Part 10 (1/2)

Suddenly all three others tensed as though struck by a common vision. Veg knew now this was no joke; they could never have executed such a simultaneous reaction -- unless they really had a common stimulus. ”What the h.e.l.l is it?” he demanded.

”A machine!” Aquilon exclaimed, ”that whirling blade -- ”

”Where?” Veg cried, looking around nervously. But there was no machine. Aquilon was still staring into the vortex.

”That must be what Veg fought!” Tamme said. ”See the treads, the way it moves -- no wonder he had such a time with it! The thing's vicious!”

”Sure it was vicious,” Veg agreed. ”But this is only a picture -- or a ma.s.s hypnosis. I don't see it.”

”You know, that's a small machine,” Cal said. ”A miniature, only a foot high.”

”They're all babies!” Tamme said. ”But the others are no match for that machine. That's a third-generation killer.”

”Throw sand at it!” Veg said. For a moment he thought he saw the little machine buzzing through the depths of sparkle. But the whirling blade spun off into a pin-wheel, and he lost it. He just didn't have the eye for this show.

”They can't throw sand,” Aquilon said breathlessly. ”Ornet and the mantling don't have hands, and the baby can't even sit up yet.”

”They would hardly know about that technique of defense yet,” Cal added.

”Well, they can run, can't they?” Veg demanded. ”Let them take turns leading it away.”

”They're trying,” Tamme said. ”But it isn't -- ”

Then all three tensed again. ”No -- !” Cal cried.

Aquilon screamed. It was not a polite noise, such as one makes at a play. It was a full-throated scream of sheer horror.

Veg had had enough. He charged the stage, leaped to the platform, and plunged into the center of the glowing maelstrom, waving his arms and shouting. If nothing else, he could disrupt the hypnotic pictures that had captivated the minds of the others.

He felt a tingling, similar to his experience the last time. Then it faded. He was left gesticulating on the stage, alone. The sparkle-cloud was gone.

Chapter 6.

FRAMES.

Things progressed rapidly. The two blight spots were sentient; they responded to geometric sub-patterns readily and initiated their own. They had individual designations by which they could be identified, and these they made known by their responses. The shape-changing one was Dec, a ten-pointed symbol. The mobile-stable one was Ornet, indicative of a long line of evolving creatures or perhaps, more accurately, a series of s.h.i.+fting aspects of ident.i.ty. The third was not responsive in the same way, but Ornet identified it as Cub, or the young of another species. Each ent.i.ty was really quite distinct, once the group was understood.

The blights had a need, as did OX. He grasped the concept without identifying the specific. Ultimately, the mutual imperative to be SURVIVE. OX needed more volume; the spots needed something else.

When the spots were amenable, they made perfect geometric figures. When they were distressed, they made imperfect figures. OX did the same. Thus, they played a wide-ranging game of figures: I do this -- does it please/displease you? Is it nearer or farther from your mode of survival? You do that -- I am pleased/displeased as it reflects on some aspect of my survival.

Given enough time, they could have worked out an efficient means of communication. But there was no time; OX's elements were fading, and he had to have answers now. He had to know what the spots needed, and whether they had what he needed.

So he ran a frame-search. Instead of laboriously exchanging symbols, he surveyed the entire range of prospects available to him.

In a few, the spots were more active. They made excellent figures. In others, the elements were stronger, better for him. Guided by this knowledge, OX arranged his responses to direct developments toward the most favorable prospects.

But somehow these prospects faded as he approached them. The spots ceased cooperating.