The soldiers soaked the wood with lantern oil, and advanced with flaring torches. But they were cut off by one of their number, a fighting Sador noble. It was the Earl of Dollar! "You may not do this thing!" he cried.

But there were six of them and only one of him. They charged him, Solarian and Sador, overwhelming him by their number.

"Healer!" Whirl cried as he was wounded. "Do you stand there idle while the Lady burns?"

Then axes struck, cutting Whirl apart. His wheels were ripped off. He was dead. And Herald... stood idle, still gripped by the stasis Psyche had put him in.

Now the torches were thrown onto the pile. The fire blazed up with lascivious vigor, licking around Psyche's bare feet. She jerked them out of the way with a whimper of pain, a faint little scream that tore at Herald's gut. Then she let them drop again, as though no longer deigning to protest against fate. "Herald, forgive them!" she cried. "They know not what they do!"

The flame roared up hungrily, its orange mass enveloping her blue body. Her golden hair caught, shriveling into a black mass.

The sight and sound of her agony broke Herald's stasis at last. He charged the fire, hauling out burning pieces of wood with his bare human hands. Suddenly he, too, was surrounded by the flame. Flame of Furnace! he thought irrelevantly. He drove in to the center until his hand struck something soft—one of her bare slender legs—and he gripped it hard and pulled. But only a handful of crackling skin came off on his fingers. She was chained, he could not draw her free, he had to break open the manacles somehow.

Then other hands were on him, hauling him out. Not hands; green claws, strong, resistant to the fire. It was Qaval, unchained. "She is dead, Herald! But you must live. Enough of the message got through. Segment Command called back."

That chiming phone! Could he have saved Psyche if he had gone back to answer it?

"You are summoned to Cluster HQ with Hweeh of Weew to testify about the Amoeba. And I too. And—the Lady." The Duke made an ironic grimace. "It took too long for the call to reach me, for the Prince's staff to be convinced. I came here too late. But now the Prince dare not interfere, and no doubt you shall see him brought to trial for his act in destroying a source of evidence."

As though any of that mattered! Herald had suffered himself to be drawn out of the pyre while Qaval talked. His tearing eyes saw Prince Circlet squatting on his wheels, impotent. The hell with Circlet!

He looked down at his hand, seeing the bit of burnt stuff on it. Was there a suggestion of blue, light blue, to its ash? He turned his back on the furnace, thinking of the warning of Smallbore of Metamorphic, the incalculable agony he had been foredoomed to suffer. Through space and time that torment had reached her mind, and he had not properly understood—until now.

He was in too much physical and emotional agony even to feel fury at the irony of the reprieve that had come just minutes too late to save his love. Psyche herself, in her fashion, had willed it. She had gone almost willingly into the pyre, balking all attempts to change her fate, as though she had seen some greater good. But Herald could not see it! He let the Duke of Qaval lead him away.

The looting was proceeding as they rode out on fresh steeds. The females of the castle were being taken into chambers for the service of victorious soldiers. Herald wondered briefly how Sador maidens were raped, but could not muster much interest. Most of the staff of Kastle Kade was human, anyway, and he knew how they were raped.

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

They took the ferry across to the north pier and wheeled rapidly through the forest to the west. They would proceed to the King of Crown's palace for Transfer to Cluster HQ. Hweeh would be mattermitted entire.

Herald, forgive them— they know not what they do.

Forgive them? He would gladly see them all go up in the flame they had made for Psyche. He could not even begin to assess the depth of his loss!

On they wheeled, the sun setting beautifully through the barrel trees of the forest ahead. As though any beauty mattered, compared to what had been in Psyche. The full shock had not yet settled in on him; neither Slash nor Solarian host reacted as simplistically as Weew! But in time, when the full magnitude of horror was assimilated....

As they emerged from the forest and entered the plain, there was a sound behind them. The trees shook, the ground shuddered, and a sudden wind swept past so fiercely that they had to duck down and cling to their saddles. The horses, terrified, bolted forward, doubling their prior pace.

When they had succeeded in halting the beasts, the three turned about and looked back.

A giant glowing mushroom was forming in the dusty sky. It ballooned and folded in on itself continuously, a thing of ghastly power and significance.

"That is an atomic explosion!" Hweeh exclaimed, his eye-stalk wobbling. "What of the Medieval Covenant? No explosives—"

"It is Kastle Kade," Qaval said. "There is no atomic technology on the planet and least of all there! And if there were, why would the victors set it off, destroying themselves?"

Herald's human jaw dropped. "I wished fire on them all!" he said. "Now it has come—and still it is not enough!"

"This cannot have been through any agency of yours," Hweeh pointed out. "There must have been a device there from some prior culture, and somehow it was set off."

"The Ancients!" Qaval exclaimed. "The source of the girl's enhancement of aura. If only we had known! Not a demon, but an Ancient site below the castle, a functioning one. She was possessed—by the aura of the Ancients!

" There is the connection!" Hweeh said. "To fight the Amoeba, we must have the power of the Ancients—and she was that power, via her attunement to the site. We could have had it all, through her!"

"Had it all," Qaval echoed sadly, gazing at the monstrous cloud of death.

"And when she died... at peak aura," Hweeh concluded, "she triggered the site into nuclear destruction."

"Good for her!" Herald said with bitter feeling.

Slowly Hweeh sank into shock, as he appreciated the desolation of their situation. But the holocaust had already had its impact on Herald.

PART II

QUEST

7

Site of Mars

2 Site nullified. 2

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

E Question whether the Quotes obtained ancient science prior to nullification. There was aural generation of site-keying capacity in vicinity, departing shortly before 2's arrival. E

& Where did that aural generation travel? &

E To the capital of the Quote empire, Planet Outworld. E

& Surely bringing ancient information there. &

E Cluster conference is commencing now. I will monitor it from the viewpoint of Planet Outworld observation station and report as relevant. E

"Emergency Cluster Council Conference now declared in session. Rationale: display of information relating to Cluster security."

% Is there need for a full Cluster Conference? If this is merely another aspect of the energy problem that has plagued us for three thousand years— %

"No, Minister of Knyfh. This is a potential threat of invasion from extra-Cluster space."

δ Invasion? Ridiculous! None of our neighbor Clusters would make such an attempt. They surely have problems of their own, and the energy required merely to communicate is prohibitive! δ

"Minster of Qaval, it is one of your nationals who bear the report."

δ One of ours! Put him on! δ

"I am a Qaval, a Duke of Planet Keep, Sphere Sador, Segment Etamin. I participated in—"

δ No true Qaval speaks in Solarian Quotes! Is this a degenerate joke? δ

"Pay attention, kinkytail, lest you answer to the sword! I am using Solarian communication equipment, designed to project in Quotes regardless of intonation, as any quarterwit knows."

δ That's a Qaval national! Proceed. δ

"I participated in the interrogation of a national of Segment Weew, who was in shock. He has evidence of—"

• Hold! If this matter sends Weews into shock, the Minister of Weew must be warned. •

@ I am conversant with the situation, Minister of Lodo. We mattermitted Hweeh of Swees to Segment Etamin for shock treatment, believing that his information was vital to Cluster security. When a message from him was attempted, we pursued the matter and obtained his removal from the local situation, which was becoming tenuous owing to local politics. I have assimilated shock absorbers, and am prepared. @

"If the Segment Ministers will permit me to continue."

:: Continue, Qaval of Quote. ::

"Appreciation, Quadpoint of Andromeda. The Weew has news of the approach of an immense space fleet via mattermission. This fleet is now massed at the perimeter of the Cluster."

::: * # Where?! # * :::

σσ How quickly the Fringe Segments react! Be not unduly concerned, Ministers of Freng, Thousandstar, Ast, and Furnace. A Cluster invasion would involve us all. σσ

"Thank you for the reassurance, Novagleam. The enemy fleet is known to us as the obscure extra-Cluster configuration called the Space Amoeba. It is not formed of meteoric debris, but of sophisticated spaceships whose pattern of mattermission staging provides the formation with its typical configuration."

—You claim that one extra-Cluster formation is a fleet of space? This is difficult to believe.—

"I do so claim, Dash of Andromeda. A national of your Galaxy first evoked the expert testimony of the Weew astronomer."

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

—Play no games, Q of Q. What Sphere?—

"Sphere Slash."

σσ Sphere Slash, the Accursed of Llume? σσ

"Novagleam, we are all in this Cluster together! If we resume the rehearsal of past differences—"

—Put the curse on!—

"I am Herald the Healer, of Sphere Slash, Andromeda. Duke Qaval's statement is true. But I am ill-equipped to testify, because—"

—I did not perceive your conclusion, Slash. Why can't you testify?—

"Qaval here. Herald the Healer of Slash is in partial shock himself."

—Slash nationals do not go into shock.—

"He is in Solarian host. He—"

—Solarians do not go into shock either.—

"Not in precisely the way Weews do. However, they have a psychological condition that—"

—This Slash is obviously able to communicate. Therefore—

"Do all Dash interrupt, or only ignorant ones?"

—(silence)—

"Herald of Slash married a Sol female, who was recently destroyed at the height of her appeal. It is grief-shock he suffers."

$ The personal angle is irrelevant. We accept the fact that he is not at the moment an ideal witness. Detail on the alien fleet is more to the point. $

"Agreed, Cloud 9. Yet it does relate. It was Herald's Sol-wife who evoked the testimony of the Weew, and who alone was capable of evoking the further details. We therefore have incomplete information."

—This is an indirect report? For a Cluster conference?—

* Why was so important an entity destroyed? *

"Local politics. She was a super-Kirlian entity, aura two hundred seventy-five."

§¢/• Aura two hundred seventy-five!? •/¢§

"Affirmed, Ministers of Bhyo, Sculp, Cloud 6, Slash, and Lodo. Herald of Slash is the highest Kirlian known, at two hundred thirty-six, but Psyche of Keep was substantially higher at the time of her demise. This was in fact the cause of her demise. The locals thought she was possessed."

δ Where were you, exile of Qaval, when this destruction of a potential witness occurred? δ

"I was under restraint unable to salvage her. But the killers have been in turn destroyed."

% That justice was not for you to make! Why not a trial? %

"The region exploded. Apparently she interacted with an Ancient site, and—"

—An Ancient site! Self-destruct variety?—

"Presumably. I conjecture it was keyed to the Kirlian Lady, enhancing her aura periodically."

—So we lost an invaluable site as well as potential information on a Cluster invasion, thanks to your bungling.—

δ Attention, Dash! For a Sphere of your ignominy to cast aspersions on a Qaval— δ

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

¢ Must you two Galaxies still quarrel? The Wars of Energy have been over for a thousand years. ¢

δ Therefore we may be about due for another! δ

% To the subject. Was the destruction of the site coincidental with the death of the Kirlian female? %

"No, Knyfh. The girl died about half an hour before the detonation."

% Then the events may have been unrelated, unless there was a delayed reaction. %

• That is not typical of Ancient sites. •

% My point, Lodo. Our experts have reviewed the records of Sphere Sador Transfers during the period in question. This was unproductive. However, we have discovered the stigmata of major mattermission, unaccounted for in Segment logs. I suggest that an unknown agency mattermitted a bomb to the Ancient site. The question remains: what agency, and why? %

( E They have had much irrelevant discussion, but now they appear to be homing in on the fact. E) ( & It does not matter. They lack the technology to oppose us. Continue monitoring. & ) σσ You imply there is a connection between the alleged Amoeba fleet and the alleged Ancient site destruction? σσ

% That is a possibility, Novagleam. If the Amoeba is an enemy force that has mattermitted from far space—a million parsecs or more—it has a technology well beyond our present capability, quite apart from the ruthless energy expense. It could certainly mattermit a nuclear bomb to a specific site, if it had a mattermission receiver there—and it appears that some Ancient sites do have mattermission facilities. In this case, there would be only one way we might achieve parity quickly enough to save our Cluster from conquest and probable destruction: by mastering the full science of the Ancients immediately. The Amoeba surely knows this.

Therefore it fears the functioning Ancient sites, and is destroying any it locates. %

—Then why have the Amoebites not destroyed the sites Of Sphere Dash?—

% I presume because they do not know about them, or because they intend to preserve them for their own study and use, after they have conquered the Cluster. No civilization can afford to throw away technology of the level of the Ancients! But when it seemed we were about to activate the Sador site, they destroyed it. %

• This is highly speculative. •

—In fact, it is fantastic! It supposes that the Amoeba is an alien fleet, that its purpose is inimical, that it is so well aware of our activities as to be able to strike accurately on short notice at any planet.—

^ And that it might even be monitoring our communications at this instant!

% Certainly, Minister of Pin. An excellent point. We need more information. I suggest we take immediate steps to obtain it. We must also guarantee the privacy of our deliberations. We must stay well clear of the Amoeba itself, lest we give away our purpose, but elsewhere we must pursue every avenue leading to possible revelation of the secrets of the Ancients. If this Amoeba threat is a false alarm, it will give us experience; if not, we shall need the science of the Ancients. In a hurry. %

( E They are in verge-awareness of us, and are seeking the science of the Ancient sites. E) ( & Monitor any interstellar communicatory transmissions associated with this effort. If there is evidence the locals are achieving Ancient technology, nullify all specialists associated with that specific breakthrough. & )

• How do you propose to maintain privacy of our deliberations and actions, if they should be able to monitor our communications?

•

% By referring the matter to committee. %

( E They conspire to elude our surveillance by operating through a committee. E) ( & Then have no further concern. Nothing of value ever came out of a committee in time to be useful. There will be no effective resistance. & )

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

Herald jetted forward across the dusty lava plain. His flaring gas-scoop channeled in the thin atmosphere, compressing it, ionizing it, separating out the elements vital to the life processes, and propelling the residue out at extreme velocity. This host was a native of Sphere Jet, a small culture within a Globular Cluster, one of the tight little conglomerations of stars orbiting the major Galaxies.

The intense concentration of old suns in these globs made planets a rarity, and the few that did form were mainly desert balls.

But Globular Cluster Jet contained a small black hole—a region of collapsed matter so dense it had punched through the nebulous fabric of space itself and formed a "hole" from which nothing, not even light, could escape. This hole was the size of a large planet, but it had the effective mass of a large star. It was surrounded by a shell of gas, whose occasional turbulent rifts permitted intense bursts of radiation to escape. This erratic radiation had betrayed the hole's location to galactic astronomers thousands of years ago, and brought early exploration of the region. Thus the sapient Jets had been discovered out of turn as it were.

The Jets were a strange species, as might have been expected of one so close to such a strange phenomenon as a black hole set within a Globular Cluster. The hole sucked in matter from all around, creating an almost irresistible vortex whose compression at the center caused the fierce radiation normally diffused by the shell of gas. On irregular occasion, matter was thrown clear, complicating the geography and geology of the Globular Cluster. This debris had formed a number of planets, whose surface conditions fluctuated widely. Periodically, the radiation destroyed much of the life of such worlds, and clouds of drifting gas coalesced about them and changed the conditions under which new life could evolve. Thus the species that survived and progressed to the point of sapience was adept at foraging for meager assets spread across wide areas, highly adaptable to extremes of atmosphere and climate, and virtually immune to radiation damage.

Though largely landbound, the Jet body was capable of forward velocity approaching four hundred miles an hour. It was also just about the finest host for archaeological excavation available in the Cluster.

Herald looped about, manipulating his little vanes, coasting on his springy bristles, making a delicate track in the dust. The same jet propulsion that gave such speed served as a gentle or savage excavation mechanism and clearing device for buried artifacts. The easiest way to move dust was to blow it away!

Hweeh, garbed in a powered suit, awaited him. "Perhaps I should have Transferred also."

"No. There is still information locked in your Weew brain that we must have. We can't afford to complicate it by housing your mind in another brain. Anyway, you have such an adaptable body that you are not at much disadvantage." He spoke by imposing vibrations on the column of gas he jetted out. Speech was a subfunction of propulsion.

"With due deference to your more valid pain, I suffer from the loss of the Kirlian Lady," Hweeh said. "She alone could unlock my secrets; without her I am hardly worth your time."

"Without her, I am hardly worth my time," Herald said. "I loved her more than I knew. Were it not for the threat to our entire Cluster, I would release myself to my grief."

"You Slash have extraordinary control."

"We evolved as warriors, and for a thousand years we have labored under the Curse of Llume. We do what is necessary. We do not have to like it."

"In my culture, this would be regarded as a signal of unconcern. I would not have survived the shock you have had."

"That is the difference between our species. You discovered the threat; I attempt to deal with it."

They looked out over the shield of hardened lava. This was Planet Mars, of System Sol, very close to the world from which Psyche's human species had spread.

Because it was in this fashion associated with her, it had a certain poignancy for him. Of course her human form was of little significance; it was her aura that had conquered him. That aura in any other host would have been as delectable. Well, no, not quite; in Solarian host he had been moved by her human form too. He had loved— still loved!—every aspect of her.

How pleasant it would be to simply go into shock, like the Weew. Then he would not have to face a life that had so abruptly and finally been rendered empty.

