Piers Anthony
=============

Phthor
======

(The sequel to Chthon)
----------------------

PHTHOR (thor), form of English noun phthore, -ine, old name for element
fluorine; derived from Greek phtheiro, destruction. 1. Armageddon,
Götterdämmerung, Ragnarok. 2. A chthonic god.

Sector Cyclopaedia, §426

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Table of Contents

Prolog

I. Chthon §426

II. Death §460

III. War §426

IV. Tree âˆž

Interlog

IV. Tree âˆž

V. Thor §426

VI. Life §460

VII. Phthor §426

Epilog

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"Fluorine is the only element known which forms no compound with
oxygen."

Eliot and Storer, Inorganic Chemistry

Prolog:
-------

Destruction

The only answer

F

Fluorine

Compounded with oxygen

Phthorine

Our essence

Inimical to the chemistry of life

Paradox:

Life is a horror

It must be expunged

Yet life must be cultured

A tool

To destroy life

Aton:

Half-minion

History of his coming to Chthon

A six-sided hexagon

Past--Present--Future

Represented as halves of each face

No escape from that parallel circuit

Arlo: Quarter-minion

History of his manifestation as Phthor

Bifurcate, a figure Y

Past--Present--Future

Represented as segments of the limbs

Four escapes, and none

The only answer

Destruction

Chapter I: Chthon
-----------------

Arlo paused as the glowmole scurried toward him. The little creature's
feet terminated in sharp spikes that drove into the stone by drillhammer
action, so that it ran on the walls with a sharp clicking.

"What's with you, pokefoot?" Arlo inquired verbally. He did not need
words to communicate with these animals of the caverns, for he could
speak through Chthon. But Coquina insisted on frequent verbalization.
Otherwise, she claimed, he would forget the speech of his heritage.

His heritage? All he knew of that was what she had told him of the
tremendous universe beyond the caverns of Chthon--whole planets filled
with men, not animals. That was hard to believe, especially since he
wasn't allowed to see for himself. Or maybe his mother meant LOE, the
big Literature of Old Earth book she had used to teach him reading. All
the stories of times past, yet not one about the caverns...

The glowmole turned about and clicked back the way it had come, its fine
body hairs shining blue. It was one of the glow feeders, foraging on the
nutrient wall fungus and picking up some of its illumination. Almost the
whole of Chthon was lighted this way: never bright, but never so dim as
to make traveling hazardous. Except for those temporary shadows where
the larger feeders had recently foraged.

"What's it want, Chthon?" Arlo asked, turning his attention inward to
that place inside his skull where his friend normally manifested. But
this time he received no answer.

Well, Chthon's ways were individual, and the matter was not important.
Arlo followed the mole.

It clicked upward to intersect one of the narrow cavern rivers, then
sped along the upper reaches while Arlo splashed through the water. This
section of this river was safe; he had been here often and knew its
idiosyncrasies. The small potwhales could not get at him, and he could
hear the caterpillars from far off.

They went upstream until the walls narrowed and the stalactite-drips
that were the river's source became numerous. "This is a dead end," the
boy complained. "Are you teasing me?"

He was wrong. It was no longer a dead end, for something had broken a
hole in the wall to open a new passage. A man-size rockeater, he judged,
by the height of it. Harmless creature, and solitary--but powerful! The
wall here was only the thickness of Arlo's thumb; the stupid rockeater
must have bashed it in the usual fashion, thinking it solid, and fled
when the whole section blasted apart.

"So that's what you brought me here for!" Arlo exclaimed, pleased.
"Thanks, little friend. I would have found it myself soon anyway, but
this makes it quicker. A whole new section to explore!"

But the glowmole didn't stop. It clicked through the hole and went on.

"Something more?" Now Arlo was excited. He had a keen sense of
adventure--"You get that from your father!" Coquina liked to say,
tousling his red hair--and excellent hiking ability. "From your mother,"
Aton would say, winking his eye. This was confusing, because Coquina
never hiked. She stayed only in the oppressively warm caverns near the
boiling stream.

Actually, his parents seemed always sad, and not merely because the one
had lost his eye and the other her mobility. Perhaps it was because they
still remembered their first son, whose name he had never heard. That
boy had died as a child before Arlo was born; he knew of it only because
old Doc Bedside had told him. Thus the A of the Firstborn had come to
Arlo--a nomenclature he would not otherwise have had. He knew that he
was second-born and second-best in the eyes of his parents, though they
never suggested this to him. They did not need to.

Now Arlo was careful, for new passages could be deadly until their
points were known. This section seemed routine--but he was not fool
enough to rely on appearances. He sniffed the air, questing for telltale
scents. Sometimes the chimera lurked in dry territory like this....

His nose caught something else. A new smell, familiar yet strange.
Animal, certainly--but not any cavern species he knew.

Silently he proceeded, deviating from the direct path of the mole, alert
for ambush. The glowmole would not betray him into danger, but it could
easily be fooled. If something had sent it to him to lure him within
range....

Arlo bared his teeth in an expression he had seen Aton use on occasion.
He had a long, sharp stalactite strapped to his thigh, and two flakes of
metalstone cached in his cheeks. He could slice the eye out of an
attacking animal at a distance of ten times his own body length. Twenty
yards, in the Old Earth measurement. This talent was useless against the
stronger predators, but he could avoid or outmaneuver most of those. All
he needed was a little warning.

The odd odor became stronger. There was always a little wind in the
caverns, even most of the dead ends, and he was downwind from the
quarry. His bare feet touched the warm rock with no noise, and his
tongue stroked one of the cheek-stones. This was the sort of experience
for which he lived! Danger, adventure, suspense, action!

Then he heard something. It was a kind of ululation audible above the
distant tinkle of the moving water: the cry of a wounded animal,
perhaps. He zeroed in on the sound and poked his head cautiously around
the curve of the wall. It was there, huddled in the center of a
bowl-shaped cave, disappointingly small.

It was a naked human being.

It took him a moment to grasp this, for he had seldom seen others of his
species, apart from his parents and Doc Bedside. Others were pictured in
LOE, so he knew they existed--but all of those wore clothing.

Maybe it was a zombie. Zombies looked human, but they weren't
really--and not merely because they were naked. Arlo himself doffed his
confining garments the moment he was away from home. Zombies had no
minds. They moved only at Chthon's direction and avoided real people. He
had never seen a young zombie--but the caverns were full of surprises.

