the ignorant,” the Hierophant murmured. “You see the male and female figures as you and the Queen of Energy?”
“Yes I do—and now I know who she is!” Flint paused. “No, I don’t know; I have never seen her in her natural form, or in human incarnation. But she tried to kill me twice, and may be after me a third time. How can I stop her?”
“We shall see. This crosses her.” And it was four swords. “The Four of Gas. It means truce. You cannot destroy her, you can only neutralize her—declare a cessation of hostilities, if she agrees.”
“Ha! I can deal with her if I can identify her. Can we verify her Polarian identity, or find out whether she’s here at all?”
“We can try. Where do you see her influence?”
“In the key for the near future—Three of Gas. Sorrow. If she’s here, she will cause me sorrow, all right. And the first thing I have to do is complete my mission.”
“You have a good memory for the layout,” the Hierophant remarked. It was actually Flint’s eidetic memory in operation that seemed to accompany him regardless of the brain of his host. “As you wish: Three of Gas the Significator.” The triply pierced heart returned. “This covers it.” And it was overlaid by—“The Queen of Liquid.”
“Not the Queen of Energy!” Flint said, surprised.
“Definitely a different female. Do you know one with the qualities of water? Soft, supple, beautiful, pliable, loving, with an affinity for flowing streams, not intelligent but wise in her timeless fashion, virtuous, the ideal spouse—”
“Honeybloom!” Flint cried with a pang, looking at the triply pierced heart within the Queen’s bosom, struggling to continue its beating despite its transfixion. “I was to marry her, before this. But she would never hurt me!”
“Not intentionally, perhaps. This crosses her.”
Flint cried out in horror. For ten terrible swords converged to pierce the Queen’s body, destroying her.
“There certainly is much Gas in your reading,” the Hierophant remarked. “And that is the suit of Trouble. This is the Ten—signifying ruin. Not of you—of her. Are you sure you have not—”
“I have to return to her!” Flint cried. “Poor, sweet Honeybloom, my green girl! She waits for me—”
“The Tarot—which I remind you is merely the animation of information you already possess—suggests it is already too late.”
“I don’t believe it! Right after this mission, I don’t care what the Imps say—that’s what I should be checking. My mission! Let’s have a supplementary reading on that.”
“We shall have to select a Significator for your mission—”
“It has to do with the Big Wheel. I must see him—now.”
“The Big Wheel! That would be the Key Ten, the Wheel of Fortune, the most important one to Polarians.” It formed: a huge wheel surmounted by a sphinx. “Your Sphere Sol images are fascinating; I have never seen them animated so neatly. I refer to content as well as clarity of image. The Founder—”
“Get on with it.”
“This covers him.” Four staffs appeared, with a castle in the background. “Four of Energy. Completion, peace—”
“That’s it. On.”
“This crosses him.” A woman, bound in front of a line of tall swords. “Eight of Gas. Interference, accidental yet—”
“I know who’s been trying to interfere, maybe well intentioned. A Polarian female, young, pretty—”
“Has she borne issue?”
“Had children, you mean? I don’t think so. She’s really very sweet, in a down-to-ground sort of way, but not—”
“Page of Solid, then, for her Significator.” The image formed. Tsopi.
“Yes—that’s her! Check her out—I want to know if she’s my enemy.”
“This defines her.” The image was of two overflowing cups. “Two of Liquid, signifying love, harmony. There is no enmity here.”
“So she’s innocent!”
“So you believe. I would be inclined to trust that judgment.”
“What crosses her?”
“This crosses her. Two of Solid, signifying change. Not really a negative indication—”
Flint had had enough. “Thanks, but I have to be on my way. Can you direct me to the location of the Big Wheel?”
“I don’t really advise—”
“I know you don’t. But you have helped me—you really have!—and it’s my decision.”
The Hierophant glowed, resigning himself. “We do not impose advice beyond the Querent’s desire. I shall show you a map.”
The map was a pattern of tastes on a sphere, unlike anything Flint had used before but quite adequate to the present need.
He soon found himself at the entrance to the palace of the Big Wheel. “I have important information for His Rondure.”
The guard was unimpressed. “Your identity?”
“Emissary from Sphere Sol, transferred.”
The guard checked as though this were routine. “The Wheel regrets he cannot interview you at this time.”
“He can’t speak with a Spherical Emissary?” Flint demanded incredulously. “This is important!”
“There is an unexpiated debt.”
“Well, I’ll see him anyway.” And Flint shoved by.
“Please desist,” the guard replied. “I do not wish to incapacitate you.”
But Flint continued on into the palace, certain that no attack would be made against an identified agent of a friendly Sphere.