Pointless to dwell on it. He was a Slash, as he kept reminding himself, able to function regardless. "We are here for archaeological purposes," Herald said. "As well as to give me a rest and to try to complete your healing, in a place safe from enemy intrusion."

"While the committee deliberates whether it will take our warning seriously, and no action is taken," Hweeh said. "At least in my Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

species, shock is open and direct."

Herald paused. "Your ability to assimilate diverse factors and come to the underlying truth is manifesting again, friend of Weew.

The Ministers of the Cluster Council seemed most intelligent, but as a group they really did not accomplish much. Do you think they were merely humoring us, and have no real plans for dealing with the menace?"

"That is the purpose of referral to committee. Let us hope that the Duke of Qaval, as adviser to that committee, will prod them into action despite their intent."

"Actually, we did not have conclusive evidence," Herald admitted. "One cannot blame them for their skepticism. If only the Lady—" He broke off.

"You shall heal me, Herald, and we shall complete that evidence. This is necessity."

Necessity. Yes. The salvation of the Cluster was still up to them. But could they do it?

"This is supposed to be the most promising Ancient evolutionary site discovered in the past century," Herald said. "Perhaps we can find here some hint that will lead us to the functioning site that will give us parity with the... enemy."

"Amoeba," Hweeh said. "I am inured to that much, now. I do not think I will go into shock again. It is merely necessary to evoke what remains buried by my prior shock."

"Agreed. I believe the Council shunted us here on the pretext of providing opportunity to evoke that information to keep us from nagging them about more direct efforts. They don't really expect us to come up with anything. Many of them, like that Minister of Dash, don't believe there is anything to come up with. But we shall do our best, nevertheless. Something in this site may stimulate your associations, and then I can use my aura to follow through." He looked about with his special Jet fiber lens. "This is Elysium, Planet Mars...."

"Mars was God of War, in Solarian myth, and Elysium the abode of the Blessed."

Herald continued his survey of the barren plain, trying to picture Solarian gods. "I perceive no blessing. The war reference is apt enough, however." Then he glanced at one section again, orienting his fiber-lens on a stirring of dust in the distance. The image magnified as specialized hairs shifted, and he made out another Jet. "Our guide approaches."

Soon the visitor coasted up. It was a female of the species, distinguished from the male by the pattern of sensory fibers fringing her forward intake. Young, pretty by the standards of this kind, her metallic torso shone sleekly and her propulsion trail had pleasant emanations. But she was not well; there was a jerkiness to her jetting that made her leave a zigzag trail in the dust when accelerating.

"I come to help and be helped," she said as she drew in close, damping her intake neatly. "Which of you is the Healer?"

"I am," Herald said. This form of life was so well suited to travel that his brief utterance caused him to jump forward, but his host converted the motion into a neat little circle. A completely still Jet was a silent one; movement had to accompany conversation.

"I suffer," she said, making her own conversational loop, a bit jerky. "If you can heal me, I will work for you and be your mistress during your stay."

Herald considered. He had encountered many divergent aspects of culture in the Cluster, and could adapt. In some, sexual interaction was a form of polite greeting; in others, there were stringent restrictions. The Solarians tended toward the latter type, though individuals like his ancestor Flint of Outworld seemed to have been closer to the former type. The Jets seemed to be about in the center, recognizing sex as a living need, to be indulged in in semi-casual fashion. A sensible attitude. But sex was not for him during his bereavement. "I need no mistress, but can use a guide. I will heal you, if your problem in amenable to my power."

He moved close to her and touched her with his grasping fibers, letting his aura interact with hers. And was amazed—for she had no aura!

No, he had misread. She did possess aura, but it was fractional, so slight as to be barely detectable. Perhaps one two-hundredth of sapient norm. The inverse of his own. And this was not the result of fading or illness; it was natural to her. He realized that his own host had a similar level, making it a virtual aural blank. Preoccupied by other matters, he had never thought to check. Apparently low aura was a survival trait in the Jets' home Sphere near the hole in the glob.

His aura enveloped her, penetrating to her deepest animation. She was a very nice creature, as was evidenced in her self-perception Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

as reflected in her trace aura. "What is your nomenclature?" he inquired gently, the jet of his speech spinning them both about.

"We use no names, here, merely numbers," she replied. As she talked, be felt the aural interactions of the nervous signals directing her motion, locating the flaw that made her unwell. It was subject to his type of healing. "I am Worker Sixteen."

Sixteen—the approximate age in Sol-years of his erstwhile wife. Evocative number! "Relax, Sixteen, heal," he said. "My aura touches yours."

"I don't feel anything," she said.

So low a Kirlian that even in this intimacy, which was in certain respects closer than the sexual one she had proffered, she could not perceive his power! He had not known that any such species existed in the Cluster.

But soon he became aware of something else. She could not feel the healing—because it was not occurring. His aura was present but not acting.

Herald broke contact. "I have gone into shock, in my fashion!" he said, horrified. "I cannot heal!"

"This cannot be," Hweeh said. "Your aura remains."

"Verify her condition for yourself," Herald said, disengaging. "I have not affected her."

Hweeh jetted his suit over, touching a sensory appendage to Sixteen's gleaming chassis. He paused, concentrating. "You are mistaken. You have healed her."

"I have not. I do not delude myself about failure."

"Perhaps you have overlooked success, then." Hweeh broke contact. "She is well now, unless I delude my self. Sixteen, please jet at speed for us."

"But I cannot—" she protested.

"Take off!" Hweeh said.

She took off, stirring up the dust explosively. She accelerated rapidly in a straight line, then banked in a great loop, leaving a horizontal tail of suspended dust. She braked suddenly by flipping her exhaust to the front, making a very pretty cloud, then accelerated forward again. Her trail was without divergencies.

"You have healed me!" she cried, zooming between them and making an intricate triple spinabout on her way out for another run.

Herald looked at Hweeh. "Neither am I a fool," be said quietly, so that his body hardly moved. " You healed her, Weew."

Hweeh made a negligent quiver of an appendage. "Perhaps her faith has made her well. It was a minor malfunction of her control system."

" Of course, her faith made her well. That is how healing works. But it was your aura that enhanced that faith, not mine."

"I learned the art from you, from the many times you have practiced your immense reassurance on me. My aura is far more powerful with respect to hers than yours is with respect to mine, so my relatively clumsy effort seems to have had effect, but it is your skill I attempted to emulate. Therefore it is really your success. I sought to protect your reputation from question by those not in a position to understand."

"How can I heal you, when you now possess the talent I lack?"

"You will recover," Hweeh said confidently. "Your indisposition is temporary. Then you will heal me."

Touching confidence! But Herald remembered Psyche, burning, burning, jerking her pale-blue legs away from the terrible fire, and knew that his soul had been consumed with hers. Without her, he was no more than a shell.

The dig was extensive. The site had been buried under packed Martian dust laid down in the course of three million years of seasonal planetary dust storms. Crews of Jets had labored for years, carefully blowing out the dust and salvaging structures and artifacts with meticulous care. "We discovered it by accident," Sixteen told Herald. "Rather, the Lodoformers discovered it."

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

"Segment Lodo is converting this planet to their use?" Hweeh inquired. "They are neighbors of ours, but still five thousand parsecs from here. It would have taken one of their ships thirty thousand years to travel that distance. And why should Segment Etamin give up a planet so near the home of one of their founding species? This is Mars, adjacent planet to Earth, origin of the human Solarians."

"Mars was mined out two thousand years ago, as were all the Sol System minor moons and planets," Sixteen said. "The Solarians extracted all its commercial resources and left it dead, so it is not useful to them or any other Segment Etamin species. In any event, Planet Earth has lost much of its political clout. The Sol-Polaris regime of Planet Outworld dominates this region. Since Mars is the only world within three hundred parsecs that is suitable for Lodo, the Cluster Council made it available."

"But the time factor!" Herald protested. "Segment Lodo did not exist thirty thousand years ago. In fact, Star Lo had barely established relations with Star Do via radio signal. They could not have sent—"

"They used mattermission," she explained. "They drew on the resources of a local neutron star to catapult their freezer-ships as far as six thousand parsecs. This occurred during their 'Fool' period three thousand years ago. The ships then oriented on the most promising systems and closed on them at half-light speed. Most have now been settled, but a few ships remain in space."

"But mattermission requires a receiver!" Herald said. "They could not simply fling out randomly!"

"There are receivers scattered about in space," Hweeh said. "I have identified a number of them, in the course of my researches.

Often they pass unnoticed, as they resemble derelicts, but some are functional. Most are from now-vanished local cultures, but some could derive from the Ancients."

"Live and learn!" Herald said. "How much of the Universe passes within easy range of our perceptions, yet is missed because we fail to comprehend the obvious? Are we willfully blind to the ready solutions to our quests?"

"It only seems that way," Hweeh said. "The necessary compromises of civilization tend to channelize our thinking, until need and accident reform the channels. Only through highly selective blindness can we filter out the irrelevant, and of course on occasion some of that turns out to be more relevant than first supposed. I conjecture that the higher the level of civilization, the greater the blindness to the irrelevant, until changing needs cause the extremely narrow focus to exclude the relevant as Hell. Then the civilization falls. Possibly that is what happened to the Ancients."

"Intriguing hypothesis," Herald said. "But I am skeptical. Such knowledge as the Ancients had...." He thought of something else.

"Do you suppose the Amoeba could have used—?"

"I'm sure of it. A spaceship-sized receiver, left in deep space by the Ancients. The Amoebites could have located it by a sophisticated mattermission search—since their science seems nearly equivalent to that of the Ancients, they surely have means to do this—and used it for their staging area. They could have shipped through equipment and technicians to build a hundred or a thousand additional such receivers, then brought their ships through as fast as half-light speed could clear them out of the way.

Hence the Amoeba pattern of expansion. It could still take decades to transmit such a fleet, but it could be and evidently has been done." He paused, startled. "You have elicited more of my buried information, without even using your aura!"

"You are healing yourself," Herald said. "We learn more and more about the Amoeba—except how to stop it."

"That is why we explore this site," Hweeh reminded him. "If we discover here the key to the Ancients' rationale...."

In a buried, nonfunctional Ancient site? Unlikely! Yet their discourse about the blindness of specialization encouraged him. Maybe there was something here that others had overlooked, because they were looking for things, not insights.

"So now the Lodo freezer is arriving at Mars," Herald said. "And the red planet is being Lodoformed for their colony."

"Yes," Sixteen agreed. "It has provided beneficial employment for the local Solarians for the past fifty years. In twenty more years the Lodo ship will arrive. There would have been no complications, had not the Lodoforming crew, in the course of filling in the strip-mining pits of past Solarian excesses, uncovered relics of the Ancients. Thus we of Jet were imported to salvage this site, as Solarians could never have done it rapidly and expertly enough. And now a complication of our schedule has brought you here."

Herald remembered: There had been an item on his itinerary about System Sol, before the events of Planet Keep and the manifestation of the Amoeba had hopelessly shuffled his schedule. So some bright light in the Cluster Command must have decided that the best place to send him was one he should normally have visited anyway. That way, any suspicion by outsiders might be alleviated; he obviously was not going out of his way.

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

"There is still confusion," Hweeh said. "Lodo is an advanced Segment, with a high social organization and technology. In that respect it parallels Weew itself." He seemed unconscious of the slight he was giving other Milky Way creatures. It was an arrogance common to center-galaxy cultures, here and in Andromeda. "I have dealt with Lodo specialists in research astronomy, comparing notes and exchanging data, and found them creditably competent. Surely the Lodo colony could have excavated the Ancient site conveniently."

Sixteen made a hoot of gas. "The Solarians insisted on having the site excavated under their auspices, before Lodo arrived."

"Segment pride," Herald said. "Common to many cultures."

"Pride is essential," Hweeh said. "Each Segment must be the best—in its own estimation." Herald was unable to tell whether there was tolerant humor in the remark, but he suspected there was.

"I also have had dealings with Lodo," Herald said. "I know the Segment only through its heraldry. It is a Scepter culture, whose emblem is a worm in the ground. I find it odd that such a species should turn its attention so formidably to space."

"Not odd at all," Hweeh said. "Population pressure can cause drastic alterations of perspective. Only in space was there sufficient ground for the Worms of Lo and Do."

In the cleared section of the site, there were no squared-off Solarian-style structures, or round Polarian-style ones. Instead there were cutaway sections showing a labyrinth of tunnels. In some cases, the tunnel walls were bare shells, seemingly too thin to support the weight of the mass of other tunnels and driftdust above. The binding cements were evidently very strong and durable, and of course the circular cross sections of the tunnels were able to support much weight.

"Do you know," Hweeh remarked, "this strongly resembles the metropoli of Lodo. Could the Ancients have been Worm-entities?"

"The thought occurred to me also," Herald said. "Yet I have considered other Ancient sites, and they were not of this type. I think it more likely that the Ancients were a conglomerate, much as our Cluster is today. In each region of space, the Ancient society was represented by its local species. Here on Mars, it could have been a Worm-sapient."

"It is difficult to perceive how such a conglomeration could have achieved the uniformity of culture and technology we have noted across the Cluster," Hweeh said. "The Ancients seemed to have no Spherical regression of the kind we suffer from today."

"How much worse Spherical regression would be for a single species spreading across the Cluster," Herald said. "The great riddle of the Ancients is not in their species, but in their technology. If we had that level today—"

"We could stand against the Amoeba," Hweeh finished. "We keep returning to that!"

"The Amoeba?" Sixteen inquired.

"I suppose it is no secret now," Herald said. "Our Cluster is threatened by a monster fleet of ships from outer space that we call the Amoeba. We fear they come to conquer us, to harvest the matter of the Cluster for the energy needed to sustain their level of civilization, and that they possess the ability to do so—unless we can muster the complete knowledge of the Ancients against them."

"How can one fleet conquer the whole Cluster?" Sixteen asked. "It would take them two million years merely to traverse it, and in that time Spherical regression would destroy them."

Herald realized that he had been falling into a trap of careless thinking. Sixteen had extremely low aura, but that did not mean she was also low intelligence. There was a lot more to an entity than aura, as he had learned from Psyche. "It seems they mattermit," he said. "The fact that they do this, when there is no apparent source of energy—such as the Lodos' neutron star—in the region, suggests that their technology rivals that of the Ancients. We can hardly expect to stand against them—unless the Ancients stand with us."

Sixteen made a blue flare of acquiescence. "Mattermission uses a lot of energy," she said. "I begin to grow concerned. Isn't the Cluster Council acting on the matter?"

"They are and they aren't," Herald said. "They have set up a committee."

"Then we are lost," she said, quite seriously.

"Whatever the species or conglomeration of the Ancients," Hweeh said, "This site of Mars does seem to be one of their relics, and just might have a hint of the answer to our problem. I presume it has been competently dated?"

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

"The site as a whole has been dated. There is no doubt it is of the Ancient period," she said. "Also, each level has been dated specifically. We find that the oldest habitations are nearest the surface, the more recent ones progressively below."

"Isn't that backward?" Herald asked. "I'm no archaeologist, but I thought new remains cover the older ones."

"It is in order," Hweeh said. "This is the worm mode. Worms naturally tunnel, and it takes time for them to convert the depths.

They are not like the Quadpoints of your galaxy, who fill in their tunnels behind them. Here the tunnels remain open and the matter removed must be disposed of suitably. So the process is slow. They seal off their old passages for their dead, making new ones deeper in the ground. The old air spaces become insulation against the extremes of climate, making each succeeding layer more comfortable. Such fumes as there may be, tend to percolate upward, away from the residential zones. An old worm-metropolis is the very depth of gracious living."

"I think you missed your calling," Herald said. "You belong in archaeology, not astronomy."

"They are much the same," Hweeh said. "I have associates in the field of research archaeology, and portions of our studies overlap.

I research in the depth of old holographs and contemplate the layerings of ancient galaxies."

They were still descending through the excavated site, coasting over ramps slanting past layers of tunnels. "This is an exceptional site," Sixteen remarked. "It covers a period of occupation of a thousand years, and the trace evolution of technology is measurable."

Both Herald and Hweeh reacted. "You have traced the actual development of Ancient science?" the Weew asked.

"To a certain extent," she said. "Actually it doesn't get into Kirlian technology; this was a residential section. All the advanced equipment was removed when the city was vacated. All of everything was removed."

"Then how do you measure the progression of their technology?" Herald asked. "By the elegance of the surfacing of their tunnels?"

"No, the passages are organically made," she said. They may have had machines to supplement the work, but the binding cement seems to be from body chemistry. The artifacts are in the tomb-tunnels, evidently burial items. Rings, mainly, with ornate vermiculate designs—"

"Crests!" Herald exclaimed. "Kirlian crests!"

She did not catch the significance. "The Ancients seem to have worn them around their bodies. Perhaps the metal enhanced their Kirlian powers."

"That too," Herald said. "I meant the designs. They could have been identifying symbols, codified—in short, Ancient heraldry."

