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that sublime identity. He now regarded Sphere Polaris culture as generally superior to that of Sphere
Sol... but that episode was over.
Return from transfer had been horrendous. He had suffered disorientation, pain, and convulsions.
Apparently his human body had contracted some malady during his absence. That could have
accounted for some of his orientation problems at Polaris; it was reasonable to assume that the
connection between aura and body never broke entirely. The prolonged vacancy had weakened the
physical vessel. But modern biotics and therapy would have the matter rectified in a few days, and
then he could begin his long recuperation.
So they had had to bounce him out again in transfer while they gave his body special medical
attention. He had insisted on a particular location although they had protested that there was no
suitable host-body there. He had let them know that there might be no Kirlian transferee for future
missions if they didn't find a host in a hurry.
Now, at last, he had returned home-in a fashion. For this was the system of Draco, the Dragon.
Etamin, his home. How changed it seemed, after an Earth-year. The vines seemed larger, the terrain
rougher. But of course the vines were larger than most Earth trees, and the landscape of Stone Age
Outworld was violent-and he occupied a smaller, weaker body.
In fact it was the body of a child barely nine or ten years old. One foot had been mauled and one arm
amputated at the elbow. Best available host on a primitive world!
He had only a short time, and he wanted to see Honeybloom, the Queen of Liquid. Back in Polaris
Sphere he had converted Tsopi from Page to Queen of Solid, but that had been, a temporary affair.
His real love was his human girl. So he moved along as fast as his rather handicapped body was able.
A warrior challenged him at the entrance to his village. "I don't know you, boy-what's your business
here?"
Flint recognized the man: Fatclub, because he preferred a broad, heavy log for his weapon. Not much
of a fighter, really-which was why he was assigned to routine guard duty. "I am a runner for the
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r r
Swampfighter Tribe," Flint said. That tribe was hundreds of miles distant, so none of its members
were personally known here. "I bear a message for Honeybloom."
"You must've been a long time on the way," Fatclub said. "That bitch isn't here any more."
Flint reached for his sharp handax but caught himself. He could do nothing in this body, and did not
want to betray his knowledge of the subject. But what an insult to the prettiest, sweetest girl in the
tribe! "I move slowly," he agreed, indicating his mutilated foot with his single hand. "Where is she
now?"
"Up on the hill with her bastard son." Fatclub made a contemptuous gesture indicating the direction.
With her bastard... Suddenly Flint realized what had happened. Honeybloom had borne his child-but
she was unmarried, since Flint had been abruptly removed from the scene by the Imp government.
Therefore she had been expelled from the tribe, and now was the object of ridicule. What a terrible
fate for such a girl to suffer! If only he had known-
But he had known-for he had identified her as the Queen, not the Page, of Liquid, in that Tarot system
he had learned in Sphere Polaris. The information had been there in his mind all the time. He knew
how babies were made! He merely had not let himself think it all the way through, despite the hint the
Tarot had provided.
He made his way up the mountain, amazed at the difficulty the route presented. The normal Flint-
body would have hurdled the ravine, swung up to run along the vines, and shoved thornblossoms out
of the way automatically. But this inadequate body had to negotiate the hazards tediously, always
alert for lurking predators who would not have dared go after a grown man. This body was also wary
of high places and insecure footing, and unable to swing from vine to vine. Wild Outworld seemed
much less idyllic from this vantage!
At last he spied Honeybloom's solitary lean-to. An old woman was there, chewing on a reptile hide to
make it workable for clothing. Tedious labor, hard on the teeth. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]