But there were puzzles the rogue could not solve.
The answers to some of them were far from this cave. It detached itself from its hfgh iron perch in the opal mist and left the girl, watching and trembling.
The rogue sent its awareness out into the universe. It sensed the tangle of dark hills above the bubble cave, stretched, expanded and encompassed cubic miles of space with its. consciousness. It observed the bright anger and fear of the human creatures from whom it had stolen the box of food, studied the sleeping presence of Andreas Quamodian, observed the deployment of its own tools, the sleeth and the machine; and it reached farther still.
It reached out until it grasped the roundness of the planet Earth, turning between its bare moon and the red, swelling sun, the sun that had struck at the rogue in those first moments of its existence.
The star was still angry, still roiled and troubled. The rogue studied it carefully, but avoided reaching out to it; it had not been harmed by that triple bolt of energy that had been the sun's riposte, yet did not consider it advisable to provoke another.
The rogue expanded again, reached out its perceptions to the stars. It found them to be suns like this sun, single, coupled, multiple, burning all across the dust and darkness of the galaxy—some tinier than Earth's cold moon, some mightier than Earth's sullen sun. Even beyond the stars it peered, to find a bleak and empty vastness of infinite space and cruel cold. Then in the eternal floods of blackness it perceived the glowing, tiny lights of other galaxies. Ill-informed and unfearing, the rogue studied the numbers and varieties of galaxies. Faintly, it sensed the place of that watching being, still beyond its reach. It returned to nearer stars.
Almalik.
It was time for the rogue to probe into the meaning of the term "Almalik."
There was no problem in finding Almalik; in the captured impulses of the robot inspector was a clear understanding of where Almalik lay in space, and the rogue turned its attention there.
And there was the might of Almalik, the splendor of his thirteen suns, all greater than the small Earth star that had tried to destroy the rogue. It counted them, studied their spin, tested the energies they hurled into the void. Six splendid double stars arranged in hierarchically greater doubles; one single sun with many wheeling planets. The thirteen suns radiated many colors in the optical bands of energies, but the rogue also saw that they shared a common golden glow of unity . . .
And Almalik felt the rogue's fleeting touch.
Hello, little one.
Almalik did not speak. Least of all did he speak in words; but he sent a signal which was at once greeting and wry pity. The signal was powerful but soundless, serene and slow.
The rogue listened impassively, waiting for more.
Little one, we have been looking for you. The silent voice was mightier than thunder, gentle as—what? The rogue had only an imperfect analogy: gentle as love. We have received information about you. You have destroyed patterns we cherish. You have damaged entities who were part of us. Little one, what do you wish?
The rogue considered the question for some time. It framed an answer with difficulty: Knowledge. Experience. And then, after a pause, it added, Everything.
The multiple suns of Almalik glowed serenely golden; it was almost like a smile. From behind the round Earth, behind the many thousand stars and dust clouds, the signal came: Knowledge you may have. Ask a question.
The rogue asked it at once: Why will you destroy me?
The soundless voice was cool, aloof, immeasurably sure. Little one, we cannot destroy you or any sentient thing.
Green anger filled the rogue. It was a contradiction, Almalik's statement opposed to Molly Zaldivar's. It had not known of the existence of lies until Molly Zaldivar told it she loved it, then showed she did not. Now it knew of lies, but little of mortal error; the contradiction seemed to mean a lie, a lie meant enmity. Red hatred froze the rogue: sudden fury shook its plasma violently.
It dropped from its great, tenuous vantage point, contracted to a swirl of luminescence, and sank back into the mountain just as the planet was turning that part of its surface to the angry rising sun. The splendid suns of Almalik were gone. For a while.
The rogue floated down to Molly Zaldivar. In the high, singing voice of the robot it cried: "We are leaving this place. Almalik has lied to me. I hate him now."
She lay spent and shuddering on the torn cushions, staring at the rogue.
It said: "I hate Almalik. Almalik thinks me small and helpless, and will destroy me if he can. But I am growing, I will grow still more, I will grow until I am mightier than Almalik."
White and haggard in the dead opal light from the ancient cloud, the girl's face had no expression. She lay hopeless and uncaring, waiting for what the rogue had to say.
"I shall destroy Almalik," it sang in the robot's clear whine. "Then you will love me, Molly Zaldivar, or I will destroy you too."
21
Andy Quam landed his flyer before the control dome of the transflex cube and grated, "Control dome! Connect me direct with Headquarters of the Companions of the Star, Almalik Three!"
"Your authorization, sir?" the control dome inquired politely.
"Fully authorized! Highest priority!"
"One moment, sir," the control dome said doubtfully. But it did not refuse him. In a moment it said, "I am seeking your circuits, sir. There is a 200-second delay now estimated; will you wait?"
"You bet I'll wait," growled Andy Quam, and sank dourly back in his seat. He ached. Battling rogue stars and strange beings and men from space was not the kind of life he was used to. But if it was what he had to do to save Molly Zaldivar, he would get used to it!
A small figure appeared at the corner of the square, running hard toward him. Tiny spurts of dust flowered at his heels, and he was gasping as he reached the flyer. "Preacher!" Rufe gasped. "What happened? How's Molly Zaldivar?"
"She's still in the cave," said Quamodian shortly. "I think. Anyway, I never saw her."
"Then what—what are you going to do?"
"Wait." But they didn't have to wait long. The speaker clicked and hummed, and a sweet nonhuman voice sang:
"Companions of the Star, Chief Warden of Monitors speaking. How may I serve you?"
"You can serve me best," said Andy Quam belligerently, "by getting an emergency survey team out here on the double! This is Monitor Andreas Quamodian speaking. I request—no, cancel that. I demand immediate action!"
The sweet high voice sang sorrowfully, "Ah, Monitor Quamodian. We have been advised of your statements and actions."
"Ha!" barked Andy Quam. "Of course you have! You've been told of my report that a created intellect in the form of a rogue star is loose here; that I have requested authority to use force against it; that I have stated that certain humans and nonhuman intellects have been damaged, destroyed or threatened by it. And you've ignored what I said."
"Unfortunately, Monitor Quamodian, we have seen no reason to accept this report."
"You think I'm wrong, eh?"
"Not 'wrong,' Monitor Quamodian. It is merely that we do not assess the same quantitative need for action."
"I see," snapped Andy Quam. "Then look at it this way. I report that a Monitor of the Companions of the Star is suffering paranoid delusions; that he believes himself and his friends attacked by monsters; that in his insanity he is capable of wildly destructive acts of violence; and that this will inevitably reflect great discredit to all Monitors. What quantitative assessment do you give that?"