"Heraldry?" She was prettily perplexed, and for an instant she reminded him of Psyche. There was of course no similarity of body or aura, and he was immediately disgusted with the comparison. Oh, Psyche!

"It is an odd system of Cluster nomenclatures," Hweeh explained to her delicately. "Pictures representing location and families are drawn on shields or clothing for ready identification of individuals in person or historically. It amounts to a kind of supplementary visual language that has many aficionados, similar to the Tarot images. This entity is the Cluster's leading exponent of the contemporary art."

To see ourselves as others see us... , Herald thought.

"How nice," Sixteen said. "Maybe he can interpret the designs. I had thought he was only a Kirlian expert."

"Never mind my credits," Herald said. "Here my professions may overlap. I shall indeed examine the designs, as well as the Kirlian properties of the rings. But I had understood—I may misremember, as my itinerary was set up several hosts ago—that you had uncovered some actual Kirlian objects, of the type found in other Ancient sites."

"Yes, the cubes," she said. "They were found in the lowest level, and we believe them to be Kirlian-keyed. They seem to have been left by accident. Perhaps they dropped from a moving load unseen. That is why this site was worth your attention. The cubes may be the most advanced artifacts of this site, perhaps even having part of the secret for which you quest."

How barren that Kirlian Quest seemed now! If he had any way to quest instead for Psyche— But that had to be suppressed.

"Perhaps," he agreed. "Let us hope so. Kirlian cubes seem to have been the books of the Ancients, their recordings of things of moment. But I doubt we can master Ancient science from a few cubes; we need a full library." In the library of Kastle Kade, her aura rising, rising, dooming her and him....

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

"Something perplexes me," Hweeh said. His spacesuit was convenient because he could speak without having to jet forward. He had shaped it into a form approximating that of Herald's host however, perhaps so as not to seem out of place. "You say there is a progression in the artifacts?"

"Yes. The oldest ones are cruder, both in artistry of design and in the alloy of metals employed. The difference is marginal but consistent and, we feel, significant. It shows that slight refinements in conception and technique occurred over the centuries."

"But then this indicates one of two things, each highly significant," Hweeh said. "Either this is the home site of the development of the original Ancient species—"

"Hardly," Sixteen said with a jet of humor. "It is only a fractional record of their history, a thousand years, picking up when they colonized from space and ending when they departed. They originated elsewhere."

"Or it represents," Hweeh continued with that tone Herald recognized as the professional conclusion, "a tangible demonstration that the Ancients suffered from Spherical regression."

Both Herald and Sixteen suffered flameouts of shock. Both dropped and rolled in the dust sputtering to recover propulsion and voice. "Impossible," Sixteen gasped. "Everyone knows the Ancients did not—"

"It must be a misinterpretation," Herald said as his flow returned. "The artifacts could have been labeled in reverse order by mistake—"

"That would still indicate regression," Hweeh said, pursuing his logic. "Either they regressed upon founding the colony, then slowly recovered, or they slowly regressed until their dwindling technology made further residence on this planet unfeasible."

It made unholy sense. Spherical regression was the effect of reduced civilization at the fringes of individual interstellar empires, owing to the delay entailed by the effective limitation of half-light-speed travel and the inability of reduced populations to maintain high-order technology. Thus a planet like Keep, near the Fringe of the Sador Sphere and not far from the Spheres of Sol and Polaris, had medieval representatives of all three cultures. Only sufficient energy to make full-scale mattermission possible could abate this effect, for then the highest technology of each home planet could be exported. It had always been believed that the Ancients possessed such an energy source, for they had not seemed to regress; their artifacts were of uniformly high technology wherever they appeared.

"But if the Ancients—" Herald said, and stopped, appalled. "That would imply that they lacked—No, they simply could not have expanded across the Cluster if they suffered regression! There must be some other explanation for the discrepancy of artifacts."

"There must be," Sixteen echoed. "We only excavate and catalogue, we do not theorize in depth. Our findings are accurate, but the rationale—"

"I do not perceive the necessity of questioning either the findings or the rationale," Hweeh said after a moment. "It is certainly no shame to suffer from Spherical regression. All the best cultures do. In fact, perhaps only a hopelessly set culture, like that of the—I'm not sure of the equivalent in Solarian, termite-ants?—gregarious insectoids can effectively avoid it, and they do so at the expense of further progress. Progress cannot come without change, and change permits regression as well. So it may be a healthy signal. The point is that though the Ancients may have felt its impact, even as we do today, they were able to overcome it. What is evidenced in this site is minimal, certainly, especially considering that the Ancient home world may have been in another galaxy.

We need to ascertain how they minimized their regression, since they surely did not have infinite energy."

"It is good to have at least one clear thinker on this mission," Herald said. "Of course you are correct."

"In fact, you're pretty intelligent," Sixteen added.

"It is of no moment," Hweeh said modestly. "I have long specialized in analyzing data for meaning."

Now they entered the larger tunnel of the excavation. "We did not care to risk collapse of the cutaway section," Sixteen explained.

"Our excavation weakens the structure, which already suffers from fossilization from three million years. It is stable enough in itself, but brittle when disturbed. So we are mining for the bottom levels. We are at the lowest now. All that remains is to classify recovered artifacts before we yield the remains to the Lodoform crew." She made a little flirt of motion, indicating the tunnels around them. "It is unfortunate that this must be destroyed, but the bureaucrats insist that the planet be uniform, pristine for the guests."

"Who would much rather explore the Ancient site for themselves," Hweeh said. "Idiocy to destroy it."

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

"This level differs," Herald said, observing the cross-sectioned passages. "These tunnels are machined."

"Yes," Sixteen agreed. "We conjecture that they were preparing to depart, and knew there would be no further burials, so had to standardize their passages for ready access. They are far more uniform, with fewer residential chambers."

They drew up at last in a nether chamber of considerable size. "This is their chamber, not yours?" Herald inquired.

"Yes. We have not destroyed anything it was possible to retain of the originals. We conjecture that this contained a mattermission unit that transported the individuals directly to their orbiting ship, then either self-destructed or mattermitted itself to the ship."

"Mattermitted itself? " Hweeh asked dubiously.

"We don't know the capabilities of the Ancients," she reminded him. "Their machinery may have had this power. At any rate, the chamber was empty. Possibly it was dismantled by a cleanup crew and carried to the surface for transport to the ship. It was obviously an orderly evacuation. The mystery of their abrupt departure, in the face of no apparent threat, remains."

"That is the mystery of the Ancients everywhere," Hweeh said.

"This cessation on Mars coincided with that of all the other dated Ancient terminations?" Herald inquired, sure that it did.

"Yes. They disappeared all over the Cluster—simultaneously, as far as we can tell."

"So they did not leave Mars to go to another planet," Herald said. "When they left here, they left the Cluster too."

"It is almost as though some Cluster-wide threat drove them out," Hweeh mused.

"Like an Amoeba?" Herald asked. "Then we are surely lost, for even the science of the Ancients cannot save us. Yet there has never been evidence of invasion. Surely the Ancients would have dug in and fought."

"Here are the cubes," Sixteen said, cutting short a dialogue that had no reasonable resolution.

Herald drew up before the platform and contemplated the display. There were only two cubes. They were decorated in relief on the sides in the manner typical of Ancient artifacts of this type. "These are the best-preserved cubes I have encountered," Herald said.

"Odd that they should turn up in ruins, instead of in some functioning site."

"These are not ruins," Sixteen said. "They are closed-down residences." But then she made a gust of negation. "The distinction becomes irrelevant; you mean that this is not a technological site. The discovery of these cubes transformed this excavation; prior to that, this was a routine cataloguing mission. If these are functioning Ancient texts...."

Yes, indeed! Prior Ancient cubes had been amenable to evocation only by the application of high aura. Herald had handled several, but they had been music recordings with no apparent meaning beyond that. Mintakan experts had analyzed the sounds and been baffled. What was needed was a definite language that could be deciphered. So far there had been only circumstantial evidence that the Ancients even had a language. Perhaps this was it!

Herald extended his forward feelers to touch the nearest cube, and tasted the air circulating around it. Normally the Ancient artifacts were evoked by an aura of 180 or stronger, so he expected no difficulty. The only apprehension he felt was over the possible content of the Ancient record. It might be empty or it just might be the one they needed, the one that told the key secrets of Ancient science.

Suddenly he was aware of other Jets. They had been working around the site, so that he had hardly noticed them, but now they were closing in to witness the evocation of the cubes. Well, he could hardly condemn their curiosity and interest. They had found these significant artifacts!

He concentrated his aura on the cube. He felt it begin to respond—then it balked. Hweeh focused on him, concerned, knowing something was wrong.

He could not evoke the cube. Like his healing power, his evocation strength was gone. And Hweeh of Weew could not salvage his reputation this time by doing it for him; his aura was 125, too low for this work. "Dead cubes?" Sixteen asked anxiously. Herald hesitated. They expected so much... could he disappoint them? Yet if he remained Kirlian-impotent—

He would have to try again, harder. Maybe he could break through his own stasis—

"ALARM! ALARM!" the site speaker system clamored. "Strange nexus has materialized in orbit about this planet. Nature Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

unknown."

"Strange nexus?" the Jet super, numbered "1," inquired. "Clarify."

The observer sounded confused. "It registers on our sensor like a meteor-shower—but it's orbiting. And it has some kind of energy shell. Maybe our equipment is malfunctioning, but I think it's a ship."

The Jets hovered on their fibers, amazed. "A ship materialized? " Hweeh demanded. "Could it be the Lodo freezer mattermitting again?"

"Without a mattermission receiver?" Herald asked. Sixteen read the detail code coming in over the speaker. "It is no wormship,"

she said. "Even allowing for our sensor malfunction, the shape is wrong. This is a Sphere, not a Worm."

"An Atom-ship, perhaps," Herald said. "Maybe it found an old orbiting receiving station. Still, why would anyone waste all that energy mattermitting here? They could have called us via Transfer-link."

"It is an alien vessel," the lookout said excitedly on the speaker. "No record of this type in the Cluster. Now it is hovering above this site—"

"No ship of the Cluster can mattermit without a specifically identified receiver," Herald said. "If it is an Ancient receiver undiscovered until now, this ship can only be—"

Hweeh started to lose form inside his suit. Grimly he hung on. "It is—" He sagged, then struggled to reform his speaker horn. " It is the Amoeba! " And he sagged into shock.

"The Amoeba!" Sixteen exclaimed. " Here? "

"What is this Amoeba?" One demanded.

"Enemy fleet," Sixteen said tersely.

"Or one ship thereof," Herald amended. "If Hweeh is right—and I think he is—we're in trouble. Find cover—fast."

The Jets nulled around uncertainly. Of course there was no cover. They were already deep in the ground, with nowhere to go but up.

"This is not a battle base," One retorted. "It is an archaeological site. No one would attack—"

She was interrupted by a crack as of thunder. The tunnel shuddered, and dust sifted down.

Herald hooked the unconscious Hweeh with his graspers and jetted for the exit ramp. "Get out before this dig collapses!" he wooshed back at the confused Jets.

Sixteen zoomed up beside him and helped him haul the inert Weew. Herald hoped the suit was maintaining the life processes without assistance. "How can there be thunder?" she asked, seemingly unable to focus on the main issue. "Mars has no water-storms!"

Another crack of thunder sounded. This time part of the ceiling caved in, showing the red Martian sky above a ballooning cloud of dust. "That's no storm!" Herald cried. "That's a laser strike!"

"But the noise—"

Herald realized that the explanation did not come naturally to a nonlaser species, so as they struggled through the throng of panicked Jets on the ramp, he explained: "The laser heats the air it passes through, making it expand explosively. That's the thunder. Mars has very thin atmosphere, but this is evidently a very strong laser, so the effect remains. Lasers are basically space weapons, where no atmosphere gets in the way. Here—"

"But why?"

"I'm not sure why we're under attack. But I suspect the Amoeba recognizes this site as a threat. That means the Amoebites know about, and are afraid of, Ancient science. That's a good sign."

"A good sign? That they ray us down?"

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

"Because it means we are close to achieving what we need to defeat them. A strike like this must be a desperation measure, as it betrays their presence and intent prematurely."

A third strike came. This time the cavity behind them caved in completely. The crack of thunder was followed by the roar of the collapse. "Oh, oh!" Sixteen cried in anguish. "The work is incomplete! All our labor of excavation and preliminary cataloguing—"

"Keep moving," Herald told her. "Or more than the work will be lost. This is war." He was surprised at his own stability. Probably it was due in part to his Slash heritage, and in part to his recent loss of Psyche. Death simply was no great threat to him in his grief.

"The Weew is too heavy," Sixteen cried. "I cannot carry him much longer!"

Herald had to agree. His Jet host was healthy, but was not designed to carry heavy weights. "We'll have to hide somewhere, and try to bring him to," he decided. "He is the only one who can operate his suit."

"Here," she said. "These passages are long and deep; we should be safe there." She guided him into the labyrinth of Ancient tunnels.

The passages were too narrow for them to pass three abreast, except where the archaeologists had widened them for exploratory access. But this was a Jet-developed offshoot that penetrated deep into the ground, almost to the base of the city, with each level carefully marked off for reference. When it seemed safe, they parked Hweeh in a niche formed by an intersection, rested briefly, and tried to revive him.

Herald touched the Weew's suit with his aura. "Wake, friend," he said.

There was no response.

Another explosion reverberated down the tunnels, making Herald suddenly claustrophobic. This warren had lasted three million years, but it was brittle. Too much shaking....

"Why does he not wake?" Sixteen asked, frightened. "Is he dead?"

"He is in shock. I am a healer—but I too am in a kind of shock. I did not heal you, for I have lost my power. Hweeh healed you.

Now I cannot help him. I am sorry."

"Maybe I can do it," she said.

Herald, worn out by the haul and preoccupied by the continuing sounds of destruction elsewhere in the site, hardly paid attention.

Any physical comfort she could offer the Weew would help, though only an aura above Hweeh's own level of 125 could revive him from shock.

"He's just a gray mass!" Sixteen said, concerned. Herald was not certain how she could determine color in this dark niche; perhaps she spoke figuratively.

"This is normal for Weew shock," he assured her. "His suit preserves him. He is in health, only unconscious."

His thoughts returned to the Amoeba. Assuming it really was an Amoeba ship out there, how could it have pinpointed this site so accurately, of all the locations on all the planets of the Cluster, and why had it struck now? There could be no coincidence about it!

If the Amoeba knew where the Ancient sites and receivers were, and it was out to destroy them before the Cluster species could use them, it was a horrifying indication of the capacity of the enemy. But even so, it defied coincidence that the strike should come right at this moment, right when he was trying to evoke the Ancient cube....

That was it! That cube was no text—it was a transmitter! It had reacted to his aura by issuing a Kirlian signal. It was a machine, triggered by exposure to aura of the intensity of its makers, the Ancients, and it obeyed without question or discrimination when evoked. The cube did not know or care that the Ancients were three million years gone. So it had dutifully transmitted its message—perhaps no more than a blank carrier impulse, since he had not been trying to transmit—and the Amoeba had picked it up, believed it represented an animation of Ancient science, and acted immediately to destroy it. No, no coincidence at all. He had brought the attack upon himself!

And the destruction of the site on Planet Keep had been by Amoeba action too. Psyche had evoked that site, much as he had evoked the cube, tuning into it unconsciously, and the strike bad come. Now the enemy was reacting much more swiftly. Or perhaps the signal this time had been more specific: Here is an aura of 236, capable of keying open Ancient sites! , while before it had been a more general thing, mystifying the enemy even as it had mystified the nobles of Keep. Either way, it was apparent that the Amoeba Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

was closing in at an alarming rate. It was no longer a distant, highly theoretical menace; it was here and now! Its strategy was most specific: Eliminate the auras capable of evoking Ancient equipment, thereby eliminating any possible use of that equipment by Cluster entities. If the Cluster did not obtain Ancient science soon, it would be too late. Any enemy that could strike so swiftly, so specifically, when its base was over a million light-years distant...

He was getting nowhere! If only Psyche had survived! Not merely for personal reasons, compelling as those were—even here in the Jet host, he longed for her!—but because of her seeming ability to draw enhancement from an Ancient site. She might have been able to—

"Did I shock out again?" Hweeh asked. "Thanks for reviving me, Psyche."

"Who?" Sixteen asked.

Hweeh rotated his eye-stalk inside his suit. "Pardon, Lady. I was misinformed. For a moment I mistook you for another entity."

Herald felt a slow amazement. He had been thinking of Psyche, and Hweeh had named her. Coincidence? Then how had the Weew been brought out of shock? There was no way that Sixteen's fractional aura could have done it.

Hweeh must have snapped out of it himself spontaneously. Perhaps his shock had been countered by the knowledge that he had to keep functioning if he were to survive at all.

Another laser beam struck, closer. "They're chasing us!" Sixteen said.

"More likely destroying the whole site," Herald said. "We just happen to be in their path."

"Then let's get out of it!" she said.

