"And sapient lives aren't?" she inquired dangerously.
"We're not out to kill them, for God's sake! The Ringers have no use for that Site; they don't even know what it is. We'll just ignore them, once we know where the Site is."
"The way you ignore corn?"
Now she was back on the broken cornstalk. If there was anything downtrodden, figuratively or literally, she was on the case. She was a natural antagonist to human efficiency.
Maybe it would be better to let the marriage lapse. Ronald did not like this sort of complication, this incessant quest for objections to progress.
"Maybe we should let it go," he said.
"The Ancient Site?"
"The marriage."
She set her teacup down carefully, no tremor in her hand. That, in the peculiar manner of her type, meant trouble. Suddenly, now that the possibility of separating from her had been broached, it struck him how lovely she was. That made it twice as difficult. "That is what you wish?"
Actually it wasn't, but he plowed ahead. "We don't seem to be getting along. It's not too early to think about dissolution. Give us time to line up new partners. You know the route." He was making it sound a lot more casual than it was, testing her for reaction. Was this what she wanted?
"It is possible to disagree within marriage," she said. Either she was not strongly concerned or she had excellent control. He couldn't tell which, and that disturbed him. He had thought he knew her better. Maybe it was both unconcern and control.
"Of course it is. But what is the overall balance? Four years, and we never could agree to have a child." He had wanted one; she had not, and it did take two to do it, since both had to take the null-contraceptives in order to be fertile. "Are we tired of each other? If we renew, will it just be further difference, getting worse? Five years is a long time out of a pair of lives if the match is wrong."
"Is that what you wish?" she repeated.
"I really hadn't thought about it until this moment. I don't have any other partner lined up, if that's what you mean. I thought maybe you did."
"No." No histrionic frills.
"Well, it bears consideration. You don't like my work—"
"I did not say that."
"And I frankly don't understand your causes. So maybe we're not well matched."
She collected the cups and walked into the kitchen. Ronald watched her go. He had always liked the way she walked. There was general male humor about a woman's center of gravity; it was not funny to him. Helen's center of gravity did compelling things to him. Had that been the real basis of their marriage? Sex appeal unencumbered by thought? If so, four and a half years ago he had not used his brain much. But in what manner had she used her brain? She could readily have turned him down; why hadn't she?
"Promise me one thing," she called from the bedroom. She must have set the cup down and gone right on in, figuratively shutting him out. She was angry, of course; she just had a variety of ways to sublimate it.
"Depends," he called back. He felt as if he were in a morass, wishing he had never stumbled in, trying to slog out. What was on her mind?
"Do not harm any Ringers. Try to see their view when you transfer."
He shrugged. "For what it's worth, okay. I usually do see the alien side when I'm in Transfer."
She emerged from the bedroom. She had changed to a stunning negligee and brushed out her hair. Had he thought himself obsessed with her center of gravity? There was a lot more to interest him than that! She was a fine, fine figure of a woman, when she wanted to be; all the necessary attributes were there in reserve.
Ronald's conjectures of incompatibility, of thoughtful bases for marriage, dissipated. Who cared about such notions, in the presence of such a vision?
"You have something in mind," he told her, as though this was not obvious. It was a little game of theirs.
"Or thereabouts," she agreed, opening her arms.
It was blatant seduction. Maybe she just wanted to prove she could still work her magic on him. She could. If this was his reward for agreeing to consider the alien viewpoint more carefully, he was highly amenable.
Chapter 2
Rondl
Rondl became aware of himself with a certain timeless velocity. He was hungry, therefore he moved, and sustenance flowed in. He was ignorant, therefore he looked about. There was light, bathing the region, fragmenting across the reflective crystals of the nearest planetary ring and rebounding from the planetary surface below, radiating out in pretty beams, curving in rainbows—
In what?
Rainbow: color patterning of light refracted through moisture in atmosphere; a natural prism effect. Yes, it was a suitable image; why had it surprised him?
Something loomed, then shot past. It was a flattened flying torus, bright blue, sliding along a loop of magnetism, changing its orientation as it moved. Now Rondl perceived the lines of force in the ultravisual range, a phenomenal intersection, interacting network surrounding him. Other little rings, of all colors and shades, swooped along these lines, catching the bright sunlight from two suns and flashing it about. This was beautiful.
Two suns? Yes, of course there were two suns; how could it be otherwise?
Rondl moved forward—and drifted off the magnetic line, losing input. He gyrated wildly, suffocating, floundering, his perception careening without control.
"Orient!" something flashed. But Rondl could not; his flailing only spun him worse. All his reactions seemed wrong. Now he was falling toward the hard planetary surface, and he knew that was disaster. His substance was brittle; it would—
A torus loomed close. It was large, this close, and bright red, and it frightened him. Rondl tried to avoid it, but could not. The thing matched his tumble, then jumped in close and fastened onto him, ring against ring. Rondl struggled, but he was caught. The red thing was hauling him away.
Now a second torus floated close. This one was off-white, like a miniature planetary ring seen from a distance. "Relax, green Band; we have secured you," it flashed. "Do not offbalance the rescuer."
