Chapter 11: Tangent

It was not easy to arrange his talk with Tanya Coombs. Her Station was in a planetoid on the far side of the System; it would take hours to travel there by shuttle. He could do it instantaneously by Mattermission -- except that the prohibitive expense meant the authorities would never authorize it.

They would throw away horrendous amounts of energy mattermitting a whole fleet of warships to a distant Sphere, but none for one person within the System.

And Transfer to a host at that other Station was out; the Society of Hosts kept too close track of all such transactions.

No, a physical meeting with her was not feasible, and perhaps not desirable. What did she know of him, or he of her? Only that each had survived. Did she share his new concern for the Band society? Did she care whether a species was about to be incidentally exterminated? If not, it would be foolish of him to make known to her his own questions. The very fact of his sneaking out to meet her privately would betray him; he might blurt out his treason to the universe. For treason was really what was in his mind: he wanted to help an alien species at the expense of his own.

He would have to call her. But here too were problems. All calls to and from military Stations were monitored. There would be no privacy. In fact he could not even place the call without clearance from the Transfer authorities.

It might be possible to have Helen place a call to a friend of hers at that Station, who could then contact Tanya Coombs -- but this would be tedious and uncertain, would not enable him to learn what he needed to about her private attitudes, and might not escape the notice of the authorities anyway, even if Tanya did not turn him in. And if she did share his concern for the Bands, how could she trust him? She could take him for an administration agent testing her loyalty. She would tell him nothing of her true sentiment. Not by vid. So he was effectively blocked off; he had to keep his concerns to himself.

Meanwhile, there was Helen to think about. Would it be smart to renew his term marriage to her? How little he had known her, these years of the first term!

He had thought there had been no connection between his professional life and his personal one, when all the time she had been trying to reconcile the two. She wanted to align their philosophies so as to fashion a harmonic situation for their child. He had thought she had simply lost interest. She had proved that she had not -- and had also proved he had not. He now saw himself and her as Monsters -- but just as a person could adapt to changed circumstances, he could adapt to an alien host -- or to his own host body experienced as alien. Monsters, too, could love.

Helen was right: after this mission was over, and the Ancient Site was in Solarian possession, he would remain a Monster, and have to deal with Monster things. Band Heaven was merely a tantalizing interlude, impossible for a Monster to join permanently. A devil could only gaze upon an angel in envy; he could not change his own nature. So if Ronald did not arrange to procreate by Helen, he would have to do so with some other Monster female. Was there really a better one on his horizon?

Yet could he conclude he still loved her? His emotion remained with Cirl, the alien female. Why was that? It really did not seem to make much sense. He had to resolve the question before he recommitted himself to Helen.

And perhaps before he saw Cirl again. He could not be fair to either if he did not know his own mind.

What did a military man with an emotional problem do? Standard Operating Procedure had the answer: he went to see the chaplain. Anything discussed with a chaplain was confidential. In fact the chaplain might help him contact Tanya Coombs privately. It was certainly worth a try.

Ronald walked out to the residential launch platform and set himself in place. When he touched the proper button, the platform moved forward and upward, accelerating him in the direction opposite the great cylinder's spin.

Thus he found himself in midair, seemingly rushing across the landscape, but actually hanging without momentum while the cylinder spun around him. He extended his fins and stroked toward the central exit, aiming sidewise just enough to counter the drag of air that sought to carry him along with the spin. The air was viscous, moving with the cylinder at the edge and remaining almost stationary at the center. He was far more conscious of viscosity than he used to be!

Around him the cylinder-world came clearer as he rose. Ronald had lost his sense of elevation when he became weightless; now he was more or less the center of a world that rotated around him. He always noticed this effect, and always enjoyed it. Perhaps this did suggest his basic narcissism, his tendency to see himself and his species as the center of the universe. His experience with the Bands had shown him that there were other centers, perhaps more valid than his own. Yet his delight remained.

The colors of the yards and roofs of the houses made an irregular pattern; when he narrowed his vision, so that his eyes did not automatically track, those colors blurred by like animated pictures. This was a huge kaleidoscope: the roofs like bits of glass, the river like a blue-gray wash of paint. The amount of fall of the water was not great, only a few meters, but it held to its channel faithfully and clung to its little lake at the base, from where the water was filtered and pumped to its "mountain" origin for recirculation. Small children were swimming in the lake; he heard their faint glad cries and saw their splashing. Ah, yes -- this was as close to paradise as Monsters could get. The Monster version of the Viscous Circle.