They jetted on through the passage, seeking the surface. Sixteen knew the way, and led them through a labyrinth that otherwise would have baffled them. Soon they emerged to the Martian day—and saw the enemy ship.

It was a shimmering globe floating so close to the surface that it seemed like an atmospheric balloon. Herald had never seen a ship quite like it. So this was the Amoeba, seeming close enough to touch!

Abruptly the ship moved, jumping across the sky to hover above the trio.

" That's mattermission! " Sixteen cried. "It didn't accelerate, it jumped!"

"Unlikely," Hweeh said. "No transmitter, no receiver, no implosion and explosion of air."

"Just get out from under!" Herald said, jetting away. But he too was astonished. Until this episode, it had been inconceivable that anything could mattermit from place to place without entering a transmitter and arriving in a receiver. Now it remained doubtful—but conceivable. The devastating technology of this enemy...!

Hweeh and Sixteen followed his example with alacrity—and a laser beam speared down where they had been. The air exploded, the thunder pushing them on.

"It really is gunning for us!" Sixteen cried. "But why? "

Herald didn't care to try to answer that. He did not have the Ancient cube with him now, so could not be broadcasting any Kirlian signal. He has baffled not only by the why—though his hypothesis was clarifying that—but the how. Impossible things were happening! "We'd better separate, so that it can't blast all three of us at once," he suggested, feeling a touch of déjà vu. When he and Psyche and Whirl of Dollar had fled Caesar, the monster of Keep— But how much more formidable was this monster!

Somehow he felt no fear. Had he been in his own Slash body he would have shot a beam back, though with no expectation of bringing down a spaceship! Death by suffocation in a collapsing tunnel frightened him, or death by poison or freezing or disease, or by falling from a high place such as the ridge above Kastle Kade; but a laser was a comprehensible thing, basically natural, quick and clean.

Sixteen was now jetting far to the side, and Hweeh's suit moved in the opposite direction. How fortunate that the Weew had not returned to shock! Now they would see whom the alien went after.

Suddenly the ship was above Herald. He banked sharply, turning to go at right angles to his former route. This body had no lasers, but it was highly maneuverable and much faster than a Slash! In this situation, he actually felt more confidence as a Jet.

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

Again the laser struck where he had been. Close misses—but still he was not afraid. What could they take from him, that the death of Psyche had not taken already?

The Amoeba ship evidently could fire only straight down, so had first to position itself directly above him. It was not adapted for planetary search-and-destroy—not completely, anyway. In space it would have to orient on distant targets with extreme precision, so the fixed beam made sense. Any time the ship was in position it could score. But that extra step gave him the edge here. He was so close that a small change in his location was like an impossible maneuver in distant space, one the ship was not geared to follow.

He could keep dodging it until it ran out of energy, which it had to do, pretty soon; those beams were powerful! They would miss him close each time—but they would miss.

Meanwhile, he was learning much about the enemy. Obviously it was him alone they wanted—and his only distinguishing mark was his aura. Therefore they were orienting on aura alone. They could detect it at this range without the aid of the cube. Maybe in its strength his aura resembled the aura of the Ancients, so they feared it regardless of its keying capacity. But they didn't dare land a party to capture him, so had to use a cannon capable of melting a hole through a mile-thick ship (well, through its hull, anyway) to nab him. A ludicrous waste of power.

The ship jumped again. This time Herald braked and spun about, jetting back the way he had come. The beam missed him, striking to the side where be would have been, had he repeated the maneuver. They were learning! He had four chances in five of keeping clear, since be could go in four directions or stand still. They had missed him twice; if they had chances for three more, the odds were about even they would catch him, unless he got completely out of their range. Provided they could afford the power expense.

Meanwhile he kept moving, waiting for the ship to commit itself again. The Amoeba had him pegged as an Ancient, or the equivalent, and was trying desperately to destroy him. If they feared the science of the Ancients that much, the Amoeba must be less developed than the Ancients had been. However, that was not any new revelation at this point. Why were they suddenly so intent upon him now?

Could it be because he represented no real threat to them unless he was in the vicinity of Ancient equipment? They had not paid him much attention while he was elsewhere in the Cluster; it was Psyche they had blasted, though she was dead already, because she had been keying the Ancient site of Keep. Obviously he could not key an Ancient site unless he were at it, and a nontechnological residential site hardly counted.

There had to be a functioning site somewhere on Mars! If he could only find it in time. After he escaped from this ship, of course.

The ship jumped again. This time Herald jetted straight forward at top velocity, not dodging. If he guessed wrong....

The beam struck well behind him. They had played him for another reversal!

Suddenly the pit of one of the prior strikes loomed before him. The dust was fused, the underlying lava melted. Oh, yes, these were ship-destroyer lasers, not little antipersonnel beams! If they had had a splay of pin-beams they could have caught him. Obviously then they had not anticipated this particular type of localized chase. The Amoeba was not omniscient; it could and did make mistakes! Very encouraging information he was getting, and he wasn't even serving on any committee! Still, the odds seemed to be with the Amoeba.

He shot over the lip and down into the pit, his brushes feeling the radiating heat. Fortunately the Jet form had the efficient cooling mechanism of wind; heat in his body was jetted out almost immediately. He could tolerate this surface, so long as he kept moving, barely touching it.

This was why the ship had misjudged. They had assumed he would avoid the hot spot, and thought they had him boxed in. They might well have been correct, had he thought where he was going. This was not just a little hot, it was a lot hot.

The sides of the pit were vertical, dropping down like the inner rim of a volcano before curving into slag. The mass of lava here had been vaporized! When laser science had first been developed, it had been supposed that it could never achieve much physical power. But they had been thinking of the animate lasers of the Slash, limited by the living processes; lasers had come a long way since then! Contemporary lasers might not pack the direct-motion punch of a physical missile, but the sheer heat caused explosive expansion. This one was evidently an outer-shell beam, causing the inner section to vaporize and wash straight back, while the outer rim remained clean-cut, uncluttered by the debris of its own action. It was a very nice bit of laser sculpture that he had to admire. The warships of Slash might match the sheer power of the Amoeba strikes, but not their finesse of application. A ship struck with such a beam would be holed cleanly, instead of merely melting sloppily and dissipating much of the force of the strike.

All this in an instant as he dropped into the hole. He noticed an Ancient tunnel, opened to the surface by that lovely strike. There Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

must be radiating passages all over this area, hidden by the sand! This was a far more extensive site than the archaeologists had yet realized.

On impulse, he gambled by jetting straight into the tunnel. The depths disturbed him, but his chances on the surface were diminishing too swiftly. If this passage went deep enough, and had another exit, he might escape the Amoeba ship. Then he would be extremely careful about trying to evoke any more Ancient cubes! But if this tunnel did not...

He was in luck, so far. The passage angled down deep into the lava shield. He verified its openness ahead by sonic echoes, moving as fast as his perceptions permitted. When it came right down to it he preferred the risk of a dented intake to that of a laser-scorched posterior.

Had he eluded the Amoeba? His aura was intense, but crippled by his lost love, and the Martian dust should muffle most of the rest.

The ship had not seemed to be able to locate him when he was deep below before, once be got away from the cube. If the Amoeba did not know precisely where to look for him, it would lose him; it could not vaporize the entire crust of the planet!

He coasted to a stop. For the fast time, he was alone in an unexplored section of the site. The dust of millions of years filmed the passage, though this section had obviously been sealed. It had been Herald's luck that he had entered an access tunnel and not a burial tunnel, or he would have struck a dead-end too near the surface.

Still he did not dare to emerge until he was sure the enemy was gone. He did not like the confinement and the strong possibility of death by crushing if a laser struck accurately, but he knew his best chance was to remain right here.

He thought of Psyche again, seeing her in the fire, feeling her incinerated flesh on his human hand, though now he had no hand. It was too much, and he had to blank it out. He would never recover his powers as long as that vision remained with him, yet he could only relinquish it by relinquishing her, and he could never do that. He wished he were not a tough Slash, a creature to whom suicide was unnatural. Why not go above and let the Amoeba blast him? The Curse of Llume, abated at one stroke, for him!

Desperately he cast about for some intellectual or physical diversion. He could not let his imagination seek its own horrors. He moved along the passage until he came to a sealed-off intersection. At one time it had been an entrance to a burial chamber. He pried at it with his forefeelers, and it broke open. He widened the hole and entered, front-first, so as not to disturb the interior by the breeze of his jet.

There was nothing inside except a little more dust and a single body-ring. He examined it as well as he could in the dark. It had the same kind of relief design as the ones on display in the main dig.

Why weren't there any bodies? If these were burial chambers with personal ornaments, why no coffins, sarcophagi, or dehydrated remains? The climate of Mars should be ideal for the mummification and preservation of corpses. The question brought the answer: Who would want to live under the decaying corpse of his personal parent-entity? The vapors might tend to diffuse upward, but a decaying body gave off a lot of gas in a short time, and some fumes would inevitably seek the path of lesser resistance: the passage below. Every sniff would remind the offspring most poignantly of the dear departed. Obviously they cremated the remains, and left only the sterile dust in the sealed chamber. After all, it was the aura that counted, not the body.

Yet in that case, why bother to seal off the chambers at all? Why not place the circular memorials in some hallowed place, and continue to use the residence? It would save a lot of work and promote efficiency. The Ancients had to have been the most efficient creatures ever to dwell in the Cluster. It was not like them to expend energy and materials wastefully.

The revelation burst upon him like the strike of a laser: These were not the Ancients!

There were two cultures here: the Wormlike pre-Ancient colony, advanced enough to colonize alien planets but still hindered by foolishly material concepts of property and death, and the more sophisticated alien Ancients who had come as conquerors. Now it fell into place. The relics differed from ring to cube, the tunnels differed in size and type, the burial attitudes differed. And most significant, the heraldic devices differed. The devices on this ring bore no relation to those on the cubes; they represented two entirely different cultures.

Why had he not noticed this before? In retrospect it was glaringly obvious! Those not trained in heraldry might not appreciate the elaborate conventions that formed such art, or the permanency of their symbolism, but he did. It did not matter what that art was called or what the symbols meant. It was an art with its unique conventions, and it had to be true to its nature. That was the very root of heraldry. If it were not so, it would be meaningless, and useless for identification of living or dead. The continuity of evolution had to be embodied in the art, exactly as with the bodies of living creatures. The alternative was chaos.

Now he could re-create the essential sequence: The Worms had spread into neighboring space, colonizing those worlds most Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

suitable to them. In this system, Mars had been good, while warm, wet Earth had been unsuitable. The stronger gravity, the constant water-storms and tides and fluctuations of weather would have ruined the finely crafted passages. Venus and Mercury would have been far too hot, and Jupiter too cold. So Mars had been ideal. For Worms.

For a thousand Sol years—perhaps much longer, since he could not know the date of these "undiscovered" passages here—the colony had prospered. Then the Ancients had come—as conquerors. They had obliterated the Worms, and made their own base, comfortable beneath the insulation of the defunct Worm metropolis. Then, as abruptly as they had arrived, the Ancients had departed, never to return—leaving Mars dead. As they must have left other worlds dead, all over the Cluster.

The Worms had shown Spherical regression, not the Ancients. One mystery abated!

But why had neighboring Planet Earth been spared? The Solarians had been barely sapient, then, far behind the level of the Worm colony. If the Solarians had been aware of the Worms at all, it was only as "mythical" dragons or horrendous serpents, tempting innocent females into evil knowledge. They had no fraction of the Worms' economic or combat resources. The Ancients could have wiped out all Earth-life easily. Their base seemed to have been maintained for a century or so, according to the archaeologists'

dating, as if for exactly such a project. Plenty of time to complete it, considering their capabilities. Instead they had shut down, ignoring Earth.

Maybe the answer was in the two Ancient cubes, now destroyed or deeply buried by the Amoeba. Or those lost cubes might be merely unimportant leftovers, forgotten because of their uselessness: "This cube of Galacto lava-cleanser is the finest product this side of Betelgeuse!" Now he would never know.

Still, he had important news for the surviving members of the Jet archaeological expedition. If this two-culture pattern, this conquest-and-depart pattern, were typical of all the Cluster, it would offer a real insight into the nature and motive of the Ancients.

Had they merely destroyed all potential rivals, leaving the more primitive worlds alone? Then why had they disappeared so abruptly, after their victory? Now the answer might be forthcoming.

He retreated to the access-passage and moved toward the surface. There had been no more laser strikes; the Amoeba must have vacated, satisfied the job was done.

He popped out into the cooling pit. There was the globe-ship, hovering in place.

Herald reversed and dived for the tunnel again, trying to get out of range. But this time the laser caught him.

8

God of Tarot

2 Site destroyed. 2

E Report: partially activated ancient site destroyed. Aural activity cessation in that locale. E

& Detail? &

X Confusion. Research unit E reported site destroyed by action unit 2 as directed. X

& Precisely. The directive was to nullify, not to destroy site. Require a mechanism detail report from action unit 2. & 0 Respond, 2. 0

2 Aural activation occurred under surface of planet, inaccessible to ship. Therefore lasers were fired. 2

& Lasers! An overt attack? &

0 As executed at the prior activated site within the Quotes segment. Standard operating procedure when target is not immediately accessible. 0

& You lasered both the Quote sites? &

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

0 Yes. The first strike triggered the ancient site potential, causing a fission detonation. The second strike merely eliminated the aural unit. 0

& So now the natives have seen our strength and are fully advised of our purpose! They know we have come to wipe them out.

They will oppose us with organized desperation. Our program was predicated upon the assumption that the natives had no direct, specific knowledge of our intent, and would therefore procrastinate via committee until too late. & X They do not seem to have become aware of the specific nature of the threat, and their prior council meeting showed much confusion and disorganization. There has been no change in that situation. X

& Perhaps it is not too late. Our mission will be accomplished far more efficiently if they are caught largely unawares. Desist all overt attacks until prime-strike time. Withdraw unit 2 instantly. Henceforth, the term "nullify" shall be taken to mean to render inoperative in subtle nondestructive fashion. &

X But the unit should remain to verify complete destruction of the aural generator. X

& In this instance the general preempts the specific. All evidence of our presence in local systems must cease. No further overt action shall be taken without my specific authorization. &

X 0 Understood. 0 X

Herald woke into chaos. /I thought I was dead!/ he flashed, not wholly pleased at being alive. Then he paused, noting the disorganization of environment about him. /Or am I dead?/

He received no answer. Colors swirled about him, showing no ceiling and no support. Yet he felt support, for his body had weight

/I am a fool!/ he flashed, realizing where he was.

He was a fool—the Fool of Tarot. He was back in his natural host-body of Slash, rolling along, his lens-perceptors aimed at matters of Cluster consequence while immediately ahead was a dropoff into disk-gumming mud. The Tarot Fool was noble, idealistic, well-intentioned, and handsome, the epitome of the finest expectations of civilization...

And of folly, he remembered, as he tumbled over the bank and fell into the muck. In versions of the picture relating to clothed species, an animal was ripping out an embarrassing section of the clothing of the Fool; other versions showed similar indignities.

His disks spun frantically, but had no purchase here. The gunk rose over his body, putrid, cloying, revolting, blotting out his senses, suffocating him in its insubstantiality. Blackness—the penalty of foolishness, of idle dreams, of aspirations without foundation.

He screamed: disorganized flashes, a waste of energy. His soft-edged disks twisted. He was a newformed infant Slash, helpless.

Then a creature of competence focused a beam of attention on him. It was huge, with disks of gloriously shining metal, strong tentacles, and tremendously competent laser lenses. /The offspring wakes,/ the Sire flashed.

Immediately, the Mother rolled over to his pit /Come Shortbeam, feed,/ she flashed, all-compassionate.

Herald was overwhelmed by feeling. Oh, how he remembered her, the consolation of his infancy!

Now his imagination expanded to embrace the Slash society of Andromeda. Its civilization forged ahead dynamically on the lasers of its myriad sapients and the labors of its subservient species, conquered one by one as the Sphere of Slash expanded. Power, represented in the Tarot as a card of Galactic empire.

Herald blinked his lasers. He didn't need a review of history! He needed to find out why he was here, and where he was going. /I need a guide!/ he flashed.

"I will be your guide," an alien creature said. It was a male, bipedal, using sound instead of light. All right; Herald was unbigoted about such things. He was garbed in manufactured materials so that most of his torso was concealed. Some creatures were sensitive about exposure of their intake, elimination, or reproductive apparatus. Hence the significance of the animal ripping the cover from such a section in the Fool picture. As though any creature could be rendered less by mere exposure of his functional nature. Behind this entity was a large mechanical structure with huge rotating vanes, possibly a torture device.

/What mode of creature are you?/ Herald demanded, alarmed.

"No creature am I, though once a creature I was, if I may borrow from the literature of my ancestry," the thing said. "I lived on Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

Planet Earth circa two thousand, the time of the Fool years. See, here is the windmill we use for pumping our water."

