Cluster

Enough: He now knew more than he cared to of Polarian biology. Tsopi was now the Queen of Solid, a mature female; their mutual debt had been abated, and he was free to communicate the secret of transfer to the Big Wheel. But—

But how could he do that—with no communication ball?

He knew the answer, once he delved for it. He would have to take a little more time, growing in his new ball. There would be no problem; the replacement seed was already making its way to the end of his trunk, where it would form the nucleus of the new ball. He had merely to relax and enjoy his recuperation. He was sure, now, that his Kirlian aura was not depleted; he had suffered emotional, not Kirlian depression, and was good for months yet. Plenty of time to get back in physical shape. A valid excuse to get to know this delightful culture properly.

Flint rolled out of the animation area, heading toward the great, wonderful outside.

8. Letters of Blood

*report: critical period notification of mired agent*

—summon all available entities council—

COUNCIL INITIATED PARTICIPATING*—^o_o ::

—well, that’s one more than last time proceed—

*our 200 kirlian agent now available for retransfer provided low-kirlian replacement exchanged*

^o_o low Kirlian transfer? subject would rapidly be lost! explain rationale ^o_o

*200 kirlian agent is our best familiar with this mission low-kirlian would be expendable after exchange low-kirlian would lose identity but remain suitable for specialized mission*

:: now I’m confused! how can… ::

*specialized mission is foster-care of offspring engendered by enemy agent on ours*

^o_o our best agent mated with enemy agent? she was assigned to eliminate him! ^o_o

—it is a long story, ^o_o, as you would have been aware had you attended prior council—

^o_o I was preoccupied with spherical matters ^o_o

—this is a galactic matter, of overriding import—

^o_o don’t lecture me, —! you think you’re so dashed superior where would this galaxy be, if we ^o_os hadn’t ^o_o

:: please, unity is the essence of power! ::

—maybe we should let them achieve their own galactic coalition then they would bicker themselves to death as we do—

^o_o extreme humor noted ^o_o

—accept our statement that this exchange is a necessary expedient—

:: but she will kill him next time? ::

—assuredly as victim of rape she is very angry no laser flasheth hotter than that of a female / wronged—

^o_o spare us the aphorisms ^o_o

*concurrence?*

:: signoff ::

*—^o_o::POWER CIVILIZATION CONCURRENCE*—^o_o::

It was strange being in a human host, with its angular perambulation and acute binocular vision and inadequate taste. Flint caught himself trying to roll, and tripping over his own feet. He had been Polarian a long time, and run his Kirlian aura low; it would have been easy to phase all the way into that sublime identity. He now regarded Sphere Polaris culture as generally superior to that of Sphere Sol… but that episode was over.

Return from transfer had been horrendous. He had suffered disorientation, pain, and convulsions. Apparently his human body had contracted some malady during his absence. That could have accounted for some of his orientation problems at Polaris; it was reasonable to assume that the connection between aura and body never broke entirely. The prolonged vacancy had weakened the physical vessel. But modern biotics and therapy would have the matter rectified in a few days, and then he could begin his long recuperation.

So they had had to bounce him out again in transfer while they gave his body special medical attention. He had insisted on a particular location although they had protested that there was no suitable host-body there. He had let them know that there might be no Kirlian transferee for future missions if they didn’t find a host in a hurry.

Now, at last, he had returned home—in a fashion. For this was the system of Draco, the Dragon. Etamin, his home. How changed it seemed, after an Earth-year. The vines seemed larger, the terrain rougher. But of course the vines were larger than most Earth trees, and the landscape of Stone Age Outworld was violent—and he occupied a smaller, weaker body.

In fact it was the body of a child barely nine or ten years old. One foot had been mauled and one arm amputated at the elbow. Best available host on a primitive world!

He had only a short time, and he wanted to see Honeybloom, the Queen of Liquid. Back in Polaris Sphere he had converted Tsopi from Page to Queen of Solid, but that had been, a temporary affair. His real love was his human girl. So he moved along as fast as his rather handicapped body was able.

A warrior challenged him at the entrance to his village. “I don’t know you, boy—what’s your business here?”

Flint recognized the man: Fatclub, because he preferred a broad, heavy log for his weapon. Not much of a fighter, really—which was why he was assigned to routine guard duty. “I am a runner for the Swampfighter Tribe,” Flint said. That tribe was hundreds of miles distant, so none of its members were personally known here. “I bear a message for Honeybloom.”

“You must’ve been a long time on the way,” Fatclub said. “That bitch isn’t here any more.”

Flint reached for his sharp handax but caught himself. He could do nothing in this body, and did not want to betray his knowledge of the subject. But what an insult to the prettiest, sweetest girl in the tribe! “I move slowly,” he agreed, indicating his mutilated foot with his single hand. “Where is she now?”

“Up on the hill with her bastard son.” Fatclub made a contemptuous gesture indicating the direction.

With her bastard… Suddenly Flint realized what had happened. Honeybloom had borne his child—but she was unmarried, since Flint had been abruptly removed from the scene by the Imp government. Therefore she had been expelled from the tribe, and now was the object of ridicule. What a terrible fate for such a girl to suffer! If only he had known—

But he had known—for he had identified her as the Queen, not the Page, of Liquid, in that Tarot system he had learned in Sphere Polaris. The information had been there in his mind all the time. He knew how babies were made! He merely had not let himself think it all the way through, despite the hint the Tarot had provided.

He made his way up the mountain, amazed at the difficulty the route presented. The normal Flint-body would have hurdled the ravine, swung up to run along the vines, and shoved thornblossoms out of the way automatically. But this inadequate body had to negotiate the hazards tediously, always alert for lurking predators who would not have dared go after a grown man. This body was also wary of high places and insecure footing, and unable to swing from vine to vine. Wild Outworld seemed much less idyllic from this vantage!