Ronald reached the center and had to take the exit, lest he obstruct the traffic. Feeling a gentle nostalgia for this imitation Heaven, and for the real one the Bands believed in, he caught the rim bars and launched himself through the tube. Now he thought of himself as a flying shuttle rocket, zooming through locks and buoyed channels that marked the only safe route through a planetoid belt. It was childish fancy -- but one he could afford to indulge within the sanctity of his own mind. System Band had many more planetoid belts, around their suns and around their planets and perhaps even around their larger moons; there one could really play dodge-the-chunks. Maybe that, too, attracted him there. Perhaps hindsight was making his assorted motives come clearer.

He swung abruptly around a corner and zoomed toward the chaplains'

quarters. Everything had its place, here in the Station; one had only to know where these places were. There were no signposts, no guidelines; this was part of the security system of the base. No stranger could readily find his way around it, and certainly no alien creature would be able to move with facility. Only natives developed the necessary expertise, knowing where every handhold was, and knowing which handholds were rigged as alarms. Natives became unconscious of all the deliberate little pitfalls while avoiding them, and that was the way it was supposed to be.

Now he reached the smaller, faster-spinning Neutrals, Aliens, and Chaplains cylinder. There was no great panoply here; the chambers opened directly off the free-fall chute, unmarked. The first was Polarian, the second Nath, and so on down the line of Spherical allies of Sol. Any alien detachment, no matter how small, had its right to its own chaplain or equivalent. It was part of being a Registered Alien. Humans did not interact much with alien allies, because of differing atmosphere and gravity preferences -- the notion of alien planetary conquest was ludicrous, because who would try to conquer at great expense a planet the species could not use?

-- but many different species were stationed together here in space. Space was equally inhospitable to all creatures -- except, he remembered with a renewed pang, the Bands, who lived in space. Here among the Monsters it was never possible to predict what particular skills would be required in a war emergency, so most available creatures were represented. The military spared no expense for its preparedness!

He paused by the aperture for Magnet, which was next to the one for Sol.

The Magnets were a spherical metallic species using magnetism to propel themselves. They were not really sapient, as he understood it; they served as guards or watchdogs, and were excellent at that. A Magnet in attack flight most resembled a fired cannonball, smashing all before it. It occurred to him that the Magnets also resembled the Bands, because of their mode of propulsion and ability to survive in deep space.

But there was much more to a creature than propulsion! The Magnets were really floating engines, consuming coal or other combustibles to generate their magnetism, but the Bands drew their power from the magnetic lines. The Magnets had to be near metal; Bands could travel best in deep space. In an analogy of machines: the Magnets were like ancient Earth-planet steam locomotives, while the Bands were like modern electric-ion spaceships. Maybe there was a kinship between the species, but it was no closer than that of bipedal dinosaurs to man.

Ronald drifted back, finding himself at the Polarian entrance before he realized where he was going. Surely he did not want an alien chaplain!

No? If he contemplated treason against his own species, what could be more objective than a third species, neither Solarian nor Band? The Polarians were renowned for their circular reasoning, incomprehensible to many Solarians, yet often productive of positive results. Polarians had spread into Sphere Sol as a result of the enormously waxing power of System Etamin, on the border between the Solarian and Polarian Spheres. In fact the present thrust for the Ancient Site was a ploy to stave off the shifting of power within the empire from System Sol to System Etamin. The logic of men could not, it seemed, compete with the logic of men and dinos -- the contemptuous slang term for Polarians, based on their supposed resemblance to the droppings of the dinosaurs on the Etamin planet of Outworld.

What about approaching the matter at a tangent? Talk with the Polarian chaplain. Maybe nothing would come of it -- but who could say?

Ronald nudged himself down the Polarians' hole. Soon weight manifested itself as he reached the outer portion of this spinning cylinder, and he had to catch hold of the bars set for this purpose so that he would not fall too swiftly. He reached the bottom and stood on the smooth walk there, his head feeling a trifle light. This was because, in this small cylinder, his physical height made a difference; his head was moving more slowly than his feet, so really was lighter. Some people could develop nausea from this effect.

He walked along the passage until he came to the chaplain's door. It opened as he stood before it. There was the Polarian, shaped like a man-sized teardrop, a massive spherical wheel below, a tiny ball at the end of his trunk above.The little ball touched the nearest wall, causing vibrations that sounded like human speech. The adaptation was so precise that Ronald glanced at the wall, almost expecting to discover an intercom unit there, though he knew better. "It is possible to lose one's way in a Station of this complexity," the creature said diplomatically. Polarians were seldom direct; they preferred to be circular, and their speech reflected this.