At any rate, he had little to fear. This one was small and evidently
incapacitated. The sounds he had heard were crying. No wonder they had
seemed so strange!

Even a zombie deserved some consideration. Sometimes Chthon forgot them,
leaving individuals to fend for themselves beyond their normal habitat,
and then they were helpless indeed. He could guide this one to its
companions.

"Hello," he said, stepping close--but not too close. One could never
tell about a zombie.

The head came up. Tears streaked the dirty face, and large eyes shone
from behind tangled yellow tresses. "Hello."

Arlo started. It had spoken! Zombies spoke only when under direct
Chthon-control. He had thought the god was absent. "Chthon?" he
inquired, glancing inward.

"What?" the child asked.

Arlo looked into the lifted eyes. They were pale--and Chthon was not
there, either. Which meant--"You're human!"

"I'm lost."

"You speak yourself! You have a mind!"

"Don't hurt me!"

"How did you get here?"

"The old prison--I wandered too far, couldn't find my way back--"

"The prison! That's a day's travel from here, for me. Much longer for
you." Arlo knew himself to be a swift traveler. He could outdistance his
father because he was stronger and knew the caverns better--and could
call on Chthon to hold the predators back.

"It's been several days--I think," the child said. "I can't tell time
here."

That was interesting. Arlo could tell time by certain rhythms in the
great caverns, the pulse of Chthon, that he automatically translated to
the hours and days that registered on his parents' watches. "I will
guide you there."

The human child stood up. "Thank you."

Now he saw that it was female. Or at least not male. The chest was
manlike, but no appendage hung from the crotch of the legs. "Are you a
girl?" he inquired curiously.

"Pretty much."

He shrugged and turned toward the river. "This way."

"Please--" she said. She had stopped crying, but there was still misery
in her voice. "I'm hungry and tired. Have you anything to eat?"

"There's plenty of glow," he said, gesturing to the walls.

She looked dubiously. "That green color? You eat that?"

"Sometimes. Or I kill an animal. Or a plant."

"Plants don't grow down here! There's no sunlight."

Neither statement made sense, so he didn't answer.

She considered. "An animal, then."

"There are some in the river." He led the way to it.

She followed unsteadily. He wondered how she could have made it this far
without food if she had not eaten the glow. And without becoming food
for a predator. Most animals stayed away from the prison tunnels because
they were too hot and dry, but she had to have passed through several
other habitats. Still, she showed no sign of understanding the caverns.

She must therefore know how to fight. If so, she was dangerous. Aton
could fight, and Arlo knew better than to engage his father in serious
combat--ever. In fact, even gentle, weak Coquina had somehow hurled him
into a wall a year ago when he had, as she put it, become too big for
his britches. Britches were leggings of LOE vintage, unused in
Chthon--but he had gotten her meaning. One day he meant to learn that
fighting art....

So this seemingly helpless girl-child bore watching--until he was sure
of her capabilities. Perhaps it would be possible to test them,
covertly.

He swooped a jellywog out of the cold river water. The thing struggled
and tried to get its stinger into his hand, but he broke its
pseudo-spine with a practiced motion and let it subside. There was a
kind of fascination in killing, but also a kind of guilt, so he never
did it randomly. "Here."

She recoiled. "That?"

"Animal. To eat."

"Raw?"

He looked at her in perplexity. "It's dead. I killed it. Did you want it
live?"

"You didn't cook it!"

Irritated, he set it down. "You mean, burn it?" Coquina did that to
meat, ruining it.

"Yes."

"Why should I?"

"To make it edible!"

"It is edible!"

She sat down and leaned against the wall, her legs extended toward the
water. They were different from his legs: less muscular, more rounded.
Nice, in their way. "Please--can we cook it?"

"When we get to a firespout," he said. His gaze followed her smooth legs
up to their joining point, where instead of a genital there was a
crease. For some reason, this intrigued him.

"All right," she agreed with a little sigh. "A firespout." Her tone
suggested that he was being irrational.

Irritation warred with curiosity. "Let me see that," he said.

"What?"

"That." He poked his forefinger into her crease. He knew almost
instinctively that he was acting improperly, but this only spurred him
on. He was ready to block and jump if she attacked him; she was in an
awkward position for combat, which was another factor he had considered.
How fast and effective was she? "How are you made?"

She did not protest. Her body was completely relaxed. "The same as any
other girl."

He probed until his finger touched the rock under her buttocks, but
found nothing. "How do you urinate?"

"Do you want me to do it on your hand?"

"Yes."

"I can't. Let's go find that firespout."

Frustrated on several scores, he got up and headed for the nearest jet
of flame. The feel of her strange, soft, inadequate anatomy had aroused
an intense emotion in him, but he could find no clear expression of it.

"You never asked my name," she said, following.

It hadn't occurred to him to be curious about that aspect of her. "You
never asked mine," he said gruffly.

"What's yours?"

"Arlo Five."

"Hvee!" she exclaimed.

He stopped, surprised. "What do you know about Hvee?"

"Those number-names. They're from Planet Hvee. Everyone knows that,
because it's the only place the hvee-plant grows. And your name's an A,
so you're of the firstborn line. You're lucky!"

He was pleased. "My mother is Coquina Four, third line of a higher
Family."

"I guess that's the nobility of Hvee. She must have been sad when you
got convicted."

"Convicted of what?"

"Of whatever it was that sent you to Chthon, silly! What was it?"

"I was never sent here! I was born here."

"You don't have to lie about it!"

"My whole family lives here. We're not prisoners--we're natives."

She shook her head. "I haven't been here long, but I know that nobody
ever gets born here. There's something contraceptive about the caverns.
Too hot, maybe."

"It's not hot here by the river!"

She considered. "That's right! The wind's down, and there're living
things here. Breeding must be possible after all." She looked up at him,
her light hair flung back. "I'd like to meet your mother."

"You can't. You're going back to the prison section where you got lost
from." But that made him think again. "What did a child like you do to
get sent there? You're unmarked."

"We never speak of our pasts," she said diffidently.

"You were just asking me about--"

"Still," she said.

Disgruntled, he made as if to strike her. He was quickly becoming
furious.

She neither flinched nor fought. Suddenly she smiled--such an impish,
carefree grin that he realized she had been teasing him. He smiled back,
appreciating the humor of it--and she turned abruptly sullen.

A human being, he realized, was more complicated than an animal. He
remained for a moment contemplating her, trying to fathom her motives.
But these seemed as elusive as the flesh he had sought between her legs.