Suddenly Herald recognized him. /Sibling Paul of Tarot!/ he flashed. /The Patriarch of the Temple!/

"No, I am merely Brother Paul, a humble human creature," the Solarian said. "No patriarch, no temple; the Holy Order of Vision is not of that type. But I will help you all I can, since you seem to be in need, and have called, and this is my purpose in life—and, it seems, in death. Of what region and time are you, that you thus invoke me?"

Herald remembered that the legendary Founder had not had opportunity to witness his impact on the following millennia.

/To you, your repute may seem minor,/ he flashed. /But to me, a Slash of Andromeda twenty-five hundred years after your time, there is no greater name than Sib—than Brother Paul. You are the creator of the Cluster Tarot, one of the great forces in the shaping of the contemporary scene./

"Perhaps you should be my guide, not I yours," the Solarian said with a baring of his humanoid teeth that Herald recognized as a smile.

Abashed, Herald retreated. /No offense intended, great Brother! I have no fraction of your insight./

The Patriarch came near, momentarily touching one of Herald's disks. "You have some aura, though!" he murmured as an aside.

Then, more formally: "There was no offense, creature of the future. Come, let us explore together: Where are we and what is our purpose?"

/We are obviously in a Tarot Temple, and this is an animation sequence,/ Herald flashed. /I have suffered loss and shock, and I am here to be healed. It is a standard therapy for those of high aura./

"I see. For a moment I feared I was the one in shock! I gather you came near to death recently?"

/I was caught by a laser strike from an enemy spaceship. I must have been dug out of the rubble and Transferred to my own body, but suffered such shock that I was referred to a Segment hospital for reconstitution of my mind./

"Uh, yes. Your body was Transferred to a more competent facility for therapy, but your mind recoils from the experience. I believe I understand, now. And so you have conjured me from your past to aid your reorientation."

Brother Paul had some of the details confused, but of course he dated from the time before Transfer had come to his world, and before the formation of Segments. It was unimportant.

/I seem to have done so, great as my presumption is,/ Herald admitted. /It was done from the sincere beam of admiration for you and your works. I perfected my art of healing under Temple guidance, though I am not myself a Tarotist. I owe you much./

"I suffer from some confusion," Brother Paul said, his form shimmering momentarily as if about to fade out. Herald hastily concentrated, and the Solarian became firm again, though the wind machine behind him disappeared. "Thank you," he murmured.

"That was a difficult moment. I am accustomed to a more substantial incarnation. Now, please, tell me about you."

/About me?/ Herald flashed. /I am of no consequence. I am not sure I even want to survive./

"That is for us to decide, isn't it? They didn't take all the trouble to put you in an animation chamber without sufficient reason. If you don't work with me to clarify that reason, you are wasting both our time. Not to mention that of the—you call it the Temple?"

/I apologize. What do you wish to know, Sibling Patriarch?/

"Just call me Brother, if you don't mind. You were doing very well on that a moment ago."

/Brother!/ Herald flashed.

"Let's start with this: Why did you conjure a human being, instead of a creature of your own type?"

/I loved a female of your species,/ Herald admitted.

"Ah, I see. So did I, so did I. And I love her yet. There is nothing quite like a sweet, pretty girl, is there!"

Herald was surprised and gratified to discover this region of rapport. He had not thought of Brother Paul as an entity of creature concerns, but of course he had not known the man in life. /Nothing in the Cluster!/ he agreed. /I was in Solarian host, and she—/

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

"Let's start just a little further back," Brother Paul suggested diplomatically. "This matter of... Solarian hosts?"

/After your time,/ Herald said. /Very well. Today we shift from body to body, since our identities are incarnate in our auras. So I am able to take the form of a Solarian, or any other creature of the Cluster. When in such form, I naturally react in much the manner of the host./

"Ah, yes. So as a human being, you could take an interest in a human girl. No doubt if I were to occupy a Slash body, I would find Slash females interesting, too. Yet this presupposes that no lasting emotion exists...."

/On the contrary. Love is absolute. I suffered shock in Jet host after loss of my Solarian bride./

"I am glad to hear that. Not that you suffered loss, but that there is that amount of continuity regardless of your shifts of form. That suggests that your therapy here will affect all your future hosts."

/Yes. I was running through the Cluster Tarot trumps in order, in the standard reorientation program for those in distress, and—/

" Cluster Tarot? I am familiar with a number of versions of the Tarot deck, but not this one. Does it most nearly relate to the Waite, or Thoth, or Light, or—"

/I know nothing of these names. It is the one you created on Planet Tarot,/ Herald explained. /Don't you remember?/

"Oh, I worked out a hundred-card deck for my own analysis, based on my experience there. But that was never published; it was merely an exercise." He paused, glancing with almost beamlike intensity at Herald. "You actually mean that deck?"

/Thirty trumps, five suits? That is the Cluster Tarot. Of course it was embellished after your time, and the suits have changed names, and many sub-versions are now extant. In fact I believe every Sphere has its own variation. Most of the popular illustrations for the concepts are much more recent; it is a dynamic, changing thing. But the essence is yours—the basic framework, the interpretations, the life-history aspect and so on. I don't believe any cards have been added since. Except perhaps the Ghost. There has been learned debate whether you actually included that./

"I did have a Ghost Triumph," Brother Paul said. "It stood for the Unknown, the wonder of it, the fear, the hope, the utter change in circumstance fostered by some seemingly random Act of God...."

/The God of Tarot. Yes, many creatures worship Him. He—/

"Who is of course the God of all creatures, by whatever name," Brother Paul interposed.

/Yes, all gods are valid. That is fundamental to the Cult of Tarotism. They—/

"That is not precisely what I meant." Brother Paul spread his brown hands in a purely Solarian gesture. "But we drift. I gather you had a Magician father and Priestess mother of your species who raised you from the initial state of helpless innocence that is the Tarot key Zero or Fool, and that your society and government may be likened to the keys Empress and Emperor. Now I have become your Hierophant or Teacher. But I cannot help you until I know you. What is your key Six?"

/We don't use keys any more. Each culture arranges the symbols to suit its convenience, and there is no set order for the representations of the deck. Some species interpret them in terms of paired sexes, but this has to change for the species who are unisexual or multisexual. There are similar differences on a number of the basic concepts. If you refer to the one dealing with love, do you mean the romance aspect or the choice aspect? I believe they were once unified./

"There is a certain healthy ambiguity, isn't there! I merely want to know enough about you so that I can converse meaningfully about your situation. I presume there are both choices and romances in your framework, perhaps in combination. What is meaningful to you?"

/For an animation, you're pretty demanding!/ Herald flashed through a half-damped lens.

"I heard that, Slash. I mean, saw it. If you don't care to work with me, you can still animate someone else."

/No, no one else!/ Herald assured him quickly. /You asked what was meaningful to me? It is my wife, my Solarian child bride, who was burned at the stake for Possession, when she only—/ Unable to continue, Herald instead projected the image of Psyche, beautiful, writhing in the flames in the court of Kastle Kade.

"This was real?" Brother Paul demanded, appalled. "In this far future, the age of intergalactic empire and the concourse of myriad sapient species via the miracle of the transfer of auras, this happens?"

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

/The chained Lady,/ Herald flashed, realizing that he had broken down almost completely. Slashes were not supposed to go into shock, but he had done it. No wonder he was in animation Therapy! /Oh, help me, Patriarch! I am unable to function without her, yet there is great need./

Brother Paul spread his hands in another timeless gesture. "In the face of such a loss, in such a manner, there is little I can offer. It is evident that the current of barbarism still surfaces in your society. Unless you have some futuristic mechanisms to turn back time itself, or to recover the dead...."

/Is that the nature of the interpretation for this symbol?/ Herald inquired with bleak irony. /That I may have love only by reversing time or reanimating the dead?/

"No, surely not!" Brother Paul protested. There is always some feasible way to find relief."

/Then show it me! This healer needs healing!/

"Perhaps a Tarot reading would help. The Tarot certainly helped me."

/Well, this is the Temple of Tarot! But no mere animation can satisfy me long. I need reality, not illusion./

"The images may be illusion; the things they reveal are reality, however camouflaged from our initial understanding. What mode of presentation do you prefer?"

/The Cluster five-spot satellite spread./

"I don't believe I am familiar with that one. Five cards?"

/It is an old layout,/ Herald said. /Goes back at least two hundred years./

"Not quite as far back as I go, it seems."

Herald made a flash of apology. /Sorry, Brother Paul, I keep forgetting. But I can describe it. First you deal the deck into five modes—/

"Let's do it as you describe it," Brother Paul said. An object appeared in his hand, and he offered this to Herald.

Herald glanced in perplexity. /What is this?/

"Why, the Cluster Tarot deck, as I understand it. Did I misconstrue your intent?"

Suddenly Herald caught on. /Oh, an archaic physical deck! We don't use those antiques anymore./ But as he spoke, he remembered that in special circumstances they were used. He had used stone picture cards to treat the Ast child, Smallbore of Metamorphic.

"What, then, do you use?" Brother Paul inquired mildly, his deck disappearing from his hand.

/We use the Cluster cube./ Herald lifted one tentacle, and a cube appeared in its coil. Abruptly he wondered whether the cubes of the Ancients could be related to this. No, that was too fantastic. Had the Ancients had Tarot, it would have been a completely alien Tarot, unrecognizable to today's minds. /One face per mode, discounting the bottom. For the actual reading, the Significator is set on the bottom, and the five others are—/

Brother Paul raised one limb in a protest like a benediction. "Please, this modern technology is beyond my comfort. Will you not oblige an animated anachronism by using the old-style cards?"

/Actually, this whole set is animation,/ Herald pointed out. /I can't even be sure I'm in my own body; it could be merely another animation. So we don't need to use a deck at all./

Brother Paul produced the cards again. "Still, friend, humor me."

Herald flashed acceptance. /You must shuffle for me, Brother. I am not facile with such artifacts./ Artifact... what would some culture three million years hence make of a Tarot cube? They might assume it was a form of food.

"But you must shuffle, or it is not your reading. Your touch must arrange the cards for the dealing."

/Since you are my animation, your shuffle is my shuffle./

The Solarian showed his teeth. "You have a cynical alien mind, Slash! Are you sure you require therapy?"

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

/I require my bride!/ Herald flashed with sudden pain.

"It is possible to marry other than flesh and blood. Your bride could be a Holy Order. You could give your life utterly to God."

/Shuffle, Man of God!/

Brother Paul shrugged and shuffled, rifling the cards through his human hands and fingers with remarkable expertise. "Now... five piles?"

/Yes. They signify DO, THINK, FEEL, HAVE, and BE./

Brother Paul dealt them out, placing five cards in a row on the table that appeared magically before him, then layering five more on top of these, building up the piles. "I do not quarrel with your interpretations, but I find them somewhat abstract. Might the five piles equate, on a lowbrow level, to the more conventional WORK, TROUBLE, LOVE, MONEY, and—would that last be SPIRIT?"

/AURA, really. They're allied. Take religion from spirit, and you have aura. But surely you know that, since you invented the Cluster deck, and these are mere aspects of the root-meanings of the suits./

"I fear my perspective differs, and perhaps my motive." Brother Paul looked down at the completed piles. "I presume the next step is to locate your Significator?"

/The King of Aura,/ Herald agreed. /Aura is the Suit of Artistry, and I am a heraldic artisan. But I am also the most intense aura of the contemporary scene, so I qualify on that basis too./

"The most intense aura of all time, as I understand it," Brother Paul said.

/I need no animation-figure to flatter what nature gave me!/ Herald flashed irritably. /And it isn't true. My bride, Psyche, was the most intense aura, at the time of her enhancement. And for all we know, you were higher than I, since you existed before Solarians measured aura. The historical analysts assigned you a figure of two hundred, but that could be conservative./

"Or generous. In any event, to no point, since I am long gone. Were I searching for historical figures to whom to assign leading auras, I would certainly consider THE figure, the ultimate Healer of them all."

/Who?/ Herald asked, curious. He had not realized that there was, or could conceivably be, any entity to whom the Patriarch looked up to.

"Jesus Christ, the Son of God."

For a moment Herald was at a loss. Then he located an obscure recollection. /Oh, you mean the prophet of an archaic Solarian religion. There is a footnote on him in the Temple background survey course, and I believe some of the Tarot symbols are related./

Brother Paul smiled, shaking his head in apparent wonder. "Viewpoints certainly do differ! Were you aware that He often healed the sick and dying by the mere laying on of hands?"

/ I do that,/ Herald said. /It is the manner of Kirlian healing./

"Could you raise the dead?"

/No. But I doubt there would be much point, after the brain decayed. And I can't heal all the ill, for some ailments are purely physical. But if your Christ did these things, it only means he had a stronger aura than I do. There would not be any qualitative distinction./

"No qualitative distinction!" the Solarian cried. But he calmed himself. "I think we had better get on with the business at hand.

Here is the King of Aura, in Pile Two, Trouble."

/Or Pile THINK, in my vernacular. That is an in omen for the reading; my problem is FEEL./

"Perhaps the Tarot is telling you that the solution lies in your thinking rather than in your emotion."

/It is all an infernal superstition,/ Herald grumbled. /Thinking will not bring Psyche back, and I do not care to forget her./

"We can at least explore the possibilities."

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

/If we must. The Significator face is at the bottom facet of the cube, and the Problem Definition on the top facet. How this adapts to a physical layout—/ He paused. /Without the cube, I am not certain how—/

"Oh, we can adapt it," Brother Paul said. "I shall place the Significator card here, and cross it with Definition. We do deal the cards in order following the King of Aura, as they appear in the pile?"

/I suppose so. It is so hard to translate. The Tarot cube normally forms the whole display./

"It strikes me that you moderns have been spoiled by your technology. Tarot is not a thing to be assimilated from a platter. You must interact with it, your physical contact with the cards imbuing them with your personality. Only then can it work for you and give a true reading rather than a random collection of pictures." He studied the table and the cube that Herald had made appear.

"We can lay down the remaining four cards in clockwise rotation, South, West, North, East, representing the four sides of your cube. The topology will be the same."

/I don't comprehend how—/

"Like this." And Brother Paul placed the cards, face down, a mock up. "You might perceive the pattern as a cross, or the four directions of the compass—" He broke off, glancing at Herald. "But those are forgotten concepts to you, aren't they?"

/How could they be?/ Herald asked sullenly. /Any concept you express has to be drawn from my own mind./

"Perhaps. But the unconscious is a tremendous wilderness. That is what the Tarot taps, that vast reservoir of knowledge and conjecture that lies within each person. Tarot is a tool to bring out truth that may otherwise be suppressed by the conscious mind because it may be unpleasant." He paused again, reflectively. " Most unpleasant," he murmured.

Herald felt a chill that was reminiscent of what he had felt on hearing the prediction of Smallbore of Metamorphic. /What happened to you, there on the Animation Planet?/ Herald, like sapients of the past two millennia, was quite curious about the mystical experience that had led to the creation of the famous Cluster deck.

But Brother Paul only smiled enigmatically. What answer could he give? For he was a mere animation of Herald's mind, and the ultimate secret of Tarot was not there.

Herald looked at the layout, and suddenly he saw that it did indeed duplicate the faces of the cube. It was as though the four sides had been spread out and detached, with the nether face half buried under the Definition card. Yes, this was after all comprehensible!

cards

"Now I presume the four outer cards represent Past, Present, Future, and Destiny," Brother Paul said. "This is like a simplified Celtic layout, or a modified elemental one."

/Celtic? Elemental?/

"The Celtic was a very popular ten-card spread in my day, widely used for fortune-telling. It could hardly have derived from the ancient Celts, since they had faded from the scene long before the Tarot deck was created in the fourteenth century, despite what certain enthusiasts liked to claim. Legends of the great antiquity of Tarot abounded, but they seemed to be without substance. By

'elemental' I mean the classic Solarian elements, FIRE, AIR, WATER, and EARTH, not true elements at all by the definitions of science, but serviceable evocative composites equating to your DO, THINK, FEEL, and HAVE. Though of course you use five, not four, elements. As did the ancients."

/The Ancients!/

"I suspect we are on different tracks. My point is that this spread of yours is oriented on sets of five—five piles, five display cards, five suits—and so this is a very basic mechanism, like a distillation of the less precise mechanisms in use in my time. Tarot has indeed evolved."

Herald considered. He had thought of Tarot as a tool, not an aspect of the fundamental nature of things, but realized that he was in the presence of an entity who took it very seriously. It hardly seemed to matter that this was itself a Tarot animation; the personality and perspective of Brother Paul was making itself felt. In this framework, the Solarian was real, and had to be treated as real. /Let's go ahead with the reading,/ he flashed. /It may have something for me after all./

Brother Paul dealt out the cards, placing the Definition across the Significator, and the others clockwise around the outside, starting Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

from the bottom. Now the layout had images, and possessed potential meaning. He contemplated it. "The King of Aura is defined by the Three of Aura, labeled Perspective. My, the meanings have changed since my day! However, this card is so appropriate it cannot be coincidental."