"In this case, sir, no accident," Ronald responded. One addressed officers "sir" regardless of their species, though Ronald, as a semicivilian agent, did not have to honor this convention.

"Then you may wish to enter. I am Smly of Polaris Sphere, counselor to those in need." The alien did not inquire whether Ronald had a need; that would have been uncircular.

Ronald did not introduce himself, as he preferred to keep this interview anonymous. The Polarian could readily run down his identity; Ronald's reticence was merely a signal. "I want to commit treason against my species,"

he said, without preamble. Ronald wondered idly whether Solarians normally pronounced this Polarian's name "Smiley" or "Smelly." Polarians' names generally were easily lent to parody, and the creatures seemed not to object.

Presumably they reserved their emotion for things of greater significance.

"This might be considered a natural urge, if there were justification for it," Smly remarked obliquely.

Ronald explained the circumstances. The Polarian rolled about his small chamber, listening thoughtfully, his wheel making a faint track of moisture.

His motion was graceful, in contrast to the jerky movements of the Solarian form. "So that's it," Ronald concluded his discourse. "I think I love the alien female more than I do the wife of my own kind, and my ultimate loyalty seems to be with that alien species. I fear this is treason."

"Our definitions may differ from yours," the chaplain said, this time buzzing his ball against the ceiling. Had Ronald's eyes been closed, he would not have been able to tell it was not a human being speaking, albeit one who seemed to flit about from floor to wall to ceiling. "To us the welfare of the individual is paramount. In a conflict of interest with the apparent welfare of society, the individual governs."

"What's good for one is good for all," Ronald said, putting it into perspective.

"There may therefore be no treason."

"But I'm not a Polarian!"

"Polarian custom is now a legal option for military personnel. This relates to the composition of, and balance of interests in, the larger sphere of interest of our empire. Should your kind bring you to trial or court-martial for treason, you might invoke our law and be exonerated."

"I suppose I should be relieved to hear that," Ronald said. "But somehow I'm not. I'm more concerned with the moral aspect than the technical. I do not want to betray my species or my society, yet I feel the need to protect the Bands from exploitation or destruction. My private, personal welfare is of little account. What, then, is my correct course?"

"It is to honor your fundamental imperatives. If your loyalty to the Band female and the Band society is strongest, these are what you must support. You have only to be sure these are your loyalties."

"I'm not sure! That's why I'm in quandary."

"Why would a person love a Band more than his wife?" Again the Polarian was phrasing a direct question indirectly. A Polarian who lacked extensive contact with Solarians would not have phrased such a question at all.

"Do I?" Ronald asked, translating the indirect into the direct, as was typical of his kind. Sol was known as a "thrust" culture, driving relentlessly forward. "Yes, I suppose I do. I think it is because Cirl really needs me, and I need her. She was going to suicide, until I rescued her and gave her reason to live. I was floundering myself, until she showed me the ways of Band society. Helen and I don't really need each other. Not as much. At least, I thought we didn't."

"One could be curious how Band society differs from Solarian society."

"That's the whole essay in itself, a whole library! But I guess you mean how does it differ to me?" Ronald considered. "In essence, it's a pacifist society, very much like the Solarian ideal, Utopia -- you know, the kind that would bore the hell out of real people in practice. Because we Solarians are a warlike lot; it shows in every aspect of our lives, in our constant competition, in our 'free enterprise' system that really represents every man's right to claw one's way as high as he can go. But with the Bands this pacifism really works, and their vision of heaven -- their Viscous Circle --

is correspondingly remote. It's a myth, of course, but -- well, I confess it appeals to me increasingly. I wish I could go to the Viscous Circle when I die." He laughed ironically. "I don't believe in it, but I long for it! Maybe it's not treason so much as insanity that beckons me!"

"Then one's love for an alien might be a function of one's longing for her framework or belief."

"It must be! It's such a wonderful belief, better than ours. Solarians are so damned pushy, so infernally corruptible, so much like monsters. I was never much for philosophical notions, before, but somehow -- I don't know. I never believed in pacifism, either, until I saw it work in the Band society --

and of course then I had to teach them to fight, so they would not be destroyed. I guess I'm doing as much to destroy their philosophy as the rest of my kind is to destroy their bodies. So I'm really being a traitor to the Bands, too; perhaps a worse one. But -- well, that's why I'm here. I'm an agent of incalculable mischief, like a germ cell. What can I do?"

"There may be times when one must consider whether it is ethical to advise parties of the truth."

"Tell the Bands about my being a Monster spy? Do you think I'm crazy?

They'd -- " He paused. "No, they wouldn't. They don't react with anger. They just accept facts."