Oh. This was help, not predation. Rondl relaxed.
"Can you maintain equilibrium alone?" the white ring flashed.
They were now on a strong, wide magnetic line. Rondl absorbed its ready power and felt better. "Yes."
The red torus released him. Rondl held his orientation. They were down near the surface of the planet, hovering between two massive, reflective walls. The second torus was in fact bouncing his sunbeam off one of these surfaces, and Rondl was receiving the reflection. This was the way communication occurred. Rondl's own speech was bouncing off the opposite wall to reach his rescuers.
"I am Malr," the red one said in a formal flash.
"And I am Polg," the white one said.
Which was as gentle a way of inquiring a person's identity as could be imagined. "I am Rondl."
"What was the cause of your disorientation?" Polg inquired. "Are you malfunctioning?"
"I seem to be intact," Rondl responded. Why did his own visual mode of expression surprise him? It was the only way to talk. "I panicked, then I could not regain control."
"It happens. That is why we patrol the lines near the planet," Polg said. "If you are now stable, we must return to our duty."
"Yes. My appreciation. You saved me."
The two patrollers glided away along convenient lines, the white and red fitting harmoniously into the scene made by the sky and vertical rocks. Rondl was left to ponder his situation. What was he doing here? What, in fact, was he? Somehow all this ordinary space terrain seemed horrendously unfamiliar.
He oriented on the nearest wall and looked at his reflection. He was a handsome green torus, the same size as the two who had helped him. His form was flattened, as was theirs, so that edge-on he would appear must less substantial than he did flat-on. Fine green fibers radiated from his rim, giving him a slightly furry aspect, but actually he was covered with protective oil that sealed off his inner functioning from the rigo
rs of space; he needed no atmosphere. The oil also prevented the corrosion that could occur in certain gases. His hollow center was actually his most important attribute: it was a magnetic lens that modified the light passing through it, enabling him to communicate. He could at the same time assimilate the nuances of flux, intensity, and pattern that constituted meaning, so that he had instant comprehension of all light-messages that touched his lens. This was independent of the more physical magnetism he exerted around his rim, which enabled him to travel the lines by attracting and repelling the metallic dust of his environment.
Rondl explored his memory—and discovered he had none. He knew his name and the language and the manner of his physical functioning, but little else. He was amnesiac.
So he was a green, magnetic individual of the species of Band, here near the planet of Band. There were thousands like him. Was there any reason for this situation to surprise him? What had happened to his memory?
Another Band swooped down, rotating in the sunlight, not turning on an axis, but flipping over and over so that its black rim seemed to form a hollow sphere. It caught the light of both suns, causing rays to flash across the region and reflect from the nearer wall. "Are you in difficulty?" it inquired. "May I assist?"
"I seem to have mislaid my memory," Rondl admitted. "I have no notion of my employment or even where I reside."
"I am Sunt," the black Band flashed after a pause.
"I am Rondl. That's most of what I remember."
"Now that we are acquainted, may I express confusion?"
"You cannot be more confused than I am!"
"Your employment is of course as you choose, but your reference to 'reside' is a blank flash."
"Where I live, my home—" But as he spoke, even as the flash left his lens, Rondl realized that the concept was meaningless. Bands did not locate anywhere; they traveled perpetually along the lines. He was really mixed up! "I think I mean I don't recall my associations. My friends, my favored lines, the regions I most enjoy frequenting."
"All Bands are friends," the other assured him. "Perhaps you were pursued by a Kratch and passed too close to a magnetic origin and suffered a wipeout. In that case your memories will return in time."
"I hope so," Rondl replied. What was a Kratch? He decided he didn't want to know, yet. Not until his position was better defined.
Sunt drifted off after assuring himself that Rondl was well. Why did it seem odd that strangers should so eagerly help one in trouble? It wasn't odd at all; it was natural to Bands.
Rondl experimented, watching himself as well as he could in the reflections, mastering the feasible mechanisms of motion and flashing. They came naturally, once he paid attention; his body obviously was versed in this. Then he lifted himself out of the canyon and up into the main flow of traffic. He kept himself stable and accelerated along the line, enjoying the motion and velocity. There was something about flying that he liked—though he knew that all Bands flew all the time. Perhaps his amnesia lent novelty to an otherwise most familiar experience.
The line was a beautiful thing. Somehow it did not honor the laws of physics he associated with magnetism, yet he could not identify what he thought those laws should be. The line was just a Band-sized strand of concentrated magnetic energy that could be tapped merely by moving his substance through it, cutting across it. The lines were the source of power to all Bands, and a Band could go almost anywhere a line could go. Since there was, properly, no end to any line, that was far indeed. There were many other lines nearby, so that Bands did not have to collect too thickly on any one. When a given line got too crowded, he remembered now, it began to lose potency, for it could not replenish itself at an infinite rate. But any line traveled moderately would endure indefinitely. So Bands tended to give each other room.
The other Bands were sailing along, rotating end over end, figuratively; being round they had no ends. Rondl caught flashes of speech: "...a most reflecting personality..." "...tired, not recharging properly..." "...the great soul-spirit..." "...in difficulty, Green?"