/Nothing about this spread is coincidental!/

Brother Paul smiled agreement. "Nothing about the Universe is coincidental. It is only our ignorance that makes things seem so. If we but understood the ways of God—"

/Do you seek to proselytize?/

"Oh, in the interest of knowledge and harmony— But I comprehend your objection. You do not wish to be burdened with my archaic concepts of religion, and certainly I do not wish to so burden you. We shall proceed with the reading." He glanced down.

"Here below is the representation of the Past a card labeled Vision." He paused. "Ah, the vanity of the flesh! This is the card I developed, that caters to my overweening love of literature, which is the vision of imagination. A Fair Field Full of Folk."

/What?/ Herald flashed.

"See for yourself." Brother Paul waved one arm, and the vision formed about them, emerging from a dreamlike background of chaos. "There is the sun high in the east-tern sky," he said, his right hand pointing up. Sure enough, the bright orb became manifest, yellowish in the manner of Sol as spied from Earth. Herald had a private vision of that yellow entering the genetic makeup of the creatures of that system, and emerging as the hue of the hair of Psyche. "Reaching toward it up on the hill, is the Tower of Truth."

And the magnificent tower formed, like as the central column of Kastle Kade—what truth lay beneath that edifice, had he but known in time!—its highest turrets illuminated by a direct beam of light. "Beneath it in the deep valley, is the Dungeon of Wrong."

Brother Paul's left hand pointed down toward it, that crevasse whose horrors were half concealed by deep shadow. "Euphemisms for Heaven and Hell, of course. And between these extremes, the Fair Field Full of Folk, or the living people of the world, going about their business of making money, oblivious to all else. Only a few even look up to glimpse the prospect of Truth, or down to gain some hint of the abyss toward which they drift." And the teeming field of Solarians coalesced. "That's the setting for The Vision of Piers Plowman, an epic poem dating from the time of the origin of Tarot, written in several versions between the yean 1362 and 1395 by William Langland of England."

Herald studied the animation, impressed. /This is much the manner of the Cluster. The myriad species of the Spheres go about their pursuits heedless of the threat of extinction that looms so near./

"Threat of extinction?"

/The Amoeba. Without the science of the Ancients, we cannot hope to stand against it. The alien fleet will conquer the Cluster, and it shall be—hell./

"So that was what brought you here! Concern for the peril to your society. This is the highest ethic."

/No. I only want my Solarian bride back./ Herald flashed. Then he considered, shocked in another fashion. /Me—I am one of those self-centered sapients of the Field of Folk. I put my personal concern before the welfare of my Cluster!/

"You have, indeed, been granted a vision," Brother Paul agreed.

Herald spun his disks and writhed his sinuous torso thoughtfully. /My personal case is lost—but that of the Cluster is not. It behooves me to do whatever I can to salvage our civilization from the Amoeba./

"And therein may lie also your personal salvation," Brother Paul murmured.

/I doubt it. I think your Jesus Christ himself would have trouble restoring my Lady of Kade to life./

"Yet He might do so, even now, were it part of God's design. I regret I do not know that design." Brother Paul looked at the layout again. "Here is the Present—the influences affecting your current situation. The Two of Aura, signifying..." He trailed off, staring at the card.

/The Deuce of Aura signifies Aura,/ Herald flashed. /Two Atom ships, a magnetic formation, a minor space fleet./ The Tower and Valley receded, the Field of Folk dropping down to give the sky prominence, showing the fleet. /I am Aura, and so was my love, and so are the Ancients. All that I am is bound to Aura./

The Solarian nodded his human head. "How well you comprehend. And here is the card of the Future, the Ten of Swords." Ten Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

little blades rose out of the picture, flying up into the sky to join the Atom ships. "Signifying survival."

/With science we can survive,/ Herald agreed. /Without it, we have no future./

"And the final card, Destiny—this is the Ghost." And from the card swirled its image, expanding holographically to fill the scene: the vast mystery of deep space, the stars and the dust clouds, a pattern like that of primeval chaos.

/The Great Unknown,/ Herald flashed. /The spread of Tarot has defined the problem very nicely, but it offers no solution./

"What is that tentacular shape in the distance?" Brother Paul asked. He gestured, and a section of the animation expanded as though they were traveling at high multiples of the speed of light toward it.

/Merely an extra-Galactic nebula,/ Herald said. /They are not uncommon, and they come in all configurations. There are specialists who study them, like my friend of Segment Weew—/ He froze, staring at the growing shape rushing toward them from the background of the Ghost animation. Its pseudopods reached forward three-dimensionally as though to grasp him personally. /The Amoeba!/

"The Cluster threat?"

/The enemy fleet, radiating out from its mattermission nucleus beyond Furnace, coming to destroy our civilization. That sent its ship to ray me down on Mars, and now comes for me again, even in my animations— Stop it!/

Brother Paul put his hand over the card, and the looming image vanished. "Surely the reading need not end here, without solution,"

he protested. "Perhaps we have not posed the right question. Or we may need another reading. This one was from the pile of Thought, and it has certainly made us think; but if we—"

/The spread can be augmented,/ Herald flashed. /That is what makes it versatile. Any aspect that is unclear can be subdefined by a satellite spread./

"Oh, very nice! I did not realize this. Which card do you wish to subdefine?"

/The Ghost, naturally. In the Amoeba lies our problem, and if we could only comprehend it, know its vulnerabilities.. He let it trail away. /But that must be done last. Any satellites have to be launched in chronologic order. The background must be understood before the solution comes./

"Yes, that makes sense. I think I like this mode; it guides the querist well. The basic spread provides the essence; then it is refined as the needs of the querist dictate. For you, which card?"

/The Past. Vision. Your Field of Folk is a pretty analogy, and it helps my perspective, but I am not sure we correctly read its import. Lay a definition card across it./

Brother Paul crossed Vision with the next card from the pile. "Temperance," he said. And the full-bodied, bare-breasted Solarian female appeared before the starry background, pouring fluid from one cup to another. The pouring of the waters of life from one vessel to another—or the transfer of the soul after death to the spectral realms."

/Or the Transfer of Aura from one body to another, in life,/ Herald added, intrigued by the quaint historical interpretations. /This is what enables contemporary Cluster civilization to exist. Without Transfer, inter-Spherical government would be impractical.

Temperance was the emblem of the erstwhile Society of Hosts, before involuntary hosting was rendered passé./

"Aura, again. This certainly figures strongly in your background."

/Yes. Without the science and art of Aura, I would be nothing. The Tarot has defined me well. Vision crossed by Aura, Herald the Healer./

"Yet I am not certain I fathom the full implication. Is it permissible to subdefine further?"

/Certainly. This is normally done. Lay down three more cards, clockwise in relation to the main spread. These define Past, Present, and Future of the subconcept, completing the satellite. A satellite, of course, has no separate destiny; the whole is merely a definition of an aspect of the primary reading./

Brother Paul nodded appreciatively and laid down the three cards. The King of Cups, King of Swords, and Queen of Aura," he announced. "But two of them depict alien creatures."

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

/Yes, this is the Solarian edition, mainly humanoid,/ Herald flashed. /The suit face cards are the principal region of other-sapient representations. The Tarot editions of other Spheres often have Solarians in their suit cards, as a matter of complementary courtesy.

But it is possible to find anything, in any deck—and all decks are valid aspects of the complete Cluster Tarot./

"I can appreciate that. But it does make it a bit more difficult for me to interpret the cards."

Herald considered the first card of the satellite, and its figure moved into full animation, hovering in the air between them as if floating—or swimming. It had a diffuse, bubbly torso with projecting flippers and eye-stalks. /This is a Spican Impact,/ he explained. /A creature of a water world in a Sphere adjacent to Sphere Sol, Galaxy Milky Way. As the Cluster Tarot found acceptance among other species, they identified with it in appropriate ways. The Spicans are sapient water creatures, so of course—/

"Ah, I see. The King of Cups—a male water-sapient. Most appropriate."

/Actually, the Spicans are triple-sexed, though their sexual roles are somewhat interchangeable depending on the circumstance of their encounters. But the generally more forceful nature of the Impact sex led to this identification as a basically male image./

"But what have Spicans, regardless of sex or circumstance, to do with your situation?"

Herald flashed with humor. /I thought you understood, Brother. This card is you./

Brother Paul did a human doubletake. " Me? I am no Spican water-sapient creature with eye-stalks!"

/But you are the King of Cups. Therefore this is your Significator in the Cluster deck. The image is merely a convenience for identification of the particular card; its inherent meaning is quite apart from this. You, as the founder of the Cluster Tarot the discoverer of the phenomenon of animation, as the first of the great Cluster-historical auras, are very much a part of my situation, as your presence here demonstrates. There is no other figure this card could represent in this context./

Brother Paul shook his head. "It must be so, if that is the way you see it. But it is something of a shock for me. I never thought of myself as a submerged sapient."

/Oh, I find the likeness excellent./

Brother Paul accepted the jibe with singular grace. "I suppose in the sense that I was submerged in your subconscious, manifesting only in this your hour of need, and will return to that watery limbo when your problem is liquidated—"

/You tease me, Patriarch!/

"Well, some levity befits the occasion, if we are to maintain equilibrium." He considered the spread again. "I might have been inclined to suspect this next card, the King of Swords. This is after all a human figure. Except that the man is naked and muscular and green, while I am clothed and a bit fat and brown." The big green savage strode out from the card to achieve his full stature in animation, glancing at them warily.

/The Swords are the suit of Solarians, the violent troublesome, yet intelligent species. That is Flint of Outworld, whose aura was about two hundred. Their measurements were comparatively imprecise in those years. He founded the nucleus of Segment Etamin, the larger cluster of Spheres that now embraces Sol./

"You seem to know all about me," the Flint figure said. As he spoke, his background filled in about him: giant vinetrees, juiceberry flowers, primitive huts, dinosaur creatures whose faces resembled those of the dominant sapients of Segment Qaval. "But I don't know about you. I see one brown-surface Solarian and one Slash monster. Speak fast." And he raised one beautifully muscled green arm, whose hand now held an efficient-looking rock-barbed spear.

"A pleasure to meet a genuine Stone Age savage," Brother Paul said. "Most of us are savages inside, so to that extent the veneer of civilization makes us hypocrites. I am Brother Paul of the Holy Order of Vision. I am harmless, I assure you."

"You work for the Tarotist Temple?" the savage demanded.

"This creature, Herald the Healer of circa A.D. 4500, suggests that I founded it," Brother Paul said with a tolerant smile. "But that is plainly beyond my intent or means. I am loyal to my own modest order, with no need to dabble in politics or religion. I am just a humble seeker."

"I recognize you now," Flint said. "Harmless? Like a carnosaur! You're a martial artist, aren't you?"

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

"I... dabble on occasion."

Flint made a snort of humor. "You are a hypocrite, just as you claim! I'd like to try your strength, but I think I would lose, barehanded. You did found the Temple; that is historical. And that is no bad thing. The Temple helped me in Sphere Polaris. The Tarot showed me what I had not known I knew, before I progressed into complete disaster." He turned to Herald, his smile fading.

"But you, Slash—did Andromeda win the war despite my efforts?"

/Andromeda lost—twice,/ Herald flashed. /Now we are part of the Cluster culture—Andromeda, Milky Way, Pinwheel, and assorted lesser formations—without war, except for the present threat of alien invasion by the Amoeba. The Tarot has animated you, my distant ancestor via your aural family, to illustrate part of the background of this problem. Have you any advice?/

"Recover the Ancient science," Flint said simply.

/Yes, we are trying to do that. But we have not learned how, and we have very little time./

"So he, too, is fundamental to your situation," Brother Paul remarked to Herald. "And the third figure?"

It emerged from the card via animation: a tripart construction of wires and diaphragms and tubing. It had nine little clapper-feet, three to each segment. "I am Melody of Mintaka," it played, its meaning conveyed musically. Herald knew he would not have comprehended this language, had this not been his own animation scene. "I saved the Milky Way from Andromeda in the Second War of Energy. But you have animated me with all my feet!"

/Mintakans mate at the expense of their feet,/ Herald flashed privately to the others. /Their sex changes as the number of their feet decreases. The card portrays her in her female stage./

"Isn't it enough that I have lived my full life," Melody played tersely, "without being brought back—incorrectly!—long after it is over?"

"Well..." Brother Paul began.

"Such might be expected of an Andromedan," she continued. "Or even of my barbarian green-giant Solarian ancestor. But you, Paul of Tarot, how can you be part of such impertinence?"

"You're a descendant of mine?" Flint inquired, surprised but not dismayed.

"Practically the whole sapient Galaxy is descended from your free-flowing seed," she said. "It is a wonder you had time to save the Milky Way from Andromeda."

"It needs saving again," Flint said, flattered.

"This is why you creatures are animating the Tarot? It happens I know something of this subject, and now that I'm here I suppose I should assist. I note you are employing the newfangled spread, really inadequate for the occasion. However—"

/It is the secret of the Ancients we require, Mistress of Tarot,/ Herald flashed. /Only by utilizing their full technology can we hope to save our Cluster./

Melody made a negative clangor of her instruments.

"Slash, you would not want to know the secret of the Ancients."

All three males oriented abruptly on her. "You know their secret?" Flint demanded.

"Enough of it."

/Tell us!/ Herald flashed in wild hope.

She issued a sharp, single, final note. "No."

Brother Paul shook his head. "Surely you have some reason?"

"I do. If you knew their secret, you would do what they did. Therefore I will not tell you."

/We would... die out?/

"Or allow yourselves to regress into harmless barbarism." She glanced meaningfully at Flint. "You certainly have the potential for Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

that. No—you are better off rising to the challenge of the Amoeba and conquering it yourselves. Forget the Ancients."

/I can't do that. We cannot match the Amoeba alone./

"I think he's right," Flint said. "A flint-tipped spear can't take a laser, except in special circumstances. If the Amoeba technology is clearly beyond that of the Cluster—"

/It is./

"I also concur," Brother Paul said slowly. "I should hope that a better understanding of the nature of the Amoeba would make peace possible, but I concede that there are some demonic forces with which peace cannot be made. I do not like violence, yet I do not pretend that there are no circumstances where certain measures of self-defense may not be required. If the Ancient technology enabled the Cluster to become strong enough to stalemate the invasion, perhaps the Amoeba fleet would depart, averting further bloodshed."

But Melody would not yield. "Victory gained at the expense of the loss of cherished ideals is not worthwhile. With Tarot I will help; the Ancients I shall not discuss further." And Herald knew she would be inflexible.

Still he admired her tremendously, even though he knew she was at this stage no more than a figment of his imagination. /What a creature you were!/ he flashed. /Had I lived in your time, or you in mine—/ But again he remembered Psyche, and suffered.

"Now I think I have the background straight," Brother Paul said. "These three figures of aura, among whose number I am included, center on the Temperance concept of Transfer, and are all contributary to your vision of your past. They are your foundation. One must understand aura to understand you."

/True./

"Yet it does not seem to clarify your destiny. The Ghost remains opaque."

/There is something/ Herald flashed. But as he focused his internal beam on it, it evanesced. /No, I cannot yet place it,/ he finished, frustrated.

"Perhaps if we subdefined another card?" Brother Paul suggested.

/We must not do it indiscriminately,/ Herald warned. /The Tarot is not to be trifled with./

Melody played a chord of emphatic agreement.

Brother Paul smiled. "How well I know! But since there are only twenty cards in the pile, there would seem to be a natural limit, in case someone became too wild. A solution that cannot be achieved within twenty cards probably is not worth having; it would be too complex to comprehend."

/Let's check the Two of Aura, there in the Present Influences,/ Herald suggested. /We know aura relates to me; it hardly needs to be stressed. There may be more behind that entry./

Flint and Melody and the Spican Impact began to fade. /No, stay with me!/ Herald flashed. /You are my Past; I need you with me in my Present if I am to achieve my Future! I want your advice and participation, or I will surely repeat mistakes you could have warned me of./

"This plea is well put," Melody played. "Green Giant and Clapperfoot will remain."

"But let my swimming incarnation submerge," Brother Paul said. "I prefer my role as mentor to that of memory." And the Spican dissipated like a lost memory.

Brother Paul dealt another card, placing it across the Nine. "The Princess of Swords," he announced. "Another human figure."

"All the Swords are human," Melody played.

/The Princess of Swords!/ Herald flashed, electrified. /That's—/

"Your wife!" Brother Paul said, catching on. "Except—wouldn't she be the Queen of Swords? A married woman...."

/She was barely grown. To me she will always be the child bride. She is the aura that brings me here!/

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

The figure expanded from the card. She was nude and lovely, a delicately nubile, blue-skinned, orange-eyed human girl.

"Oh, she is exquisite!" Brother Paul exclaimed. "Much better than that other vision you showed. Remember her always like this!"

"There is Outworld blood in her," Flint said. "And Capellan. A good combination."

But their approval stirred up a bitter counterforce of emotion. /And do you also want to see what they did to her?/ Herald demanded savagely. A knot of love and pain formed within him. Psyche! Psyche!

