He said, keeping his temper, "Juan Zaldivar, I ask you to do something for me in the name of Almalik. Since you are in contact with the sentient stars by means of the Visitants, I want you to pass on to them my warning about the creation of the rogue star."
"I have done so," said Zaldivar benignly. "Almalik knows all that I know."
"Good," sighed Andy Quam. He felt a brief relief, a sense of awe at the fleeting vision of all the wisdom and power of the multiple citizen Cygnus, the minds of numberless sentient suns and transcience robots and perfected men knitted together by the fusorian Visitants. "Now," he said, "there's a puzzle you must help me solve. I want to know why that sunbolt struck yesterday. Is Almalik responsible?"
Zaldivar squinted again, then shook his head gravely. "No," he declaimed, "the release of the sunbolt was a violent action. According to our information it destroyed much equipment and contributed to at least one human death. As Almalik is nonviolent, we are clearly not responsible."
Quamodian peered at him. "Was it the rogue that was responsible?"
Juan Zaldiv3r said serenely, "In that, Monitor Quamodian, we are not concerned. We will not resist."
"But you're in danger! Even the sentient stars are in danger, if an in-tellectic creature hostile to them is loose in this galaxy!"
"We will not resist," repeated Juan Zaldivar. "Acting in violence, we should destroy ourselves." And, gently murmuring an apology, he returned to adjust his farm machine.
The boy's message had said he would be at the Zaldivars' home, but he was not in sight. No one was; the dwelling door stood open, but no one answered Andy Quam's call.
There was a crooning, placid, musical drone coming from somewhere above. Quamodian followed the sound, and doors opened before him as the homeostatic dwelling invited him in, up a moving slideramp, to a roof garden.
There sat Deirdre Zaldivar, greeting the morning by playing an instrument which transformed her emotions into art, spinning them into melodious sound, colored form, subtle scent. She greeted him, smiling. Youthful as Molly, her beauty unmarred by the golden star that blazed on her cheek, she was absorbed in her art and reluctant to be disturbed.
"Rufe? Oh, yes, Monitor Quamodian. I know Rufe. But he's not here."
"That's odd, Mrs. Zaldivar," Andy Quam frowned. "He said he'd meet me here. Did he say anything to you?"
Deirdre Zaldivar plucked a strumming chord of sound negligently, watched a pinkish bubble of color grow, turn rose, and then red, then darken into invisibility. "Why, no, Monitor Quamodian. We haven't heard from Rufe, have we?"
She looked inquiringly past Andy Quam. Disconcerted, he turned, and there was the sleek black egg shape of a transcience robot floating over a bed of talisman roses. "Robot Inspector?" he said uncertainly. "I—I didn't notice you were here."
The robot's pulsating plasma oval shimmered brightly. "I am not the robot inspector, Monitor Quamodian," it sang in its high, sweet voice. "That unit is no longer operational. I am its deputy."
"Not operational?"
"It has been disjoined, Monitor Quamodian," hummed the robot placidly. "I have, however, access to all its memory up to the point at which disjunction occurred, so that for all practical purposes you may regard us as the same. Do you wish to employ my services?"
"No," said Andy Quam. "Or—yes. I think so. But I wanted to speak to Mrs. Zaldivar first. Molly has been injured, but she is now resting peacefully. * think she is all right—but in danger, I'm afraid."
Deirdre Zaldivar looked politely concerned. "Too bad," she said regretfully. "She is such a dear girl. But—" she shrugged, smiling at the deputy robot, "she is not yet a member of the Star, of course. Like all nonmembers, she is exposed to the hazards of independent existence." She returned to the console of her instrument and, with a quick run across the keys, built a splendid tower of scent and color and color and sound. "When Molly accepts the Visitants, Monitor Quamodian," she said, watching her composition grow and drift, "everything will be all right. Everything is always all right in the Companionship of the Star."
Andy Quam's exasperation pressure was building again. He could feel it compressing his brows, grinding his jaws together. He turned to the robot and snapped, "You, then. I want some facts. What happened to the sun?"
"In what respect, Monitor Quamodian?" sang the robot politely.
"Its appearance—look at it! And the plasma bolts it threw at the Earth yesterday. Why?"
"We have no information," reported the robot regretfully.
"Is it true that the multiple citizen Cygnus is not responsible?"
"Quite true, Monitor Quamodian," agreed the robot, its high voice sounding disapproving of the question. "Almalik informs us that this fact was already reported by you to Juan Zaldivar. You are aware that the citizen Cygnus will engage in no violence."
"Then, what about the sun? Has—" the thought suddenly erupted in his mind, almost choking him, "has a rogue intellect been established in this star?"
"The star Sol," sang the robot, "is not a member of the multiple citizen Cygnus, nor has it ever entered into association with any part of the civilized universe. We have no other information about its intellectual status."
"Its abnormal behavior is dangerous to this planet and to all the members of Cygnus on it," protested Andy Quam. "One human being has died already. I fear this danger may extend to the sentient stars of Cygnus."
"Almalik is informed," hummed the robot serenely. "The sentient stars are not alarmed."
"/ am alarmed!" cried Andy Quam. "I require your assistance!"
The robot floated toward him, its plasma oval glowing brightly. "That is your right, Monitor Quamodian," it conceded sweetly. "As long as there is no conflict with the prime directives of Almalik."
"Fine!" snapped Andy Quam. "Begin by informing Almalik of my concern. State that I regard it as absolutely urgent that action be taken!"
"What action, Monitor Quamodian?" asked the robot solicitously.
Quamodian was ready for that. "Request Almalik to review my reports on Solo Scott and on Cliff Hawk's rogue star," he said briskly. "Urge Almalik to contact Clothilde Kwai Kwich. Ask Almalik to suggest alternative routes of additional action."
"But I have done so, Monitor Quamodian," sang the voice of the robot.
"We have no new information about Monitor Kwai Kwich, and no action to suggest!"
Quamodian glared at it furiously. What he might have said next might have cost him lasting regret; but he never had a chance to say it. From down below he heard a high-pitched shout, repeated, calling his name. "Preacher! Preacher, are you there?"
Quamodian sprang to the slideramp, peered down. "Is that you, Rufe?" he called.
The boy appeared, face grimed with tears and sobbing. "Oh, preacher!" he groaned. "It's Miss Zaldivar! She's gone!"
Quamodian's blood seemed to turn cold in his body; time stopped. "Gone? Gone where, boy?"
"I don't know, preacher. I—I think that thing must've come and taken her away!"
The world seemed to turn black around Andy Quam. The boy's voice dissipated like smoke, leaving a thin and fading wisp of terror behind it. Quamodian shuddered, shook himself, tried to think. But thought was beyond him at that moment; he had to act. He grasped the handrail and started to run down the slideramp, against its movement, not waiting for the sensors to detect his presence and respond by reversing the movement of the ramp.
From behind him the voice of the robot, its amplitude raised almost to the point of pain, thundered like the diapason of a giant organ: "Monitor Quamodian, wait! I must ask your intention!"