"Is it possible that the truth would enable them to save themselves from possible destruction?"

"I'm not sure. I doubt it. They'd rather disband than cause considerable inconvenience to other creatures. That's the irony of their situation; the aggressive, grasping species like Solarians drive out the civilized, gentle species like Bands. Even knowing everything, they would not fight -- unless they had an uncivilized Monster like me to lead them."

"Yet if they were informed that all the Solarians desire is the Ancient Site -- would they move away from it?"

"Yes, I suppose they would. And that might solve the problem. Assuming the Site is well away from Planet Band. Only -- " Ronald paused, trying to pin down his reservation. Then he had it. "Only I don't want to solve it that way.

That Ancient Site is in their space; they have the most proper title to it. If anyone gets to benefit from Ancient science, it should be the Bands, not the Monsters. The Bands, at least, would not abuse it."

"Then it may be that the problem is not amenable to solution."

"Not that way. I don't want the bad creatures to win." Helen would be gratified to hear him now!

"Perhaps it is fitting to continue as you have been doing, enabling the good creatures to resist the onslaught of the bad. You may deceive the Bands about your nature and motive, for were they to learn of it, they might themselves convey to the Solarians' command the desired information, turning over the Ancient Site. Does this accord with your principles?"

"You make it sound terrible! But yes, I am a Monster, with Monster values. I can do the right thing in the wrong way. I can lie and cheat and steal and kill to achieve my objectives. I don't like it; I wish I were more like Cirl, pretty inside as well as outside. But I'm not, and I certainly don't want Cirl to become like me. If there is lying and cheating to be done, I'd rather take it on myself to do it, since I'm a Monster anyway, and spare them from any such thought. I don't want to corrupt the angels of Heaven. I have to do what my conscience dictates, however much it may violate my conscience -- ludicrous as that sounds."

"It accords with Polarian principles. The needs of the individual are paramount. Society is not permitted to judge the motives of the individual."

"Maybe that's why I came to talk with you. I must have realized you'd endorse my selfishness."

"This is possible," the creature agreed without rancor. Polarians were like that; they really did have an alien viewpoint. "Yet it seems you are making the ultimate sacrifice, casting down your own morals and scruples in order to ensure that theirs remain pure."

And how many bigots had done exactly that, throughout human history, savagely protecting the morals of others despite the will of those others?

Ronald felt unclean. "Well, thanks, Chaplain," he said. "Thanks to your counsel, I am now resolved to betray both sides, in order that my will alone will be done, right or wrong."

"That is the nature of Monsters," the Polarian agreed equably.

Ronald reported to the interviewing room on schedule. "We have decided to send both survivors back, this time, with memories intact," Branst announced. "We doubt there will be any aural check made there. That way, one of you should be able to locate the Ancient Site and report back to us. We can take it from there."

"And the physical invasion -- will you abate that until our report?"

"No. That will proceed, in case neither of you is able to locate the Site promptly."

In other words, they did not fully trust these two agents, who had failed once to get the information. Ronald could not stall them. If he did not produce, they would locate that Site the hard way.

He had an idea. It was a long shot, but worth a try. "I could coordinate better if I could get to know the other Transfer agent."

"Of course. Here she is now."

They were going to let him meet her! After all his own conjectures had come to nothing, the authorities were doing it for him.

The wall screen flicked into a picture that showed a chamber similar to this one. It was as if the room had abruptly doubled in size. Ronald had experienced this phenomenon many times before, but as with the tunnel-flying, it always intrigued him.

In the other half stood a comely young woman in military uniform, without visible insignia of rank, as was the custom with Transfer agents. She might be military or civilian; it hardly mattered. "Ronald Snowden, I presume?" she inquired.

"The same. Tanya Coombs?"

She nodded in confirmation, her hair rippling. It was black, falling to just below her ears, leaving her neck visible. She was slender and full and fit, her figure striving to express itself despite the restrictions of the uniform, and succeeding reasonably well. In feminine apparel she would be a knockout. "You wished to compare notes?"

"Yes, and plan strategy. Privately."

Branst and the officer with Tanya exited, leaving the two alone together. This was of course illusion; not only were they really not together, they were not private. The officers would be tapping the interview on separate screens, and the whole thing would be recorded by the computer and analyzed interminably for any special information that might be gleaned. Still, it seemed private, and that was what he wanted. By the time the analysis of the recording produced anything, Ronald would be safely gone.

"I discover certain complications," Ronald said. "My memory was blanked, so I did not remember I was married. So I married a Band female."

