Piers Anthony: Cluster

Nothing happened. But why should it? It was necessary to imagine something. So he thought of Honeybloom, as he had known her: voluptuous, vibrant, lovely, her green body moving in that distracting way it had.

And she formed , ghostly at first, then more firmly, as if the mind’s artist were strengthening the key lines—except that her eyes were like lenses, and they flashed laser beams. An imperfect rendition, but definitely animation. He even saw the emblem of her Tarot card, the Queen of Liquid, with a brimming cup—

“It strikes!” a voice cried in his translator.

Flint charged out of the arena. The girl-figure faded.

Polaris and Nath stood facing each other. Between them Spica lay puddled. Its suit had been holed, and though chamber pressure kept it from decompressing, the creature was obviously dead.

Flint hefted his spear. “Which of you did it?” he demanded. And realized that this approach was futile; each would accuse the other, preventing him from ascertaining the truth. Impasse, again. Unless he could bluff: “I’ll spear you both , if I have to!”

“No, friend Sol,” Polaris said. “I am innocent, and I know Nath would not do this thing.”

“And I know Polaris would not,” Nath clicked. “Our Spheres have known each other long. We trust each other.”

“And we trust you,” Polaris said. “A laser beam emerged from the swirl of the arena. Neither of us perceive specific light well, so could not ascertain its precise orientation, but there was no question.”

His vision of the flashing eye lenses! “It could not have been real!” Flint exclaimed. “An imaginary creature, a mere image, could not project a real—” Or could it? An image might clothe the shaping of existent forces. Had he inadvertently killed Spica?

Then he realized: “Mirzam was the only one who could directly identify a true Mintakan—and it was the first one killed. Antares and Spica could have detected any additional transfer activity, such as an Andromedan transfer message—and they died. Our Mintakan must be a fake.”

“No,” Polaris said. “The Mintakan is a genuine, physical representative of its species. But that species is not—” Suddenly he launched himself at Flint, his wheel screeching against the floor in the sheer velocity of takeoff.

Flint dodged aside, bringing his spear about, but he was not quick enough. Polaris struck him, bowling him over—and simultaneously there was a flash.

Flint flipped to his feet, raising his spear as the creature’s wheel spun again. “Push-hook!” Nath clicked. “Polaris protects Sol!”

About to spear Polaris, Flint realized it was true. The creature had not been attacking him, but knocking him out of the way of the laser. He shifted his weight and hurled his spear at the creature just emerging from the arena.

They had all assumed that if a creature were a genuine Milky Way resident, it would be on their side. But if a creature were brainwashed or corrupted—

His shaft bounced harmlessly off the metallic disks. Another beam shot out, creasing the fingers of his loft hand. The material of his suit melted, and his air leaked out.

Flint clenched his fist tightly, closing off the leak. In a vacuum this would have been a useless expedient, but the chamber was pressurized by helium. “Polaris! Nath!” he cried. “We know our enemy now. You investigate the Ancient equipment. Get yourselves out of laser range. I’ll tackle the spy.” And he leaped toward the Mintakan.

He had been face to face with his enemy all the time, and not known him. But now the battle had been joined.

“What is the situation?” the voice of Canopus asked.

But a laser caught Nath. The creature convulsed, its hooks firing out randomly, then lay flat. Apparently its central nervous complex had been burned out. Another down. Those beams were deadly.

And Mintaka was already rolling after Polaris, who fled across the room and through a far doorway. “ I will distract, you search!” it cried to Flint.

Not much choice, now! Polaris could move faster than any human being could. Flint stepped onto the animation plate and made a wish for an Ancient. There was a swirl of mist, but no form developed.

“Mintaka is our Andromedan spy,” Flint explained while he concentrated on the animation.

“But Mintaka had an alibi.”

“So it seemed. But those lasers are devastating. I’d say he can beam any potency from conversational to killing. He must have stunned Nath before, gone and killed Antares, used some device—maybe a specialized laser—to erase his trail, and returned before Nath recovered. Nath only thought Mintaka was with him all the time; Nath had been unconscious or in a trance. This is another resourceful, unscrupulous agent, and we’re in trouble.”

“Sphere Mintaka cannot support Andromeda,” Canopus protested. “Our entire galaxy will disintegrate! It must be a renegade, not representative of the government of Sphere Mintaka.”

“A traitor to its species,” Flint agreed. “Maybe a condemned criminal, with nothing to lose, desiring vengeance. If any of us survive this, the authorities of Sphere Mintaka will have to be informed. Now let me concentrate.”

The Master was silent. Flint worked on the animation image, but it remained formless. The problem was, he had no idea what the Ancients had looked like, so could not re-create them.

But their appearance was irrelevant! He had a notion of their spirit, for they had loved the stars of their home region as he did. And it was the Ancient science he wanted—and he had a fair notion of that. It was similar to contemporary transfer science, only more advanced, and this field itself was an example. “Define yourself!” Flint whispered to that field.

“Explain, please.”

Flint jumped. But it was not an Ancient voice answering him, but H:::4, who had overheard his remark.

“I’m talking to the Kirlian field, trying to get its secret,” Flint explained.”

“Try visualizing the equations.”

“Good idea!” Flint animated the complex formulas he had memorized eidetically for spreading transfer technology. They took form in midair, the symbols of mathematical, engineering, and symbolic logic chains. He spread out the whole thing, then willed the complex calculus forward in thrust—beyond what he had in his mind.

Suddenly the equations spread. Perhaps through some kind of animation-enhanced telepathy he was drawing the answers from the Ancient equipment, reducing the field itself to its conceptual expression. Perhaps the equipment was geared to provide this sort of information. Maybe the Ancients had wanted this technology to spread! At any rate, here it was.

And Mintaka sliced into the room. Polaris was not in evidence; he had either been lost or killed. There was ichor on one of the disks: Polarian blood?

It took Mintaka only a moment to appraise what he was doing. Then the laser beam flashed.

Flint was a sitting duck. He threw himself to the floor, rolled, and flipped about to come at the disk-harrow feet first. It tried to move aside, but he caught the creature by surprise, and it was not made for sideways travel. His feet struck the disks, shoving them to the side. One of the end-tentacles wrapped around his left ankle and hauled his foot toward the nearest disk. The entire creature rolled, trying to pin his foot between the floor and the cutting edge.

If Mintaka were represented by a Tarot suit, Flint thought amidst his desperate effort, it should be Solid; otherwise known as Disks.

Flint had worked out a general plan of combat against this creature beforehand, in case of need. He had similar contingency plans for all of the group. It was the kind of thing he did automatically, as a Stone Age hunter who liked life. He jammed the reinforced heel of his right foot down between the first and second disks, forcing them apart in what had to be a painful hold. Then he grabbed the tentacle with his right hand and bent it at right angles. Like a pinched water hose it lost power, and he drew his left foot free.