He concentrated—and orange flame leaped up about her. Psyche writhed in silent agony, trying to draw her slender legs out of it, then giving up.

"No—I forbid this!" Brother Paul cried. "I have felt the fires of hell myself; do not do this to her again!"

"That lovely child!" Melody played with a strong background discordance of shock. "Spare her! Go to the Ancient site on Planet £

of Sphere Dash instead, mate there with a creature of high aura, go in and learn the secret of the Ancients yourself. But stop this fire!"

There was only one creature of sufficiently high aura that he could enlist quickly and privately for such a mission: his pseudo-fiancée, Flame of Furnace. If he did that, Psyche would surely burn in a new kind of hell!

/You cannot unmake the past!/ Herald flashed. /Suffer as I suffered! She burns, she burns!/ It was himself he was torturing, not these reflections of his prior imagination. Like the Duke of Kade at the end, he did not want to live.

But the figment-animations had strange persistence. "I subdefine!" Brother Paul cried, slapping down a satellite card. "The Eight of Aura—Conscience!"

But Psyche did not fade. Her anguished mouth opened, and she cried: "Herald, forgive them—they know not what they do!"

/I can't!/ Herald flashed. And her golden hair puffed into ignition, shriveling with horrible speed into a black mass.

Herald charged the fire but was hampered by his Slash body. Suddenly Flint of Outworld was beside him, swinging a great, flashing, beautifully deadly sword. The King of Swords indeed! Pieces of creature flew wide with every stroke: arms, heads, tails, wheels, tentacles. It was wonderful, it was a kind of catharsis!

Brother Paul slammed down another card, trying to stave off further torture and violence. "Tower!"

And the scene exploded into a giant mushroom-cloud, a roiling fireball that blew everything apart, producing chaos again.

/Where are we?/ Herald flashed foolishly. /In the fireball?/

"In the midst of revelation," Brother Paul explained, bodiless, beside him. "The confines of the contemporary situation have been burst asunder, freeing us for new understandings. This is the nature of the Lightning-Struck Tower of the Tarot—"

/Yes. The Amoeba bombed Kastle Kade./

"...on the physical level But the card is also known as the House of God, or the House of the Devil. That is interesting in this context, because Psyche, tormented by fires as of hell, quoted the Son of God. Jesus Christ, as he was crucified and reviled by his tormentors, cried 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!' That's from the Bible, Luke twenty-three, Verse thirty-four. In that moment, Christ forgave his enemies, exemplifying in his death the philosophy of his life."

/She may have forgiven them; I cannot!/

"But you must! She asked you to. She said 'Herald, forgive them,' and you must honor her dying plea if you wish to be worthy of her love."

/I'm glad the castle was destroyed. That is the single favor the Amoeba did me. Circlet of Crown and all his minions were wiped out!/

"Don't you understand! Jesus pleaded for God to forgive them—and they are us—and so we all—Psyche must have known...."

Herald considered. To be worthy of her love—that struck deep indeed! How could he deny her this, the last thing she had asked of him? /They're dead anyway. I forgive them,/ he flashed with meager graciousness. And, oddly, he felt a kind of relief, and realized that his own hate had blocked his healing power. That was why he had been unable to help the Jet female, Sixteen. Had Psyche Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

known it would be this way?

"I am glad, Herald. For you see, after that forgiveness—I'm stating this very badly, it is hard to concentrate here in chaos—Jesus was restored to life. For a while. He—"

/He died—yet lived again? His aura must have animated another host. You indicated he had a strong aura?/

"The strongest, I'm sure. I disagree with certain of your interpretations, but in this respect we agree. An extremely potent aura would account for much that he accomplished. But the point is—"

/But how could Psyche live again? Her body is nothing but particles in a radioactive cloud./

"But through her aura she could animate another body, if—"

/She would still die. All bodies in that castle were vaporized. Even if one escaped, the aura inevitably fades when it is away from its natural host. Even enhanced as she was, with an aura of two hundred seventy-five, she—/ He broke off, amazed as the revelation burst upon him. /Enhancement! It was her aura—enhanced. Not a cycle, but as association with the Ancient site, that built her up.

If it could do that.

"There would be no need for her aura to fade away from her natural host as long as that equipment operated."

/Ancient equipment operates forever! That site is gone, but there are others.. Herald paused again. /Immortality! The Ancients can give us immortality!/

"That too, I suppose, if you want it. But I was thinking—"

/Psyche! She could live again! Her aura would not fade!/

"Yes, that was my thought."

/The Ancient site enhanced her. There was a connection when she died. This happened to Flint of Outworld. He survived death by Transferring to another host. The site could have transported her aura to another host, another site..

"That may have been what she was trying to tell you. That her aura would live, though her body died. Now that your power has been restored by your act of forgiveness you have only to find her."

/She could be in a new host anywhere in the Cluster! But she would have to remain associated with an Ancient site, because she would require constant further enhancement./

"Would she—I am largely ignorant about the technicalities of Transfer—would she be able to remain within a site itself, enhanced?"

/I—/ Herald's imagination stalled. /If the sites can enhance and can Transfer, why can't they hold—/ It was almost too much to assimilate. /She must be... with the Ancients! This is my revelation of the Tower. I should have realized it all along, but it is so great a jump of concept! Let me go through this slowly: Flint of Outworld died in the Hyades, but the ancient site Transferred his aura to Mintaka, and he lived again to sire the line of Melody. Melody of Mintaka activated the £ site in Andromeda and abolished hostaging. Her aura unlocked the Secret of the Ancients, and she Transferred directly to System Etamin in Milky Way. I knew all along that such powers were in the sites, and the presence of Flint and Melody evoked by the Tarot should have reminded me—had I only been able to put it all together! /

"Precisely. That is why you came here, and why the Tarot placed your Significator in the THINK pile instead of in the FEEL pile.

Now at last you know what you seek."

/That Tarot—I have used it on others, but never realized how it could relate to my own life!/ He abandoned that thought for more leisurely contemplation at some convenient time. /Let's complete the reading!/

A card appeared, the Four of Star, labeled HOPE/FEAR. Brother Paul had dealt it, but had nowhere to set it down.

Psyche's face appeared within it. The flat picture spoke: "Herald, I live! I love you! I tried to reach you through Hweeh, but when I revived him he got confused. I need a host, close, but I must hide. I can't come to you. To reach me you must deal with the Amoeba—"

/I shall find you!/ he flashed.

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

The image dissolved. Then the chaos itself dissolved. /Farewell, Patriarch Brother Paul!/ Herald flashed. /Farewell to you, and to your Jesus of Christ!/

"Farewell, Healer," the faint reply came. Or was it his imagination? Of course it was; all animation was imagination. Yet there was a kind of validity to it, as Brother Paul had pointed out: the meaning behind the image. The long-dead Solarian, alive or illusion, had helped him.

He recovered consciousness. He was stifled in stone, barely able to breathe, his body injured and hurting. It was the Jet body, that could breathe without changing size by dribbling air through its main tube. The Amoeba's ray had missed him, but collapsed the tunnel, stunning him, throwing him into a private vision. The animation itself had been illusion!

He was dying. Only the temporary restored power of his aura maintained life in this broken host, and soon that would fail. No God of Tarot could salvage this! Even if the body were not expiring from its injuries, it remained trapped deep in the rubble. It could not be removed intact.

"Herald!"

/I am here, Beloved!/ he flashed. But he realized immediately that it could not have been Psyche, for she was dead except in his dreams, in his frantic wish-fulfillments. This had been a sonic call.

"Herald!" Closer, now.

He mustered what physical strength he had. There was a little air he could woosh, "Here!" Was it loud enough? His lining hurt with the very effort.

"You live, Healer!" the voice exclaimed. "Here, Weew! I have found him! Under this spot!"

Now a strong aura probed the ground, intersecting Herald's waning periphery. "Yes, I feel him!" Hweeh cried. "His aura is greatly disturbed, and I doubt we can save the host, but we can bring the Transfer unit here...." And Transfer him to his own Slash body, and send him to a Tarot Temple for reconstitution.... Or had he experienced it already?

"He will die?" Sixteen asked anxiously.

"Do not fret, Miss. He shall soon rise again."

He shall rise again....

It was Kirlian technology, no mystery about it—but somehow it sounded like Brother Paul's God of Tarot.

9

Geography of Aura

X Mission survey completed. All sapients in the Cluster identified and catalogued. X

& Place life-destructor units adjacent to every sapient-utilized planet. Do not interfere with the subsapients at this stage unless they occupy sapient planets. Pockets of sapients on nonsapient planets will be sorted out after all potential major resistance has been nullified. &

0 Placement proceeding, covertly. 0

& Do not activate any units until all have been placed, so that no advance alarm is given. When all is ready, we shall proceed with the final ritual reverification of the absence of soul sapience. & Herald's personal quest had been restored; there was a possibility that Psyche existed yet. But several immediate obstacles Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

prevented pursuit of his desire.

The site Transfer unit had been destroyed by the bombardment of the Amoeba's laser cannon. The cargo mattermitter was also gone. It would be necessary to wait for the sublight ship to bring new equipment from neighboring Planet Earth.

The job should have taken hours; it was to take days. Earth, once the heart of Sphere Sol, was fading. It was now an overpopulated, bureaucracy-ridden backworld planet. Much of its population was xenophobic, preferring not even to think about the affairs of the larger Universe. Earth's administration would help, because it had to. Imperial Outworld, under directive of the Cluster Council, would see to that once it got the word. There was also the matter of Solarian pride—but that was at such a state that Earth would not exactly hurry.

Herald's host was dying. The torso had been squeezed and cracked, but not crushed; assorted leaks had developed in the internal systems, throwing physical performance out of whack. In the ordinary course, this Jet would linger for several days until the inevitable accumulation of chemical wastes poisoned it fatally.

The capable Jet excavation crew blasted out a large tunnel in short order, making room for him to function. Herald had underestimated their proficiency; they had no difficulty extracting his body. Like a valuable but delicate artifact they removed him from his setting and conveyed him to their temporary camp at the edge of the lava shield, safely away from the lasered site. The Amoeba ship was gone, but it was impossible to tell when it might return.

The site was in new ruins. Solidified slag from the laser strikes covered parts of the excavation, and glassy material had plugged up a number of the open tunnels. The whole center section had collapsed. The surviving Jets were laboring efficiently to re-excavate portions, but not for Ancient artifacts; they were digging for the bodies of their companions. A number of defunct Jets lay in rows in the wan sunlight, like so many metal tubes, their brush-fibers shriveled. Others limped about on partial thrust, helping where they could. It was a scene of carnage and sorrow. These were not warriors, but dedicated specialists; they did not know how to handle the horror of war.

Still they had rallied bravely. Already sizable rescue tunnels had been formed, and many who might have died in the ground, like Herald himself, were being drawn out in time. The medic staff was competent, classifying the patients by degree of injury and amenability to treatment. They concentrated on the critical cases most likely to benefit from prompt attention, without neglecting the others. No energy was wasted in moaning; all were working as well as they could.

Herald saw all this and was inspired to do his part, whatever the personal discomfort. He thought of volunteering to go about healing the injured, but realized immediately that he could not. Physical maladies were only marginally amenable to aural healing, and the moment he stopped concentrating on his own host, it would fail.

His best course was to pursue his own mission, that affected not one mere site but the entire Cluster, and stay out of the way of the others. Though his leverage against physical problems was small, continued effort in key internal systems could magnify his impact.

He had been devastated by his brutal loss of Psyche. Now the Jet archaeologists had been similarly devastated. He understood their situation only too well.

"We can preserve life in this body, but not for long," a busy Jet medic informed him. "And not with comfort."

Herald was already aware of that. His inner linings were burning as he traveled, causing erratic motion, and he suffered disorientation. "It will last until the replacement Transfer unit arrives?"

"It should. You will have to be careful, however, not to abuse your resources. Perhaps we should drug you unconscious for the duration."

"No. There is research I must do. I shall turn the interval to advantage. Give me a drug to enhance my mental activity."

"That would decrease your survival ratio. Chemical imbalances already exist that—"

"The time I waste may prejudice the survival of the entire Cluster," Herald said. "I will be responsible for the risk." He knew what the medic did not: that his aura could heal this host much more effectively than any medication could, but only if his mind were sufficiently alert to focus that aura on the key spots.

"Then we shall assign a nurse to you, for the side effects are hazardous." It was evident that the medic was doing this against his Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

better judgment, because of the special status Herald had. Any other patient would have been rendered unconscious until the Earth rescue mission arrived, saving the valuable services of the nurse for better things. Herald felt a twinge of guilt but knew he was being unreasonable to feel it. What use to facilitate the Jets' medical convenience, if the delay meant the extinction of all life in the Cluster?

The medic gave him the drug, a colorless gas run through his main jet. It was potent. Soon he felt much better, and was able to focus his aura far more effectively. He could guide this host to almost complete recovery, in time.

The nurse was Sixteen. "I asked for the assignment," she admitted. "You healed me; now I help you."

"I did not heal you," Herald said. "My power was inoperative; Hweeh of Weew healed you."

"He said you had—"

"He sought to protect me from embarrassment. He is an intelligent, generous entity. Now my power is restored, but I must use it to heal this host, who will otherwise perish."

"You can do this? Prolong your own life?"

"My life is my aura. It is the welfare of my host I promote."

"But the host is dying!"

She was not stupid, he reminded himself. She merely had difficulty comprehending the nature of aura, being a creature of minimal aura herself. What was obvious to him could not be obvious to her. "Without my aura, the host would die, true, though this Jet-form is exceedingly sturdy. Perhaps the only sturdier sapient is the Magnet, which can be destroyed by hardly anything less than nuclear explosion." Poor Baron of Magnet, there on the ramparts of Kastle Kade! "But I will make this body well again. I do not want any host of mine to be left worse off than I came to it."

"Well, I shall nurse you anyway," she decided.

"That will help," he agreed. He would not have to be as alert while she was watching out for him, and that would enable him to heal the host faster while proceeding with his research.

Hweeh came. "I am relieved you survived, Herald. For the sake of the Cluster and, if I may presume, friendship."

"No presumption," Herald said politely, pleased at the Weew's gesture. True friendship between alien creatures was not casually acknowledged, especially when they were in mutually alien hosts. "We are to be stranded here for a period, and it is essential that we pursue our insight to its logical conclusion. The Amoeba surely will not wait on our convenience."

"Insight?" Hweeh inquired, perplexed.

"That the sites are not those of one Ancient species, but many. The Ancients came as conquerors, bearing their Kirlian Crest. Trace that crest, that specific stigma of this one species, and we locate the few specifically Ancient sites across the Cluster, eliminating the myriad false-Ancient sites that have hitherto confused us. This will enable us to discover their secrets much more rapidly."

Hweeh paused. "When did this insight occur?"

"I found separate burial emblems in the tunnel where I fled the Amoeba. Once the medical problem has abated, the Jets can more than replenish their store of artifacts by delving into these other passages." Herald explained his prior reasoning. "You are a research astronomer; this line of endeavor should be natural to you. I presume the Jets have an archaeological library."

"They do, an excellent one. It is part of their professional equipage. Some volumes were damaged by the lasers, but most are intact."

"Let us repair, then, to that library."

"May I observe, friend, that you appear to have an enhanced outlook," Hweeh said. "Has your natural grief abated?"

"More than my outlook is enhanced," he said, feeling the joy of his revelation about Psyche. She had to live! But he was cautious about expressing this rationale openly, until he had mulled it over and tested it for conceptual errors. "Let us say that I suffer new hope."

Hweeh did not persist, and they moved to the library. This was a pressured tank with computer-controlled nozzles, suitable for use Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

by this species. Hweeh was unable to use it, both because of his suit and his nontubular form, but Herald could. So they coordinated their efforts.

"Now how do we orient on the critical area?" Herald asked. "There must be much good information that does not relate to this particular thrust."

"To do a proper job would require years. However"—Hweeh continued, forestalling Herald's objection—"an orientation survey with eighty percent accuracy can be run in a few hours with this library. Perhaps that will suffice."

"We can try it anyway. First I want a geographic survey of specific dates of known Ancient sites. They are all three million yean old, but there should be some differentiation in terms of centuries. We need to locate the earliest true Ancient site, as marked by the presence of symbols and designs conforming to those on the cubes, not the Worm-bracelets. That may be their home world, with differentiated layering, yielding the secrets of their evolution. We may be able to discover their technology by tracing its genesis."

"Yes, that is promising, with this new symbol-insight," Hweeh agreed. "I can set up a program for that." He went to work, organizing, calling out specific requirements, narrowing the parameters of the requested library information. Herald checked particular references. Hweeh's direction was expert; it was as if Herald were a laser being precisely aimed by the Weew, striking on or very near the target each time. The same research task would have taken Herald alone ten times as long, as he ran down profitless side avenues.

Each Jet book was keyed by odor. His trained host assimilated the information as individual molecules sped through his system.

