Macroscope

“Right. And if you could not buy off the enemy strategist?”

“I would attempt to negotiate honorably.” It paused again, now translating from actuality. “I would — appeal to that officer’s loyalty to its species, and attempt to convince it that our causes were one. But — not too obviously, for its honor should not be impugned.”

“And if he agreed to consider the matter?”

“If my position were already too bad to recover, I would have to leave the decision up to it. Perhaps that commander would — change its mind — once left to its own devices.” It looked at him. “May I—”

“You may not inquire. Perhaps you can decide for yourself what my decision will be.”

The officer remained silent, accepting it. Groton hoped the mental effort would do it good and that it would be a better tactician in the future. It certainly had come a long way in the past hours.

And what was his decision to be? Here was his chance to change history, perhaps even to give his species — mankind — freedom of space travel. In one sense this adventure might be a dream, a vision; but in another he was certain it was real. Now he understood why Ivo had been unwilling to dismiss his Tyre episode out of hand. It was likely that the body that remained at the starting point was the mockup; the better portion of reality was here.

Should he act now, sabotage the destroyer station before it could blank out the thousand traveling species for every one it promoted? He could fire a volley from his flagship that would wreck the station mechanism. What right did the Queen have to repress a major section of the galaxy in such fashion?

He refused to act without information. That was the way of prejudice, and could only stir up catastrophe. If he wanted to know the motivation of the Queen, he would have to ask her.

She was waiting for him as the operation closed down. “Drone, that was a creditable byplay. I had expected to have to retreat to one of our alternate locales during the enemy’s commitment, perhaps even to leave you behind, but you surprised me by prevailing. What came over you?”

He tried to say “Sometimes the worm does turn,” but it came out, in this situation, as “Upon occasion the a

“You seem to have demonstrated your point. It would not be expedient to adopt a new Drone at this stage,” she said. “Here to me, my cherished.”

Realizing her intent, Groton tried to resist. He was human whatever his present body, and infidelity was not in his nature. How would he face Beatryx, if — ?

But the Drone-body was already advancing to its destiny. The Queen was mistress, the dual concept a single one in this society. She was wife and monarch, never to be denied in either capacity. The Drone motor response, in this instance, was involuntary. Groton could observe but not control.

From the hump before his middle leg a member of specific purpose telescoped out. His legs and arms reached to embrace her in the fashion peculiar to this association, and the act of intimacy precipitated itself.

It lasted a long time, this fertilizing of several score eggs, and afterward, exhausted, he slept. His body had been drained in a fashion far more literal than that of human intercourse.

When he woke, Groton was tired but in control again — and gifted with a unique appreciation of the meaning of rape.

“Drone!” the Queen’s voice came — and once more he was on his feet at her behest. His control extended only to the extent she permitted it; he could not disobey a direct order.

“Groom me,” she said as he arrived. Nothing had changed.

“What is the reason for the destroyer?” he inquired as he worked, relieved that he could communicate to this extent.

“The Horven knows,” she said. “Shall I send you to it in my stead?” Then, as was her wont, she made her decision immediately. “Yes. Groom yourself, feed yourself, and go. I have eggs to lay.”

Obediently he turned the brush on his own fur, less handsome than hers, and set about procuring a meal of the royal nectar.

Who or what was the Horven? The Drone had never been curious, and consequently knew very little on this subject. The Horven was a member of a civilized species of long standing — a species that did not deign to trade with others, or even to communicate with them. Yet one was resident within this moon.

He searched the Drone’s memory. Three times before, the Queen had descended into the depths of the Horven apartments, after setting up destroyer stations. On her return, the moon had begun the transmission cycle leading to the emplacement of the next unit. Did she have to make a report? Receive orders? This was an unacceptable concept to the Drone. The Queen bowed to no creature.

Why, then, these regular journeys? What passed between them, the Queen and the strange alien? He was about to find out.

The Queen put him aboard the hanging descent-car with something almost like affection. “Do not linger, male-thing.”

The capsule was translucent; distorted images entered to tantalize him. The polished metal walls of the upper landing gave way to bleak stone as the unit swung along at a rapid pace. Sometimes it seemed he was traveling through natural caverns; at other times the walls were so close as to resemble a tu

He gathered that the Horven liked its privacy.

What was he supposed to say to it? He had no idea.

At least he knew that one could make such a visit and return intact. Whatever business the one species had with the other, it was not physically dangerous. Still, the Drone-mind within him gibbered with fear.

Was it right to use this body so callously? He had control, and he had exercised it ruthlessly. How would he feel, if an alien intellect had taken over his own body and suppressed the higher centers of his brain?

“I believe this is a temporary phenomenon,” he said to the Drone. “When I have finished my business here, you will have your body back.”

And was surprised to pick up a fiercer burst of terror than any before.

The capsule halted before he had a chance to ascertain the reason for this reaction. Its side panel opened and the vehicle tilted to disgorge him.

He looked about. He was in a spacious hall, and standing on a circular platform. A manlike figure was before him, dressed in an enveloping robe. Its head was inhuman in a ma

“Welcome, Harold,” the creature addressed him. Its voice, like its face, was undefined; perhaps it had spoken telepathically.

“I’m not sure I—”

It gestured benignly with a blurred extremity. “Certainly we know you, Harold. We most appreciate your difficult excursion from hence. You are the only Earthman to participate in our venture, and we comprehend the peculiar courage required.”

Groton had not been aware of any exercise of courage, and in any event this development was contrary to anything he could have expected, let alone feared. “You know where I — when I come from?”

“Approximately one hundred million years hence, in the Third Siege. We have a number of volunteers from that period, since the cultures of that time have a superior perspective on history.”

“I thought I was a messenger from the Queen. I’m wearing the body of her consort.”

“So you are,” the Horven said, as though just noticing. “That means that the last unit is in place and activated, and we can begin on the next. I shall initiate the cycle.”