The hostages aboard the Segment Etamin flagship had treated the magnets in a similar fashion, regarding the magnets as intelligent beasts of burden. Melody had capitalized on this attitude in reviving the derelict ships. Yet she could not conclude that there was anything wrong in this. If some species liked it that way and were mutually satisfied, why not?
But more immediately, it meant that this ingrained cultural conditioning had caused the Dash command to overlook the obvious. It had not occurred to them that a £ could be a host.
20. Foiling the Lancer
—I said she escaped us, quadpoint—
:: must I do everything myself? is there no end to your incompetence? after winning the war for you must I chase after the high-kirlian prisoner I forwarded directly to you? how could you bungle such a simple thing as a transfer? ::
—inquire of your quadpoint command in etamin he transferred her using captured adapted milky way unit unreliable for an aura of that magnitude—
:: her? I had understood it was a male entity ::
—your quadpoint command neglected to inform our local technicians of that modification we provided a male host—
:: so that nemesis who extended the resistance in segment etamin far beyond what it should have been is now loose in andromeda! trace her and kill her! ::
—we cannot do that, quadpoint she is in a special situation not anticipated she occupies a £ host—
:: I have heard of your groundbeasts why should that make any difference? ::
—the covenant prevents direct damage to any £—
:: covenant! surely there are mechanisms! employ them! ::
—the mechanism of proper caution at the outset would have—
:: POWER! ::
—CIVILIZATION—
Cnom deposited her load of fine lemoncurl at the mill, and her mahout received congratulations on its quality and a note of credit on his record. No praise was wasted on the £, of course, and Cnom neither expected it nor desired it. It was her task to do the work; the intricacies of record-keeping were the responsibility of Dash.
They returned to the bog, following the routine. Melody had to protect her thoughts by clothing them in technical terminology of little interest to her host. She didn’t want to reveal her developing strategy. Whatever she decided to do, Cnom was unlikely to see it her way.
One thing was certain: She could not afford to settle into the scentwood-hauling operation indefinitely. Once the vital power started flowing from the Milky Way to Andromeda, this robber-galaxy would become so strong that effective resistance would become impossible. Now was the time to act, and Melody was the one to take the action.
The first problem was how to eliminate the mahout, while retaining the freedom to go into the Dash city.
As the jelly thickened, the £ vibrational interchanges resumed. This dialogue was ignored by the mahouts, if they were able to pick it up at all.
“Weak section of lattice,” someone announced. “Route around it until it strengthens.” And Cnom noted the location carefully, for she did not want the inconvenience of coming upon it accidentally.
“Alien intellect visiting, overlooked by Dash,” Cnom announced. Melody was startled. While she was shielding her own thoughts, she had not been monitoring those of her host. Well, perhaps no harm was done, since the Dash paid no attention to the £ net.
“This explains the search,” another responded. “Dash does not like alien visitors.”
There was a vibration of general mirth. The ways of the Dash were so quaint. They, who ranged the galaxies, objected to visitors!
“Spoor of predator,” another announced.
“Another?”
“Same one as before. Lancer, large.”
“Were not the Dash notified?”
“They aborted their chase, concentrating on the alien presence.”
“The alien among us.”
“Then let the alien disperse the lancer.”
Melody liked this less and less, but hesitated to speak on her own behalf. For one thing, she wasn’t sure the Dash weren’t listening; they surely could if they wanted to. The £ would not give her away directly—not intentionally —but she could give herself away. And what was this about fighting a predator?
The vibration of agreement had, it seemed, committed her. Already, by what means she lacked the time to verify, they were routing the predator to her vicinity. She was responsible for its menace, since she had distracted the Dash authorities, even though she was here in Andromeda at Dash instigation. Therefore she must abate the menace. Quite logical and immediate, to a culture that did not concern itself with things distant in place or time. Unexpressed but inherent, was the understanding that if they honored their part by not exposing her to the Dash, she must honor hers by dealing with the lancer.
“But how can I do anything about this predator?” Melody demanded of her host. “I don’t even know what it is!”
“It will be difficult,” Cnom agreed. “I could not do it myself. We depend on your alien knowledge.”
It seemed the £ had a stiff requirement for intruders who caused inconvenience! Yet it was fair in its fashion.
They were back near the lemoncurl stand. Abruptly Melody received the vibrations of an approaching creature, a large, smooth one whose passage was too fast and straight to be bound to the latticewood paths. A swimming entity.
Cnom went rigid with terror—and so did the Dash mahout. No help there! Melody took over the body totally, having no choice. She was on her own.
Balancing on the lattice, she oriented on the lancer. She did not face it because she had no face, no fixed aspect of body. She used the sonic vibrations to identify its size, shape, location, and motion. The echoes of its emanations identified the lemoncurl stalks to the side, the neighborhood lattice, and, fuzzily, the more distant branches of latticewood passing above and below this level. It was as good as seeing, better in a way, because she did not have to focus on it all.
The lancer was a sleek, long creature propelled by three threshing fins to the rear and guided by three more along its torso. It was superbly equipped to slide rapidly through the jelly; no other bog denizen could match it. Its front end tapered into a long, hard, deadly spike designed to pierce the globular body of its prey and to suck out the life-juices therein. While it was traveling, that spike sprayed out a thin mist of acid that dissolved the jelly in front, causing it to give way more readily to the thrust of the main torso.
In a flash, Melody’s £ memory filled her in on related details. Once the middle layers of the bog had been fraught with terror. The upper section was the domain of the land creatures; only the bottom deeps were secure, for the lancers could not move well there. But the £ could not live in the deeps continuously; their bodies required the release of the upper regions. So their population had been culled in the region of thickest jell, and few lived to old age.
Usually the victims survived the first attack, but an uncomfortable convalescence was required to restore the depleted juices. As most of the necessary food was on land, the £ had to walk up through the bog repeatedly, and be subject to repeated attacks by the lancer. The second puncture was more apt to be terminal, and a third almost invariably.
A convalescent £ could not work effectively; therefore the Dash had initiated their bog-safety program, which had been of immense mutual benefit. Far better to haul heavy wood than to suffer the ravages of the lancer!