She came from the prison; that was his only hint. So she was a criminal,
cast out from her own kind. But surely not merely because her moods were
mercurial!

The prison caverns were not completely familiar to Arlo for several
reasons. They were hot and windy, so that a person without a supply of
water soon dehydrated; they were far removed from his normal haunts;
they were partially closed off from the main caverns so that it was hard
to reach them; and Aton had forbidden him to visit them. Thus he had
seen little of the prisoners, and regarded them much as he did the
zombies: creatures of a different environment, not his kind. All of them
were adult, some old; the men were stringy and muscular, the women with
full or pendulous breasts and furry hair on their underbellies. They
were ugly compared to Coquina despite their nudity; but sometimes,
considering them, he had discovered his genital swelling up hard.

"Your penis is getting long," the girl said.

Embarrassed for no discernible reason, Arlo moved on downriver, forcing
her to scamper to keep up. "Why don't you speak of your pasts?" he fired
over his shoulder.

"I don't know. It's just a convention, I guess. I don't--"

"Don't step in that!" he cried suddenly.

She halted, one foot poised above the water. "I can't jump across all
the time the way you do! It's not deep here."

"This is a sucker section."

"What's a sucker?"

"I'll show you." He dipped the jellywog into the clear river and wiggled
it, keeping his fingers out of the water. In a moment there was a
shimmer of motion.

When he pulled the wog out, two thin, transparent tails hung from it.
Already a ribbon of red was forming within each one as blood from the
meat siphoned into the parasite's digestive tract. "Suckers hurt," Arlo
explained.

"Ugh!" she agreed, shrinking back.

Arlo bashed the jellywog against the wall, dislodging the suckers. They
dropped back into the water and disappeared with quick swirls.

"Why didn't you kill them?" the girl asked.

"They don't taste very good unless they've just gorged."

"I don't mean to eat! I mean to make them dead."

"Why?"

"They're dangerous!"

"Not to me."

"You just showed me how they--"

"Anyone stupid enough to put his foot in their waters--"

"You still haven't asked me my name."

"I forgot." He went on downstream. She followed, now able to jump over
nimbly enough.

The firespout jetted from a cleft in hot stone. Arlo held the jellywog
over it, letting the fatty flesh singe.

"How does that work?" the girl asked.

"Aton says it's a leak from the gas-cavern system. Most of the gas goes
to the big tunnels above the prison, but some squeezes a long way
through rifts and leaks out in places like this. Aton lit this one so it
wouldn't foul our air."

"You sure know a lot!" she said admiringly.

"I'm fourteen, almost. I know how to read."

"I'm eleven. I read, too."

"What did you do? Kill someone?"

"You never asked my name."

"If I ask your name, will you tell me what you did?"

"No. I'm not supposed to tell."

Arlo shrugged, though he was furious at being balked again. This child
did not seem like a criminal--but according to Aton, only the worst
offenders were sentenced to Chthon-prison. What could she have done, to
deserve this?

"I could tell you a lie," she offered. "I'm good at that. You wouldn't
know the difference, would you?"

"I would if you told me it was a lie!"

"But I could pretend it was the truth."

Arlo found her reasoning too devious. "Coquina says people should always
tell the truth."

"Do you believe that?"

He thought of the necessary lies he had told his mother. "No."

"Well?"

"All right. What's your name?"

"Vesta. That's a lie, too."

"Why?"

"Because my real name might give away what I did."

"Then why were you so eager to give me your name?"

"So you'll know me."

"I don't need a name for that!"

"Yes you do. A girl's name is excruciatingly important."

"Not to me."

"Call me Ex for short."

"I don't need to call you anything!"

"You're lovely when you're mad."

"Here's your food," he said, shoving the scorched and bubbling meat
under her nose.

"It should be Esta, or maybe Es, but I like Ex better."

"So why are you in prison?"

"I'm not. I'm out in the caverns, here. I'm an Ex-prisoner."

"That isn't what I meant!"

"Ugh!" she said, sniffing the jellywog. "Maybe we should have left it
raw."

"You told me you'd tell me if I asked your name!"

"I told you I'd tell you a lie," she said. "I did."

"The name-lie doesn't count!"

"The lie," she said carefully, "was that I would tell you why I was sent
to prison."

For a moment he was baffled. "I don't understand you!"

"Do you need to?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"I don't know," he admitted, dismayed.

"You could take back your burned fish."

"Why?"

"To get even for the lie. Punishment. Revenge."

"That would waste the food."

"Then you could hurt me some other way. Hit me, maybe."

He thought about it. The notion was peculiarly attractive, but she was
probably teasing him again. The blow would never land--or would be
accepted as the gambit for a deadly counter. That was the way Aton
fought, and even in play it was dangerous. Still, this could test what
she really knew about combat. If he struck hard and fast blocked the
countershot and jumped away simultaneously, it might be worth the risk.
"Yes."

"Hit me!" she said, putting her hands behind her back and lifting her
small chin. She was very pretty that way.

Arlo hit her.

Swift and hard, his fist caught her on the chin and knocked her back. He
was pleased--he had actually foiled the counter and gotten out of range
unharmed!

Ex fell like a broken stalagmite. The back of her head cracked into the
stone wall. She collapsed into a huddle similar to the one he had found
her in, but this time she was not crying.

Immediately Arlo was sorry. He had not realized how much larger he was
than she, or how little resistance she would have. It was obvious now
that Ex was not a trained fighter. She had aggravated him and invited
retaliation, not expecting more than a token strike. He had been angry
but had never meant to destroy her.

He squatted, looking at her head. There was blood on it, seeping through
her yellow hair, turning it red. He scooped some water from the
river--this was beyond the sucker section--and splashed it on, trying to
clean the wound. She was not dead, but he knew that a head injury could
kill her slowly or make her like a zombie. Loss of blood was not good
either, and its smell would attract predators.

Arlo realized that he was much better at killing than at healing.
"Chthon!" he cried in anguish, appealing to his friend the god for help.
But still Chthon was absent.

Quickly he considered his alternatives. He could put her in the river,
letting her body float down to the nearest potwhale. It happened to be a
medium-sized one, capable of consuming the carcass in a few hours. But
she wasn't dead yet, and despite all the annoyance she had caused him,
he still didn't want her dead. Never before had he had company, other
than adult; now he knew he needed it.

He could tell his parents. But Aton would be suspicious of human
intrusion into the caverns, and Coquina would be upset. They might make
Ex go away, back to the prison-tunnels--and Arlo wasn't ready for that
either. This little girl had made an impression on him--of what nature
he wasn't sure. But he could not let her go until he knew.