Rondl realized that the last fragment was directed at him. He knew what it was: he was not rotating. He remedied that quickly. "No difficulty, thank you," he flashed to the cosmos in general.
"Excellent," the response came. Rondl realized that this rotating mode enabled Bands to hold dialogues without the intercession of a reflecting surface. A fragment of light-speech would be transmitted to one; then both would turn so that a fragment of response could be sent. The staccato mode obviously worked well enough for most Bands.
Now Rondl experimented with this, discovering the optimum rotation rate so that communication was orderly instead of ragged. If he was oriented the wrong way when a flash came, he missed it. Also, he had to address the light-source correctly; he could refract light through his magnetic lens at varying angles, but not more than about an eighth of a circle. Thus it was impossible to send a message to someone uptight from him unless he was near a reflector. He had to have another source of light. This explained why many lines ran down near the planet, with its ubiquitous reflecting walls: they provided diverse sources of light and direction, greatly facilitating social intercourse. It was not necessary to go right next to them; a number of walls were tilted from the vertical, reflecting rays upward and across so that the traveling Bands on this line had no trouble flashing any direction or in all directions. But farther out in space it would be a different matter; light was limited to two major sources.
Two sources? Of course; he kept forgetting. The twin suns Eclat and Dazzle provided the vital light energy. Why had he been surprised at their number? Double stars were common enough in the galaxy. There had always been two here; it equated with the basic number needed to hold convenient dialogue, and with the very structure of Band society: its system of rights and wrongs, perhaps even its separation into two sexes. Yet he had somehow reacted as though this were unusual. What had he expected—three suns, three sexes? Four? There was definitely something odd about his associations! What kind of a Band had he been before losing his memory? A far traveler? A criminal?
Oops. Bands did not travel beyond their region of space, since they could not leave the lines; that was another irrelevant thought. Some lines extended to other stars, but none to systems with three or four suns clumped. He could not have been to any such region. And criminals did not exist among Bands. There was not even a term for criminality; he had postulated a concept of general wrongness that he could not effectively describe to any other Band. So even in analyzing his oddities, he was encountering more oddities.
He almost collided with a purple Band traveling the opposite direction on this line. Rondl wrenched himself out of the line, and immediately began to feel suffocated in the absence of its life-sustaining power. But he managed to retain equilibrium this time; he did have some reserve power to draw himself back into place.
"Are you well?" the purple Band inquired solicitously.
Strangers certainly were kind! "Thank you; I am well," he returned. "Merely indulging in concentrated thought."
"I am glad to know it. Perhaps you should seek a secluded region for your cogitation." There was no irony; it was just friendly advice.
"Appreciation," Rondl said.
The other Band moved on, reassured, and Rondl paid closer attention to his maneuvering. He realized now that there were conventions for passing each other on lines; each Band turned edgewise to make room. He had failed to do so, interfering with the other. When he distracted himself too much, he wavered physically, attracting concerned attention.
Now he was sure there was, or had been, something extraordinary about him. There had been too consistent a flow of peculiarities. He needed to penetrate the veil of his own amnesia and discover what his secret was. That meant he needed a private place, where he could evince physical symptoms without alarming others—exactly as the purple Band had suggested. Where could he go?
To the tempest region, he realized. The planet was large and had m
any facets. There were wild mountains in some regions, unshaped to reflective purpose. Atmosphere tended to compress and rarefy, to heat and cool and change the burden of particles it suspended; therefore it was generally in motion. When mountains interrupted the normal flow, severe disturbances could result, and these were called tempests. One area was prone to magnetic storms that disrupted the lines on which Bands traveled, and therefore was shunned by all but the adventurous. If he veered about there, his erratic course would seem to be the result of a magnetic flux. There would be some danger—but Rondl weighed that against the dangers inherent in not knowing his own nature. And of course he did not have to go far into the tempest region; just far enough to have privacy.
Were there safer places to achieve his objective? Rondl wasn't sure; his memory of the planetary surface was spotty, like a discontinuous line. That was part of what he had to explore: the pattern of his own ignorance, if that was possible.
Rondl accelerated. He had purpose now. He followed the line across the surface of the Planet of Band, zooming over walls, hills, valleys, forests, rivers, and intermediate, indeterminate terrain. He knew where the tempest region was; it was the part of his background information that survived.
He no longer bothered to exchange flashes with others. He oriented his body directly on the line, taking in power, propelling himself forward magnetically, leaving a trail of ionized particles behind. He realized that it was possible to detect the recent presence of other Bands by sensing the trace magnetic flux of the particles they had left, before such particles mixed again with the background environment. Particles were everywhere, though much thinner in space than near a planet. His velocity was limited only by his ability to process the abundant energy of the line and the friction of the local atmosphere. The speed was exhilarating!
In due course he came to the tempest region. There was no tempest at the moment, but few Bands were in evidence. Rondl proceeded cautiously, not wishing to be foolhardy. If he could fade into a cul-de-sac and be unobserved for a period—