Tanya smiled, in a quirky way that enhanced her prettiness. "Me too,"

she said ruefully. "I now have two husbands. I did not care to advise my human husband of this."

"I told my wife, and she was very understanding. In fact she was more concerned about my reaction to you than to the alien. But what will I tell my Band wife when I return?"

"Tell her nothing. My Band husband would disband if he knew."

There was that. "I think you and I should meet, as Bands, to coordinate our search for the Ancient Site. There has been such attrition in the complement that I believe it is too risky to operate independently anymore. Do I have your agreement to say nothing inappropriate to my Band wife?"

Tanya nodded understandingly. "And you say nothing to my Band husband.

He's a good creature. I would not have survived without him, and don't want to hurt him. However, we can avoid any such complication simply by staying clear of each other. I think independent investigations will suffice."

"But I thought -- "

"I agreed to say nothing to your Band wife should I encounter her. I did not agree to meet you."

Their dialogue had sounded promising until she revealed her preference not to meet him in Band form. He could not speak freely here; for true privacy, he had to meet her there.

Tanya, like himself, had been drawn into the Band philosophy, at least to the extent of marrying. She cared about her alien mate. But had her conversion gone as far as his own had? He could not ask her directly, but might glean some hints if he tested her. "Did you like the Band society?"

"Isn't that immaterial to our mission?"

Avoidance. That was promising. "Perhaps. Yet we have to understand it, to survive within it. Ten agents didn't. I almost didn't. Perhaps we had something in common. We don't know whether any of the others married, but it may be a reasonable conjecture that they did not, and so had no help."

She arched a black eyebrow at him, attractively. What was a creature like this doing in Transfer? She should never want to leave her Solarian host body! "We both did survive," she said, "perhaps because of our acceptance of Band society to the point of marrying natives. I think the worst is over."

"Yet we shall have to question Bands carefully, to get the information we require without tipping our hands -- or rings, as the case may be."

"I don't think that matters -- "

"Because if they caught on, their military arm would get involved and set up an effective guard on the Site, making acquisition much more difficult for us."

"Their military arm?" she asked blankly. She knew the Bands had no such thing. And this was his verification that he was in fact talking to the other Transfer agent, not a ringer (no Ringer; no Band!), a fake whose job it was to interrogate him. If by chance this Tanya were not the one, this would throw her. The computer and certain key officers would be aware of the nature of the Bands, but that information would be classified secret, not because it really needed to be, but because that was the way the military worked.

"Military people can get pretty ugly when aroused," Ronald said. "If the Bands' president called up the guard, our chances of success would suffer."

"Oh, yes, their president," she agreed faintly. The Bands had no president. Was she catching on to his meaning? He did not know how intelligent Tanya was, and his nuances might be bypassing her. But he could not speak more plainly without alerting the eavesdropping officers.

"So I don't want to alert their administration," he continued. It was the Solarian administration he meant: his own government. He ran a double risk here: she might not catch on; or, if she did, she might not agree to the ruse.

She could ruin him by giving the lie to his comments if she chose to do so.

"Yes, it would not be good to alert their military," Tanya agreed finally. "That could lead to lethal complications."

It seemed she had it, and was going along. Solarian traitors were mindwiped or executed, depending on the situation. "So probably we should meet there and coordinate. We can't risk using their public communications system; we have to talk privately. Because if they catch on to our true nature -- "

Tanya nodded. "Yes, I believe you are correct. We can't afford to have the Band military listening in on our plans. That wouldn't be safe at all."

"They'd interrogate us and disband us in prompt order," Ronald said. If she betrayed him now...

"They would indeed. How shall I locate you there? What color is your wife? My husband is blue. I'm orange."

"I'm green. My wife is yellow. So we can't conveniently match colors.

Could we meet at some known planetary landmark? Where some privacy exists? So that the military cannot intercept -- "

"Maze Mountain," she said.

"I don't know where -- "

"You can inquire. I'll meet you beside the orange spire."

Convenient enough, since orange was her color. "Agreed." But he wondered whether there really was such a place as Maze Mountain. Was she putting him off? Because if --

What choice did he have? He had taken the plunge, and hinted to her his true attitude. She seemed to agree, but if this were a ruse on her part, it hardly mattered whether she betrayed him in System Sirius or in System Band.

He would simply have to proceed on hope and faith. If he did not get arrested for treason here, and if there was a Maze Mountain there, she was probably with him.

Unless she turned him in privately, and still met him there, giving him further rope to hang himself...

Well, he had approached this problem at a tangent, obliquely. He hadn't found any better way. He had to try, to take the risks. The alternative was to participate in the destruction of the finest society he had known.