He could take her to his hvee garden, a secret place even his parents
did not know of. Ex had said hvee grew only on Planet Hvee, but this was
not true. In his garden it would be easy to take care of her and feed
her until she recovered--if she did recover. If not--there were plenty
of potwhales.

So his mind reasoned, but his emotion was already committed. He had hurt
her; he must make her well. He hardly knew her, yet she promised to fill
a void that was no less intense for its recent discovery.

He picked her up, amazed again at how little she weighed, and carried
her downstream. Her bare legs dangled across his left arm, and her
blood-damp hair across his right. He felt again the unaccustomed agony
of remorse.

Never again would he strike a person thoughtlessly.

In due course he passed a glow chipper--a gray, man-sized creature with
close-fitting scales, standing on its hind legs and bracing against its
tail to reach the edible heights of glow with its buck teeth. It was
strong but harmless; in fact, it was possible to ride on its back even
without Chthon's intercession. Few cavern creatures were that docile!

"Good!" Arlo exclaimed. "Chipper can carry the burden!"

But he soon realized that this would not do after all. Riding was one
thing; making the stupid creature carry was another. Only Chthon could
tune it to that degree. By themselves, the chippers followed their
natural bent. They knew that Arlo was not a threat to them, so they
ignored him. No help there.

The burden was not great, but travel was cumbersome with his arms
engaged. He might have slung her over his shoulder, but he was afraid
her dangling head would bleed worse. He was unable to take advantage of
the most direct route to the garden because he could not swim or climb
this way. Few of the linked caverns were conveniently level; their
reaches twisted like monstrous wormholes--lava tubes, Aton called
them--cut through by streams and fractures. The most dangerous animals
tended to frequent the lower reaches of any given cave--the very region
Arlo now had to walk. And he could neither throw his cheek-stones nor
wield his stalactite-spear while carrying Ex.

It was amazing what a difference one girl made.

He was in no trouble yet. The animals of the caverns were not as smart
as he and would not realize his limitations immediately. But this was
increasingly nervous business, for news of his strange behavior would
already be spreading through Chthon. Free, strong, and agile, he had few
mortal enemies; handicapped, he would have many. The chimera...

Arlo shuddered momentarily. He could not risk that!

There was only one dry, level-route shortcut to the garden: through the
labyrinth of the dragon.

Arlo did not fear the dragon, but that was because it was unable to
leave its own tunnels. Its huge body was so constructed that it could
operate effectively only in its own territory; in a larger cavern it
would become clumsy, easily escaped. But within its ten-foot diameter
tubes it was a juggernaut, ferocious and irresistible. It was
carnivorous, feeding on those creatures large and small who foolishly
wandered or dropped into its premises and were unable to find their way
out in time.

Now Arlo was about to enter that region. For the sake of a bothersome
girl who would probably die anyway. He knew he was acting
irrationally--being a fool, as Aton put it--and a part of him raged
against that. Still, he went.

These passages were not natural. They were round, scraped out of the
solid rock by the mighty claws of the dragon. True, the rock was soft
here; Arlo could chip it himself with his stalactite. But it would have
taken him months of tedious labor to make even a small tunnel--and these
were not small!

He entered through a reduced-diameter tube, left over from that time,
perhaps centuries ago, when the dragon had been young. It had widened
most of the passages, but there were a lot of them to cover and it had
neglected some at the fringe. Perhaps it had merely changed the design,
so that they were not needed anymore--or even left them deliberately for
the entry of prey. Obviously more were caught than escaped, or the
dragon would have starved.

Arlo had been all around the burrow, extensive as it was, and knew that
it was largely two-dimensional. The dragon's bulk was such that it could
be crushed by its own weight in any fall, so it didn't like to climb.
Old Doc Bedside had explained that; he knew a lot about the way animals
functioned.

Also, the dragon normally slept at this time, and it was not readily
roused. So the gamble was not intolerable.

The small tube debouched into a great one. Claw-scrape marks showed the
dragon's handiwork, constantly scraping the passage walls to accommodate
its increasing girth. The overall pattern of the complex was not
complicated; the tubes radiated out from the hub-chamber like the spokes
of one of the wheels depicted in LOE. A spiral tube intersected them,
making several complete rounds before it terminated in a dead end. All
the spokes carried beyond the spiral, dead-ending also. Most creatures
that wandered into this labyrinth got lost because their minds could not
fathom the nature of the pattern. When pursued by the dragon, they
instinctively fled outward and landed in a dead end--where they were
sure prey.

Arlo carried his burden swiftly toward the center. It was escape-noise
to which the monster was primarily attuned. Approach-noise it tolerated
because it wanted the prey to get as far inside the system as possible
and get lost. So long as Arlo walked firmly and without fear, the dragon
was unlikely to be alerted.

Still, Arlo wished this stage of his journey were over.

The spokes were short compared to the spiral, but it would have taken
Arlo ten minutes to traverse the pattern empty-handed. Now it would take
double that.

He came to the hub. The dragon was there, asleep within the mighty folds
of its skin. Even in repose, it was almost twice Arlo's height. Of
course it stood no higher when active; its legs were short and its torso
stretched out for a leaner running posture. The smell of it was
stifling, for its dung lined the chamber and flavored the entire burrow.
It was snoring: a whooshing like that of a distant wind-tunnel.

He skirted it, forcing himself to walk boldly so as to maintain the
"approach" pattern. The outer trek would be more ticklish. He could have
used the spiral tube, but that would have taken much longer and would
have been more likely to alert the slumberer. It was not the nearness or
loudness of the sounds that counted so much as their nature and
direction.

Ex stirred in his arms. That was good because it suggested she was
recovering, but also bad because he could not caution her to silence.
The sound of his voice would bring the dragon to troubled life!

The girl sneezed.

The dragon started. Its massive tail twitched.

Arlo continued walking. Any change in his motion-pattern would be
fatal--if his situation were not already hopeless. A sneeze was not a
fear-noise; it just might pass....

The great beast rolled over, its metal-hard rock-hewing claws coming
into view. Each foot was the size of Arlo's chest, and each nail was
backed by the peculiar musculature and bone-leverage that gave it
phenomenal driving force. The dragon, Arlo realized, could be a distant
cousin of the glowmole because of that special foot structure.

Now he entered the far tube he had selected, and the dragon did not stir
again. They had gotten past. Arlo shuddered with relief.

