The Displacer must be planted, activated. All Grom depended on him.
He eyed the building, far below. He would pass over it. The Displacer would tell him which window to enter—which window was so near the reactor that he could do his job before the Men even knew he was about.
He started to drop lower, and the Hawk struck.
It had been above him. His first inkling of danger was the sharp pain of talons in his back, and the stunning blow of a beak across his head.
Dazed, he let his back go Shapeless. His body-substance flowed from the grasp of the talons. He dropped a dozen feet and resumed Sparrow-shape, hearing an astonished squawk from the attacker.
He banked, and looked up. The Hawk was eyeing him.
Talons spread again. The sharp beak gaped. The Hawk swooped.
Pid had to fight as a Bird, naturally. He was four hundred feet above the ground.
So he became an impossibly deadly Bird.
He grew to twice the size of the Hawk. He grew a foot-long beak with a double razor's edge. He grew talons like six inch scimitars. His eyes gleamed a red challenge.
The Hawk broke flight, squalling in alarm. Frantically, tail down and widespread, it thundered its wings and came to a dead stop six feet from Pid.
Looking thoughtfully at Pid, it allowed itself to plummet. It fell a hundred feet, spread its wings, stretched its neck and flew off so hastily that its wings became blurs.
Pid saw no reason to pursue it.
Then, after a moment, he did.
He glided, keeping the Hawk in sight, thoughts racing, feeling the newness, the power, the wonder of Freedom of Shape.
Freedom....
He did not want to give it up.
The bird-shape was wondrous. He would experiment with it. Later, he might tire of it for a time and assume another—a crawling or running shape, or even a swimming one. The possibilities for excitement, for adventure, for fulfilment and simple sensual pleasure were endless!
Freedom of Shape was—obviously, now that you thought on it—the Grom birthright. And the caste-system was artificial—obviously. A device for political and priestly benefit—obviously.
Go away, Shapeless One ... this does not concern you.
He rose to a thousand feet, two thousand, three. The Displacer's pulse grew feebler and finally vanished.
At four thousand feet he released it and watched it spin downward, vanish into a cloud.
Then he set out after the Hawk, which was now only a dot on the horizon. He would find out how the Hawk had broken flight as it had—skidded on air—he wanted to do that too! There were so many things he wanted to learn about flying. In a week, he thought, he should be able to duplicate all the skill that millennia had evolved into Birds. Then his new life would really begin.
He became a torpedo-shape with huge wings, and sped after the Hawk.