“But it must be loyal! You saved his from drifting into deep space!”
“He tried to save me, too, remember. In Polarian terms, we exchanged debt. But we have no evidence that magnets operate the same way. Do you have any idea how to proceed?”
“I tamed a dinosaur once,” Yael said. “At least, I tried to. You can’t ever really tame anything that big.”
“Slammer is every bit as dangerous as a dinosaur,” Melody told her. “Maybe similar methods would work. What exactly did you do?” As usual, it was easier to ask for the information than to delve for it herself.
“I put out food for it. It was a needle-eater, of course; I wouldn’t go near one of the meat-eaters.” Now there was a welling of emotion, as she was reminded of what the carnivorous dinosaur had cost her.
“It ate needles? Those ancient metal sewing slivers?”
Yael’s humor returned. “Vine needles, silly! Tough, green things. But that’s what they eat. Only this one was lame, and couldn’t get enough because it couldn’t jump. So I shinnied up a vine and cut down a lot of high tendrils. He’d come every day for more, but he never would let me get close to him.”
“Feeding,” Melody said. “But our magnet is already well fed.” She considered. “We don’t want to take over feeding; it would make people suspicious. What else would Slammer be interested in?”
“Girls,” Yael said simply.
“Oh—are magnets sexed, too? I assumed the ‘he’ was merely the convention.”
“They must be. How do they make little magnets?”
“Oh, there are lots of possibilities. Fission—” But she realized this concept would be difficult to explain, and might not be relevant. “How do they?”
“Maybe we should ask Slammer,” Yael said.
“Slammer might not wish to discuss so private a subject,” Melody said. “And how would he answer?”
Yael had no suggestion. Magnets were silent, except when they banged into something. They could hear and understand, but not talk.
“They’re physical creatures,” Melody said at last. “They must have needs. If not sexual, something else. Entertainment, perhaps. How do they relax?”
“They just hover.” Yael pointed out.
“On-duty, they hover. But off-duty?” Aloud, she said: “Slammer, you never seem to rest. I am concerned for your welfare. Would you like some time off?”
The magnet bobbed agreeably. That meant he understood, but was otherwise noncommittal.
“I’m sure I’m safe, here in my cabin. Why don’t you take a float around the ship for an hour?”
But the magnet waggled sidewise: no. He remained the perfect guardian—or guard.
“Suppose I walk with you, Slammer? Anywhere you want to go.”
The magnet was amenable. Perhaps he thought she was obliquely commanding it to take her somewhere, such as back to the crew quarters for another romp in space. Well, she would keep refining the directive.
They moved out into the hall. “Where to?” Melody asked, stopping. “This is your walk, remember.”
It took a while for the magnet to really understand or accept, but finally he set off slowly down the hall. Melody followed, and when Slammer saw that the correct proximity was being maintained, he speeded up. Soon she was running, and that brought her a new human phenomenon: breathlessness.
Abruptly the magnet halted. Melody drew up beside him. They were in a passage that turned at right angles a short distance ahead. It was a handsome section decorated with fiber paneling that showed the grain of its organic state. Unusual, in this ship; elsewhere there was little nonfunctional display. “Where now, friend?”
Slammer jerked back and forth, then hovered expectantly.
“You want to go that way? Very well; we’ll go.” And Melody walked on into the paneled section.
But the magnet did not follow, though she passed the body-length limit. Melody paused. “Not this way, Slammer? Sorry, I misunderstood.” She went back, passing the magnet, and started down the hall they had traversed.
The magnet still hovered in place. “Not this way either? Slammer, I don’t understand, and I really do want to. Is there a—a secret door here? Another route?”
The sidewise shake: no.
Melody brightened. “You want to rest right here, where it is so pretty and peaceful!”
But again it was no. Slammer jerked forward, pointing out the way he wanted to go—but didn’t go.
“Yael, do you understand this?” Melody asked.
“It’s a mystery to me,” Yael answered. “Maybe he doesn’t like wood.”
Startled, Melody stared at the hall with new understanding. “Wood! Not metal. This must be a solid wood section, not mere paneling.”
“Yes, it’s pretty,” Yael agreed.
“Don’t you see: the magnet can’t go in here!” Melody said. “Wood is nonmagnetic. The force of magnetism is very strong, but it fades rapidly with distance. The wood must extend so deeply that Slammer has no purchase.”
“Hey, like skidding on ice!” Yael exclaimed.
Melody fathomed her analogy: ice was cold, solidified water that had a greatly reduced surface friction. Entities that propelled themselves by means of frictive application against available surfaces—such as the Solarians aboard a spaceship—could suffer loss of efficiency on frozen water. In fact, they might become almost helpless, or even be injured by a fall. Skidding on ice—the inexplicable become explicable. “Yes, the magnet is unable to propel himself through this region,” Melody agreed. “Yet he wishes to go there.”
“Why doesn’t he just roll?”
“There is a bend in the hall. He would be stalled, powerless, there, until some frictive entity carried him out.”
“Well, we could carry him.” Yael pointed out. “So we could! Child, at times you are brilliant!”
“I’m not a child. Not after what I did with Captain Boyd.” Yael spoke with a certain rueful pride.
“I had no facetious intent about either your age or your intelligence. Sometimes the simplistic way is best.” Melody was unable to comment on the culmination with the Captain; she had blanked out. But from Yael’s memory she gathered it had been quite a performance; the man was an excellent lover.
She approached the magnet. “Slammer, I’ll carry you, if you’re not too heavy. May I put my arms around you?” Slammer nodded. At last they understood each other! Melody reached around him and drew him into her body. The magnet’s surface was warm and was vibrating. She had of course held Slammer before, but that had been out in space, and she had never actually touched his surface. Probably that space episode was the main reason he trusted her now. Magnets did not give their trust casually, she knew.
Slammer’s powerful magnetic field phased through her aura, making her slightly dizzy. She had been right: The intensity of its field varied exponentially with distance, so that even a few feet brought it too low to be useful for propulsion. A magnet an inch away from metal could not be resisted; six feet away it was helpless. “Now let go slowly, so I’ll know if I can handle your weight.”
The magnet grew heavy. But when he was about half her host-body’s weight, it leveled off. The host-body was young and strong; this burden could be handled.
“We’re on our way,” Melody said aloud, feeling the tingle of incipient adventure. It seemed she was acquiring the taste for this sort of thing! “I hope it isn’t far.”
She marched forward into the wooden hall. At the turn she swung about—and was baffled. For the passage immediately reversed to pick up on the other side. It had no likely purpose—except to inhibit the progress of magnets. “But you know, Slammer,” she gasped—for she was tiring already—“you could get through here if you had to. All you have to do is get up speed in the metal section, and cannonball right through this obstruction. You’d have enough impetus left over to roll the rest of the way, I should think.”