"Where are you taking me?" Ex inquired loudly.

There was a snort. Arlo did not need to look back to know the dragon was
alert now! They were in for it.

"Fool!" he cried angrily, dumping the girl down on her feet. "Run--if
you can. Straight down this tunnel. There's a hole near the end--I'll go
another way."

Already the dragon was moving, ponderously because it was still sleepy,
shaking the rock with the pounding of its feet. Arlo screamed as if in
terror--no difficult task!--and charged down the spiral tube.

The dragon reached the intersection and hesitated, confused by the
presence of two items of prey. Which one to follow? But in a moment it
decided: the frightened one. Sinuously it turned the corner, coming
after Arlo. Ex stayed frozen as the lengthening torso slid by her. Arlo
could tell without seeing her directly; there was no sound except that
of the dragon.

He had intended to lure the monster, but now he was in trouble. He might
avoid it for a while by dodging at right angles into other cross-tubes,
for its mass and velocity would make it less agile than he. But that
could not last forever--and it would not save Ex, wounded and lost as
she was. The moment the dragon gave up on him, she would become its
prey--and standing still would not fool it this time! Why wasn't she
running while she had the chance?

The rock shook as the dragon's awful claws landed, propelling its torso
forward. Its breath blasted out like burning gas, smelling of carrion.
Now Arlo understood some of the reason so many trapped animals acted
foolishly or collapsed early. The shuddering stone made the footing seem
uncertain, leading to misjudgment and diminished mobility. The very wind
from the monster's lungs tended to blow the prey over. And the heat and
odor of that breath might paralyze the prey.

A cross-tube loomed, and Arlo dodged into it. The dragon skidded around
the corner, losing velocity. Good--he needed that leeway! Perhaps he
could confuse it while it was still sleepy, and double back to find Ex
and direct her to the escape. A slim chance, but--

A wiggle in the tube, then a blank wall loomed before him. He stared,
dumbfounded. He had blundered into a dead end! He should have veered the
opposite way, toward the center, where there were many options. Instead
he had been headed outward, like any dumb animal--and fallen into the
dragon's trap.

The sides of the tunnel were smooth here, with no claw marks. Evidently
the dragon had plastered the wall with its thick spittle, making it
resistive to the ubiquitous green glow that grew on the stone everywhere
else. Why?

It was hopeless now, but he had to fight. The bulk of the monster
blocked the entire passage; no way to slide past! Its two tiny eyes
focused on him as it bore down, jaws gaping.

Arlo spat one stone into his hand, took aim, and skated it at the
dragon's right eye. But the creature blinked, letting the sharp flake
slice its leathery eyelid instead. Arlo threw the second stone at the
other eye--and again the dragon blinked. This ploy had not worked--and
even had the monster been blinded, it could have dispatched the prey
readily.

The stalactite-spear was Arlo's last weapon, apart from his cunning. He
drew it forth, waiting for the huge jaws to snap at him so that he could
leap aside, bestride the snout, and plunge it into an eye. The eyelid
would not stop this!

For good measure, he made several feints with his arm, forcing the
dragon to blink unnecessarily. It did not know he was out of stones.

The head lunged, eyes closed. Arlo bounded high, landing across the hot
black nostrils. He scrambled up toward the eyes--but his feet skidded in
the slime of the nose and he landed instead directly before the closing
jaws. He could not reach the eyes!

He thrust the spear into the soft, runny membrane of the nostril. The
dragon bellowed and hunched away. For a moment its thickening body met
the slick walls of the tube, creating a vacuum as it scraped back. Had
he found a way to balk it?

Then the jaws opened wide, showing what were surprisingly small teeth.
Air hissed out, and saliva, forming an opaque cloud.

"Venom!" Arlo exclaimed as its stinging mist encompassed him. Now he was
done! "Chthon! Chthon!" he cried.

Here, friend, the voice in his brain said. Chthon had returned!

The dragon's body thinned. Fresh air sucked in around the edges. Arlo
gulped it avidly, clearing the pain from his lungs, letting the tears
wash it out of his eyes. He was safe now; no creature in the caverns
could prevail against the god's control.

Arlo let go a burst of gratitude and query: Chthon had saved him--but
where had Chthon been until now? "Come see what I found!" he said aloud,
remembering Ex.

Then Chthon left him. Dismayed, Arlo stood looking about, as though his
mere eyes could locate that presence. Was this a rebuke? What had he
done?

Yet Chthon's absence was not complete, for the dragon remained
quiescent. What did this refusal to communicate mean?

Arlo shrugged. He ran back to recover his fallen weapons, then loped
down the tunnel toward the spot where he had last seen Ex. First he must
get her and himself out of the warren; then he could ponder Chthon's
meaning at leisure.

She was there, sitting crosslegged in the passage. Apparently she never
had recovered the wit to run! Her head lolled forward, and sweat
glistened on her body.

No--not sweat. Slime. Foul-smelling, glistening white, forming all over
her skin. Had her head wound done this--or the dragon's poison?

No, there had not been time for the monster to exhale its venom on her.
This was myxo, the mucus of Chthon. Once before he had seen it, on his
father Aton, when the man had attempted to go where Chthon had
forbidden. And Doc Bedside had discussed it. It was the god's way of
punishing a creature with brain and willpower to resist the mandates of
the caverns.

"No!" Arlo cried, putting his hands on the girl. She was burning hot:
another sign. "She is not an enemy! I hurt her, I brought her here--I
must save her!"

Chthon paid no attention. More thickly now the awful white sludge
formed, encrusting Ex so that she looked like forming stone.

Never before had Arlo sought to oppose his will to that of Chthon. Now
it had to be done.

He drew his stalactite and placed the point to his own breast. He
clasped both hands about the base and tensed his muscles. "Stop--or I
die!" he cried.

Suddenly the will of Chthon was on him, forcing his muscles to go limp.
Arlo fought, pressing the point in to cut his skin--but the force
against him was incomparably greater than that of the dragon.

Before him the girl stirred. Flakes of white fell off her as she tried
to stand. Arlo could not assist her. All his being was locked in the
struggle with the god--a struggle he knew now he could not win. Chthon
was too powerful; Chthon ruled all the caverns! To fight against Chthon
was to become--a zombie.

Yet Arlo fought. White began to form on his own skin, the first
glistening of the myxo slime. Heat raged within him--not the heat of
passion, but of decimation. Slowly, inevitably, he was being crushed,
but he would not quit.