Food for the mind was literally digested; the Jets had the sense of smell developed to an extent that made the abilities of most other sapients seem retarded. One molecule in a million was a strong information-bit, and several thousand bits were coded for the gaseous information storage language. It was almost as good as animation, in its fashion—but much duller.

Animation—how much of his visit to the realm of the God of Tarot had been real? Had he seen Psyche, received her message, or was it all a mere figment of his desire? No! The logic was sound, by the light of the Martian day. A strong aura could survive the destruction of the body and live again—for a time. An enhanced aura might live indefinitely, restoring itself from the reservoir of the Ancients. It did make sense! Maybe he had not had any actual messages from Psyche, but she had to be somewhere—if only he could find her. Maybe at the Ancient-site stronghold. Find the Ancients, find her.

Then why had she told him to deal with the Amoeba, to reach her? Did she mean that finding the Ancient site where she was would be useless if the Amoeba had not been neutralized first? Because any site he tried to activate would soon be destroyed by the Amoeba, and her with it? Was that why she had to hide, concealing the activation of the site that her presence represented? That seemed likely, but it posed a formidable dilemma. The Cluster could not overcome the Amoeba without first obtaining the science and technology of the Ancients, and if it were necessary to overcome the Amoeba before activating any sites—paradox.

Sixteen, never far removed, asked to help. "You can run a check on mythologies," Hweeh told her. "The earliest developments of Kirlian science will be referenced in local species myths. I will give you a program to isolate these references. If your chart of localization corresponds to ours, we shall know we are getting there. Can you do that?"

"I am a Jet," she said.

That meant, as it turned out, that she was a competent researcher and classifier and reporter, as a member of an archaeological specialty species should be. Her report was ready before Herald's.

The notion of mythology reminded Herald again of Psyche. Now he wondered, but dared not inquire, whether Sixteen had encountered the legend of Psyche and Cupid, and whether the immortality the mortal girl had been granted at the end, after her return from Hell, actually represented aural enhancement. He had to keep a firm fix on reality, no matter how tempting certain notions might become.

They pondered the results of the two surveys, the geographies of Crest and Legend. The two seemed to be only coincidentally related to each other, and the areas of overlap were patchy and widely scattered. One promising locale was in Novagleam, Milky Way; another was in Duocirc Andromeda; a third was in a fragment galaxy of the Cluster. The three were as far apart as it was possible to be.

"There's a spot overlap in Sphere Jet, too," Sixteen pointed out, pleased.

Herald did not comment. She was right about the spot, but the chances of the Ancients originating in such an isolated globular Cluster, near a dangerous black hole, seemed remote. And the extremely low aura of the Jets obviated any likely relationship to the Ancients, the original Kirlians.

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

"It is evident that the Ancients came as conquerors," Hweeh said. "They arrived all over the Cluster at about the same time. The discrepancies are within the margin of error for the dating procedures, and even if they were not, there is still no consistent cross-Cluster progression. Their arrival could have been simultaneous, and the same for their departure. As for the mythologies... I really had not expected a correspondence, because they do not date the period of the Ancients, but the modern chance discoveries of Ancient sites. They have no significance for the location of the developing Ancient species. In this respect our comparison is a success. Had there been a strong correlation, our research methods would have been suspect. We require another referent."

Herald was amazed again at the competence of the Weew. He had assumed the lack of correspondence meant failure, not success!

Of course this was a check against distortion of interpretation of data by too-eager researchers. They had verified that expectations were not generating false answers. Should he submit his belief in Psyche's survival to Weew's scrutiny?

No... he did not dare.

"The Ancients were so powerful; they must have been very high aura, like you," Sixteen said. "Able to heal at a touch, to survive ills that would destroy lesser species. And their sites are always highly Kirlian. I wonder...."

"It has generally been assumed that this was the case," Hweeh agreed. "The Ancients had preeminent Kirlian science. Virtually all aural manipulation by contemporary species has been the result of discoveries at Ancient sites. Our technicians hardly comprehend the fundamental principles; they have mainly followed the Ancient instructions. But we don't know the strength of the personal auras of the Ancients, or their family groups."

"If we did know," she persisted, "would we not then be able to localize their aural families?"

"Extinct creatures don't have auras," Herald said. "We might type their auras through typical residuals in their artifacts—I could probably do that—but it would only verify what the Kirlian Crest survey has done. Ancients occupied Ancient sites. This is obvious without further research."

"I mean, in contemporary species," she said.

"What purpose? No doubt some of our aural families overlap some of theirs, but—"

"Wait, Herald," Hweeh said. "I believe I follow her reasoning. We believe the Ancients all perished, but suppose some of them survived? The Cluster is a huge geography; there must be much we have yet to discover in it. Could these remnant Ancients not have regressed, lost their technology, forgotten their heritage? Three million years is not much geologically or astronomically, but for civilized sapients it is a very long time—"

" They may still be with us! " Herald said excitedly. "This supposes that isolated branches of the Ancients did suffer Spherical regression. But how can we say they did not, when their main culture collapsed? Their secret of civilization may have been highly technological, so that without that level they degenerated rapidly. The presence of such remnants would be the easiest thing to verify, if we only knew the aural families we were looking for. If there were not too many. It would certainly be worth a try."

"The super-auras," Sixteen said. "Like yours. They are very special, and they don't seem to be hereditary. Could they be Ancient auras showing up recessively at long intervals? Suppose the Ancients were nonphysical entities, existing only in aural form, animating a succession of hosts."

"That one's been thought of before," Herald said. The super-auras are not as distinct as they seem; they are merely the peaks of the distribution curves. For every plus-two-hundred aura, there are several in the one hundred and eighty to one hundred ninety-nine range, and a great many in the one hundred and fifty to one hundred seventy-nine range. A tiny percentage of the total number of entities in the Cluster, but a fair absolute number. If there were some sharp break in the distribution— But nothing significant has been found. Computer analysis indicates that high auras fit a normal probability curve, and that the gradually increasing intensities of the top auras are merely a function of increasing sapient population in the Cluster. For example, two trillion entities are more likely to produce a record aura than one trillion entities. Considered in this context, I am merely the chance high spot of a crowded Cluster."

"We need more artifacts," Hweeh said. "We are not looking for present-day full-blooded living Ancients, but for some Ancient admixture in a present species. The strength of their auras may have declined, but their aural families should be more stable. If you can analyze the residual auras in undisturbed artifacts, we can run our geographic search for the highest concentration of those families. There must be some more relics somewhere on this planet—"

"There must be!" Herald agreed. "Come, we must search them out!"

Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

"But you are injured, drugged," Sixteen protested. "The chances of locating such artifacts are meager, and it is only a theory that may prove to be without foundation. I cannot let you range the planet on such purely speculative—"

"Give me more drugs," Herald said. "My aura will balance them, so that my host will not expire before the unit comes from Earth. I believe the potential gain is worth the risk."

"Well, maybe a cautious survey of the local site," she conceded. "If it weren't a matter of Cluster security— You must move slowly and rest often...."

"No such limit!" Herald said. "This is important. The Amoeba obviously knew about this site, and blasted all collected artifacts.

But there must be other sites on this planet, or at least camping remains, whose significance would not be evident. Fragments of personal articles, sealed in vaporproof containers, anything sufficiently imbued with Ancient personal aura, would be valuable.

Somewhere on Mars, probably far removed so as to be out of range of the Amoeba ship's pinpoint aural detectors. These fragments are what we must find. If they give us a definite Ancient aural family, and if we can trace that to a specific locale in the Cluster...."

"It still seems far-fetched to me," she grumbled.

Herald did not want to admit his private agreement with her. He was stuck on this planet for several more days regardless, and he did not want to sit idle. Even the remotest chance seemed worthwhile. "Give this host your strongest drug."

"We do have stronger drugs, but your life-force would be exhausted in hours if you—"

That, again! "You Jets are low-aura. You do not comprehend the power of aura."

"I comprehend with envy," Sixteen said. "But the Jet body system, by the same token, differs from that of other sapients in the cluster. You are not accustomed to it. If you ruin your host by misjudging, then have to Transfer out..."

"Herald would not do that if he had any choice," Hweeh said. "He is a healer. But I will undertake to remain to help the host to the extent of my ability, if such a situation should arise."

She considered, damping her jet down so as to be virtually unreadable. "I think you males are more interested in touring the planet than in hanging around a blasted site," she said at last, with considerable accuracy. "But I accept your assurance, Hweeh of Weew. I have felt your power, and know your generosity."

They reported to the medic again. The Jet resisted, but finally gave Herald the drug on condition that the nurse remain with him until its effect abated. "We're short-personneled, since the laser attack," he said. "We can't keep close watch on entities whose inclination is to live dangerously. You will have to take care of yourself."

They organized the search and set out. Hweeh was to suit-jet to the south and search out what he might in the cratered plane below the volcanic shield of Elysium. Herald and Sixteen moved to the east to check the much larger lava-sheet surrounding Olympus Mons.

"Take care, friend," Sixteen called as they separated.

"Acknowledged," Hweeh responded.

Herald accelerated to twelve meridians per hour, feeling the sheer exhilaration of velocity. The Jets, who worked at sites on various planets, oriented on the geometry of each one. Mars meridians ranged from about thirty-six mites at the equator to zero miles at the poles; at this latitude each meridian was about twenty-four miles. Herald would have used the mileage figures, but the host-mind tended to use its own system and he did not care to fight it. Regardless, it was a good speed. This host felt best when moving most swiftly.

Sixteen shot after him, catching up. "Don't do it, Healer! You aren't fit!"

"The faster we complete this survey, the sooner I can rest," Herald pointed out, not slowing.

"But you will not complete it at all if you over extend yourself!" She was the nurse, all right. Her one mission was to promote his physical welfare.

"It is a risk I must take. We do not know when the Amoeba will strike, but it is likely to be soon. Dubious as this line of research may seem, it is the only avenue available at the moment and must be tried." But as he spoke, he knew that was only the lesser part of his motive. It was Psyche he sought and discovery of the Ancients was but a means to that end. No endeavor, however unlikely, Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

could be passed by if it offered even the slightest chance for him to reach her.

"You are a great idealist," she said, and Herald was ashamed for the selfishness of his purpose. "I will help you all I can."

She might not be so helpful, if she knew! But of course it was no concern of hers. What did she know of love and loss? She seemed unaffected by the disaster that had befallen the site.

They zoomed side by side across the plain. It was a convoluted landscape, with dunes, dust-filled escarpments, cavities, and scattered rocks. As they drew away from the lava shield, the terrain became rougher, so that they had to correct course constantly to avoid rocky obstructions. But the journey quickly became repetitive and monotonous.

This was cruising velocity for healthy Jets, and it was no additional effort to talk. "Where do you come from, Healer?" Sixteen inquired.

Now she sought to promote his mental welfare too, by encouraging him to talk! "Sphere Slash, Andromeda," he answered gruffly.

"The enemy galaxy."

"Not to us of Glob Jet," she said. "We were not involved in the Wars of Energy. In fact we didn't even know of the wars until some centuries later. We were pretty isolated."

"How could you be isolated in these days of Transfer?" Herald asked. "I thought virtually all the Cluster was explored between the wars."

"There were a number of nonsapient backwaters not worth the expense of exploring," she said ruefully. "It seems the great Sphere detectors picked up no auras in our glob, so they assumed it was barren. Only when a mattermitter geographic survey of all the globular Clusters was made were we discovered. That was six hundred years ago. Then—"

"Now wait!" he interrupted. "You were discovered a couple of thousand years ago, because of the black hole in the glob that radiated all over the Cluster."

"Well, we were and we weren't," she said. "The black hole specialists made note of our presence, but they weren't really interested in us. We were just an unremarkable local species. We helped with local supplies and vortex charts, but were not permitted access to anything important. So we were filed in the geographic archives and ignored for over a thousand years. The more recent survey catalogued auras, and then there was a commotion, because we had the lowest auras in the Cluster—less than half of one percent of the sapient norm. It was a scientific curiosity. Many thousands of us were mattermitted to the Milky Way Galaxy for study. When they finally decided that it was after all possible for there to be minimum aura life, even minimum aura sapient life, they published their studies and forgot about us laboratory specimens. It was too expensive to mattermit us home, so we had to settle in the Galaxy and earn our own living. Officially we're nationals of Sphere Jet, entitled to speak as Equals. But actually we have no connection to our home glob; we know it only historically. So we—"

"Say something in Equals," Herald encouraged her.

= Something, = she said.

/Thanks,/ he replied.

They laughed together, blowing out humor-turbulences in the thin Martian air. Sixteen was good company!

"So that's how we came to the archaeological task force," she concluded, reverting to Quote inflection. "We were well constructed for it, and our species has had millions of years experience, questing through the planets of the glob for our own derivations. It is a good profession, and we are well paid."

Except when they got lasered by a visiting enemy ship, he thought. But then something else twitched his curiosity. "You have been sapient for millions of years?" Herald inquired as they dodged around a jagged ridge of stone. The terrain was becoming increasingly rugged, and that could be dangerous at this velocity.

"Oh, yes. Right back to the time of the Ancients."

Herald was electrified. " Your kind knew the Ancients? "

"Well, yes and no," she said. "We were sapient then—our records show this—but we have no surviving records of them. We do know they isolated us by removing all the tools and materials of mattermission and Transfer—not that we were able to Transfer anyway. So we regressed, and existed in comparative savagery for perhaps a million years, and rose again to atomic-level Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

technology. We still could not muster mattermission because of the absence of strategic substances the Ancients had removed, and we regressed again. For a long time it was easier to forget that there was a Cluster out there, than to recognize the nature of our prison. Those of us who could not face our restriction simply set up orbit around the hole."

"Around the hole!" he exclaimed. "There is no way out of such a gravitational well, by definition, and even a stable orbit would suffer tides that would tear apart any object that—"

"Precisely," she said. "You call it suicide. We can't kill ourselves as easily as other creatures can, and there is often a great deal of discomfort in the trying, so we utilize special means. We preferred to think of it as passing through an aperture to another realm.

Who can conjecture what lies beyond?"

Not Psyche! his hope cried, but he kept that quiet. "Who indeed?" he agreed. "If your kind has anything like a Tarot deck, you must have a card with a black blot in the center: the Hole. In lieu of the one we call Death, or Transformation."

"We do," she agreed. "It is the concept of our philosophy. All that we are, and all that we are not, is governed by that singular concept. The hole in the glob. The ultimate escape from the ultimate confinement."

"Perhaps one day I will ride a ship directly into that hole," he said. "The notion is appealing."

"You wish to suicide? You can't go directly into the hole; the vortex forces you into the spiral orbit. The hole has its particular rules about the manner of its utilization."

Suicide? If Psyche does not live. "You would not understand," he told her gently. "Continue with your history."

She did not protest. "We regressed—but we would forget even the rationale for that ignorance, and develop again, only to remain corked. Oh, we have a score to settle with the Ancients, who did this to us."

"But the Ancients are three million years dead," Herald pointed out.

"Then we have no recourse," she said.

"It is strange they would do that to you," Herald said. "Many other species, like the Worm colonists of Mars, they exterminated outright."

"While others, like the Solarians, they left untouched," she said. "What was their rationale?"

"If only we knew! There has to be a reason. A foolish, inconsistent species could not have conquered the Cluster. If we could fathom their nature and intent, perhaps we could discover their science. And that is what we have to do."

She made a sonic shrug. "Here we are talking about Jets and Ancients, when I had asked about you. How come you to this Galaxy?"

"I am a healer. I Transfer where my commissions take me. I had to exorcise a—" He broke off.

"I did not catch that," Sixteen said. "What was your mission?"

"It was a failure," he said shortly.

She took the hint and was silent. She was very good about things like that. They jetted on toward the great volcano.

In four hours they reached it. Now they slowed, angling across to achieve the phenomenal, sixty-meridian-wide lava sheet, the residue of the vent's colossal effusions. Near the western edge of it rose Olympus Mons, one of the classic volcanoes of this system.

To reach it they had to traverse the rugged mountain range that circled it, rising high to reach the most convenient pass. Then on to the volcano itself, finding a channel through the rim wall that was the abrupt edge of the mighty cone, slanting up toward its lofty half-meridian height. The rise was not steep, but the steady effort was a drain on the diminished resources of Herald's host.

At last they overlooked the central caldera, pocked by smaller calderas where the surface had collapsed after the hot lava leaked out. It was an impressive but barren scene.

"Why are we looking here?" Sixteen inquired. "Sapients do not normally camp in volcanoes."

"That is one reason why," Herald explained. "The Ancients evidently sought to conceal their presence on Mars, at the time of their occupancy, and after. The remains of a site within a volcano are likely to be the first obliterated when the lava flows again. But while in use—what better concealment for a continued flow of creatures and equipment? The kind of heavy construction for which Kirlian Quest by Piers Anthony

the Ancients were noted would have been obvious to sapient observers. So they needed extensive natural cover."

"Why?" Sixteen asked. "Hadn't they already destroyed the colony?"