Abruptly it stopped. He held his sword a moment longer, to be sure the
siege had not merely been shifted back to the girl, then relaxed. Chthon
had gone again.

The dragon hissed, the noise reverberating through the passages. Chthon
had let it go, too!

Arlo took Ex out of the labyrinth in a hurry, before the dragon could
reorient. Then on to another stream, a safe one, where he washed the
repulsive myxo off her body and the blood from her hair. Then he brought
her to his private garden.

The garden was in a tremendous cavern, so tall that the ceiling could
not be seen from the sculptured floor. It was bright and warm, for not
only did the walls and floor give off an especially fine glow, so did
the delicate green and blue plants nestled in alcoves. But more than
this, it was illuminated by steady, yellowish flame across the upper
reaches: burning jets of gas, monstrous firespouts that cast light and
heat all the way to the bottom, except when clouds formed. The garden
was also noisy--not with the rush of wind, but with the merging roar of
falling water and jetting fire.

Arlo carried Ex to his favorite bower and laid her down beside the
spuming base of the great waterfall. He fetched moss to pillow her head,
but as he placed it, she sat up so alertly that he knew she had been
awake for some time. "Hi," she said.

He stared at her blankly. "What?"

She had spoken in a language of Old Earth, rather than Galactic. He was
familiar with it, thanks to LOE, but had hardly expected this dead
tongue to emerge from a living mouth.

"Oh, it hurts!" Ex cried, clutching her head and falling back.

Distracted, Arlo forgot the question he had been about to ask. He packed
the moss under her head while she grimaced with evident pain. If only he
had not hit her! He felt helpless, not knowing what he could do that
would really help. She writhed for some time, groaning, while his
apprehension and guilt mounted. Her head was bleeding again, staining
the moss black.

Just about the time he became convinced she would die, she relaxed. Her
eyes closed and she appeared to sleep. He watched her for some time, but
she did not move, and gradually his alarm subsided.

It was replaced by another siege of irritation. Why hadn't Ex told him
she knew how to speak Old Earth? And if she had recovered while he was
carrying her from the dragon's maze, why hadn't she let him know? She
had been able to move well enough for a while in the tunnel, before the
myxo siege, then relapsed. Or so it had seemed.

It also occurred to him now that her latest seizure had arrived very
conveniently for a girl who did not like to answer questions. Yet she
had been injured, so he could not be sure she was pretending. What was
he to believe?

Torn by doubt, Arlo left her and walked through his garden. The
vegetation was tall and luxuriant, with that faint, pleasant odor
associated with hvee, the love plant. Old Doc Bedside had brought him a
sprig of immature hvee several years ago, a personal gift. Arlo had
never liked or trusted Bedside, but the mad man had a disquieting knack
for doing genuine favors at opportune moments. The hvee had been a major
example.

Perhaps Bedside had merely intended that Arlo wear it in his hair, as
the men of Planet Hvee did. But the same immaturity that allowed the
hvee plant to pass from man to man without becoming attached, enabled it
to grow again in the ground. Hvee only grew on its home world, in all
the galaxy--but Arlo tried it anyway.

He succeeded. The plant rooted and thrived. It was evident that the
conditions it required for propagation existed here in the bright
cavern, as well as on its native planet. In fact, his lone sprig had
fissioned into twins, then four, and Arlo had rooted new plants and
grown them to seeding maturity. Now they were radiating, becoming
separate varieties, some larger, some greener, some hardier than others.
He was trying to crossbreed them with the cavern glow-moss, to achieve a
glowing of hvee unique in the universe, and was having some success.
Arlo was not experienced enough to realize how remarkable this
achievement was, or how it reflected on Chthon's ability to control the
processes of the life within the caverns.

He stopped beside his most promising alcove, where a new variation grew.
This plant was blue, and--yes--it did glow slightly! The first blue-glow
crossbreed! He held out his hand to it, and the plant shied away from
him. It did not actually move; this was an emotional thing. The leaves
nearest him drooped subtly, signifying negation.

Shocked, he retreated. Never before had any of his plants rejected him!
What did this mean?

He approached another hvee, a more conventional green one. It, too,
avoided him. Thus it was no peculiarity of the hybrid, but something
between him and the hvee. And because of what the hvee was, that was
awful.

Chthon! he cried mentally. But even the god rejected him. There was no
contact.

This shook him fundamentally. Suddenly it was too much. Arlo ran from
the garden, into one of the round exit tunnels, following it up to its
intersection with another, and on in an intricate ascent. He did not
know exactly what he was running from.

Then he realized that he was headed toward the cave of the Norns.
Yes--they could explain this. His subconscious had guided him truly. He
continued on through the intricate network, avoiding pitfalls and
dangers that would have wiped out any person or creature not completely
familiar with these bypaths. He maneuvered through canyons and
corkscrews, crossing the paths of caterpillars and the labyrinth of a
small dragon, and came at last to the cave.

It was a ledge behind the tall waterfall, about halfway up the cavern
wall. Here the river was comparatively narrow, for it was falling
rapidly. It formed a flattish translucent sheet that screened the ledge,
wafting cool spray-mist across it. On the other side, he knew, that
spray dissipated in the air, helping form the clouds that occasionally
added their rain to the plants below. Sometimes he wished he could fly
among those clouds, penetrating their mysteries as readily as he
penetrated those of the smaller tunnels. But such wishes were mild. He
would have felt at peace here, were it not the lair of the Norns.

They came out of their dark hole, three human figures. They were
zombies: two complete, the third half.

The half-woman stepped toward him. "Yes we can tell you, Arlo, son of
Aton," she said. "If we would." She was actually rather sensual, with
large, well-formed breasts, a small waist, unwrinkled skin, and flowing
black hair. Arlo had no notion how old she was; it was impossible to
tell with zombies. Probably fifty or sixty years, for her eyes were
slits through which an ancient hunger shone.

Arlo drew up to the edge of their ledge and waited, not speaking. It did
not surprise him or alarm him that Verthandi should know his mission
without being told; that was the nature of the Norns. Their visions
derived from Chthon, who of course knew everything. Yet they were not
entirely of Chthon, for some human elements remained, especially in
Verthandi. Their perspective differed.

The half-woman reached out her hand to intersect the waterfall. Spray
shot out to douse Arlo. She had uncanny aim! "My sisters will answer
you," she said, "But they must touch you."

Because they were blind. Something in the zombie process had destroyed
their sight and much of their hearing, so that they were largely
dependent on tactile input. Probably the myxo--a thick enough coating of
that gummy stuff... ugh! Arlo knew that, and had sympathy for their
plight--but he did not like being touched by those wrinkled, grasping
hands.

"Then talk to your hvee," Verthandi said, turning her back.

She really did know! And so she must know the answer. He would have to
submit. He knew they would not hurt him, in fact he could probably pitch
all three over the cliff if he had to. Except that that would anger
Chthon. By the same token, they would be careful of him, for they were
more dependent on Chthon than he was.

He stood, and the three came to him. Urdur reached out a thin hand and
laid it on his chest. From her mouth poured a dribble of gibberish as
her fingers slid across the muscles of his chest.

"Child of malice," Verthandi translated. "Incestuous issue, but very
strong."

"I'm the child of Coquina," Arlo said, irritatedly. "She was never
malefic."

Urdur poked her jagged fingernail at his masculine nipples and emitted
shrill laughter. Arlo realized he had been duped by some sort of pun or
joke whose meaning only the Norns comprehended.

Skuld now put her cold hands on his right leg. She burst into her own
gibberish. Again Verthandi translated: "How soon this flesh carries us
all to Ragnarok!"

This time Arlo kept his mouth shut. The prophecy made no sense, but he
didn't want to provoke more insane mirth.

Now Verthandi herself touched him. Her hands were smooth and strong, and
they took hold of his genital, kneading, stretching, forcing a reaction
that was not unpleasant. "This hardening rod transfixes your sister,"
she said.

"I have no sister!" Arlo cried, jerking away. "Why don't you answer my
questions? Why does Chthon hide from me? Why does my own hvee turn
against me? Who is this child Ex?"

Verthandi looked calmly at him. She was breathing with greater volume
now, and had the shape of a remarkably fair woman. But her words
remained zombie. "We have answered; past, future, and present. Your
angry incest destroys life and death."

Arlo backed away. "This is crazy! What is your price for a fair answer?"
For he knew they could tell him, if they only would.

Verthandi squinted at him a long moment. "You are sixteen, very nearly,"
she said.

Arlo started to correct her, then realized that he could not be really
sure of his age. It had been a couple of years since he had asked
Coquina about it, and perhaps he was older now.

"That may be considered an age of consent," the Norn continued.

Now he understood her well enough to become uneasy. She had massaged his
body, arousing a certain urgency in him, a certain mystery. Surely she
knew more about this matter than he did, and wanted more of his body
than a mere touch. And because there was a strong, confusing element of
desire in him, his repulsion was greater. "Not that!" He did not know
what or why not; perhaps it was a fear of being initiated into mysteries
that could make him part zombie himself. "What other price?"

She gestured. "Stand in the water."

He looked at the falls. It would be suicide to attempt to stand in that
downrushing wall! But she extended her gesture to the side, and he saw
that further along there was a smaller shoot that splashed off the
ledge, forming an arcing spray over the chasm. There was a footing
there--barely.

"I would be swept off," he demurred.

She held her open hand toward him, offering to steady him. Arlo did not
feel at ease, but decided this was the best compromise he could make. He
walked toward the lesser falls.

From up close, the situation seemed more precarious. He felt an
apprehension verging on terror. Therefore he proceeded, knowing the Norm
were testing him. They expected him to fail, to back off--and then to
have no pretext not to obtain his answers their way. Or give up the
quest. As he would not.

He inserted the toes of one foot into the water. It was icy cold, and
the force was such as to bounce his foot out again, throwing him
off-balance. His arms flailed wildly, and Verthandi caught his hand,
steadying him.

Perhaps she had as much of him as she required, merely grasping his
hand, controlling his life physically. She could easily tip him into the
gulf. So be it; he would not yield. He put his foot back in the water,
setting it firmly on the slippery rock, then wedged his leg in slowly.

The numbing force of it traveled up his leg to his waist, then on up to
his chest. At first it was as though he would be swept entirely away by
that current; but as he came in wholly, the force steadied, and the
water flowed all about him, containing him. The center of the falls was
hollow; there was no strong beat upon his head. He withdrew his hand
from that of the Norn and stood there, encapsulated in the descending
chill.

Perhaps this was what it felt like to be a zombie, contained in Chthon's
beneficence.

Soon his confusion and annoyance with Ex faded. She was a young girl, a
child banged on the head; naturally she reacted irrationally. He would
take care of her, and she would recover. He liked that notion: taking
care of her. He had never had a human companion before, especially not a
female. A real female; the zombies didn't count, for they were only
shells, their minds buried somewhere in Chthon. Being encapsulated might
be nice--but only if it were possible to break out at will.

Now he was able to approach the hvee problem. Why had his plants shied
from him? Did they resent the presence of another person in the garden?
Yet old Doc Bedside came often to the garden. Arlo resented this but
could do nothing; the man was another creature of Chthon--like the
Norns, but different. The hvee did not like Bedside--but this had never
affected the plants' reaction to Arlo. Why should it be otherwise with
Ex?

The reason had to be in Arlo himself, as the Norns seemed to have
suggested. He must have changed in some way, making him foreign to the
hvee. For the plants were mindless; they could not reason and therefore
could not lie. They reacted only to what was in the person they were
near.

This was difficult thinking! Arlo had seldom explored his own motives
deeply, but now he had to try. He had to make it right with the hvee
because the emotional plants mirrored his self-esteem. In this sense he
was incestuous, perhaps destroying himself: his emotions breeding within
their own family, not truly interacting with the emotions of other
people. The Norns' message was coming clear!

How had he changed? No way--except that he had taken care of the girl.
Would the hvee have liked him better if he had let her die? If he had
let Chthon make her another zombie? No--he had done what seemed right,
because he needed a companion.

A companion other than the hvee? No, the hvee was not jealous. In fact,
it was the nature of the plant to cement the love of a man and woman.
Once a given hvee fixed on a man, it would die in his absence--unless in
the presence of the woman who truly loved him.

Man? Woman? Love? What had any of this to do with him?

But he had to explore it honestly. The girl Ex fascinated him at the
same time as she annoyed him. That was confusing. Perhaps that confusion
extended to the hvee.

Well, all he had to do was get to know the girl better. Then there would
be no confusion.

Suddenly a feeling of dread infused him. Arlo grabbed for his spear and
almost overbalanced himself. For an instant his face poked through the
tube of water, and he gazed into the abyss.

But there was no immediate threat. He was safe here, as long as he kept
his balance. As safe as it was possible to be in the caverns.

No--the menace was not to him, but to someone else. His father Aton? No,
not directly. His mother Coquina? No.

He stiffened. Ex! She was alone and unguarded in the garden below, and
something huge and awful was moving toward her. He felt it in that part
of him attuned to the life of the caverns. That talent Chthon had taught
him.

Arlo stepped out of the shower. The water wrenched at him again, and his
feet slipped out from under. He sat down hard on the rock, his legs
going out over the edge, his gaze fashioning a precipitous plunge
through the glowing vapors of the middle space of the garden... and
again Verthandi's hand caught his and held him steady.

"You have saved me. You have also answered my questions," Arlo told her.
"I will remember that. But now I must hurry."

She only nodded. She surely knew whether he would ever return to her,
and was willing to wait. Zombies had extraordinary patience.

He left the cave of the Norns, impelled by his new urgency. He made his
way down through the labyrinth of passages, again reminded how
formidable they would have been for anyone who did not know their
idiosyncrasies and dangers. His father could not pass here--at least not
with any speed or security. But Arlo had had years to explore them, with
Chthon's protection and help.

This particular region had only one safe exit: a corkscrew tunnel barely
large enough to let a man pass. All other routes led past potwhales,
caterpillars, and other predators. Arlo could traverse them when Chthon
was with them, but not alone.

As he approached the corkscrew--the term derived from an artifact
mentioned in LOE, a metal-wire spiral used to remove the ancient
stoppers from bottles--he stopped. A salamander was there.

The best way to deal with a salamander was to avoid it. Normally they
did not stray from the hottest wind-tunnels. Which suggested that this
one's presence in this key location was not coincidence. Chthon could
have summoned it to bar the way.

Why?

Arlo froze, a prickle of dread traveling up his spine. Ex was alone;
only his determination had spared her from Chthon's siege, before. She
was imminently threatened by something vicious. A wolf thing. Now--

He had to get past the salamander! But the creature was aware of him,
alert--and the very touch of its tiny tooth meant death.

"Chthon!" he called automatically, knowing that was useless. One lesson
this experience with Ex had already taught him: he could no longer rely
on his friend the god. Not completely. And what was untrustworthy part
of the time was uncertain all of the time. He had depended on Chthon to
protect him from cavern predators, until he had come to think of the
caverns as safe. That had been a dangerous complacency!

Now he had to handle the salamander himself--and quickly, for the menace
to Ex was growing. Chthon, balked from direct attack, was now using an
indirect approach, sending a monster to kill Ex while the salamander
blocked off Arlo. Had he remained longer with the Norns, the deed would
have been accomplished before he could return. The Norns, governed by
another aspect of Chthon, had not informed him. They had sought to
distract him longer.

Arlo scowled. One day, when he had nothing better to do, he just might
see about making them regret that.

Suddenly a new, ugly connection formed in his mind. The hvee, too, had
worked Chthon's will. It had sent him to the Norns, rendering Ex
vulnerable. The hvee was able to grow in the caverns only because of
Chthon's ambience. Chthon could make anything happen. Chthon had wanted
Arlo to be happy, so the cavern god had provided him, through Doc
Bedside, with the ultimate in contentment: successful hvee. But by that
token, the hvee was but another zombie, or at least a partial zombie,
like Verthandi and Bedside. It seemed independent, but at the root it
was not.

Arlo realized that he had complicated his life phenomenally when he had
set his will against that of his god.

But the salamander: let the theoretical implications go, in the face of
the specific. He did not dare put his hands on it. The thing was less
than the span of his spread hand from thumb to little finger, but its
virulent poison could kill within minutes. He could not risk hurdling
it, for the thing could jump as high as he could. He could bat it aside
with a stick--but he had no stick or stone, and no time to fetch one.

He did have his stalactite spear, still tied to his body. If he could
stab the thing...

No time to debate. The salamander started for him, for these creatures
always attacked, never relented. He had to fight or run. He could outrun
it, and ordinarily would have--but there were no tunnel loops here that
would enable him to circle beyond it and escape in the direction he
required. Not in time.

He leaped toward it, stabbing with his point. The creature cooperated by
opening its jaws to bite the weapon--and the point of the spear rammed
right down its throat. Lucky thrust!

Arlo threw the spear to the side. The salamander was not yet dead, but
it could not dislodge itself from its impalement, or move while anchored
by the heavy stone spear. The way was clear.

Then he hesitated. He might have need of his spear again. In fact, he
surely would, to balk that menace closing in on Ex. Gingerly he picked
it up by the end, lifting the salamander into the air. Its beady eyes
stared at him with consummate malevolence, and this gave Arlo an odd
thrill. He liked the hate of this little monster!

He moved on, carrying the spear horizontally and to the side, so that
the poison would neither roll down the spear to his hand nor be carried
to him in droplets on the wind. He could scrape the salamander off
against a suitable rock, then rinse the spear carefully in running
water. When he had time. Right now he had to carry it awkwardly.

The corkscrew was a special problem. If he slid the spear down ahead of
him, poison might drip to the stone to be picked up by his body. If he
held it above him, drops could fall on him. But he found he was able to
carry it behind in such a way that it was never actually above him.
Drops did fall on the stone, and he knew it would be long before he
dared travel this way again. Well, the Norns could wait!

He ran on through the wider, lower tunnels. Soon he would re-enter the
gardens--and he had gained on the menace. The animal was very large, he
knew, now that he was closer to it. It could not take the most direct
route, but had to find passage for its girth. So it was slow.

"Arlo." A man stood in his way. He was shorter and slighter than Arlo,
and he was old: in his middle sixties, Arlo knew. This was Doc Bedside.

Arlo knew the man was up to no good. In fact, he represented another
barrier interposed by Chthon--a more formidable one than either Norn or
salamander. For Bedside was not only mad, he was intelligent.

Still, perhaps he could bluff his way past. "I have speared a stray
salamander. I must dispose of it. Be careful of the poison." And he
poked it suggestively at Bedside.

"Ah, yes, the episode of the salamander," Bedside said, not yielding the
right-of-way though his eyes seemed to glow within the sallow crinkles
of his face. "Had your father but known..."

"I killed it, not my father," Arlo said. How could he move the man? The
wolf was getting closer to the sleeping girl; now he felt both her
slumbering innocence and its malice.

Malice--what had the Norns said?

No time for that! He had to get by, but he could not simply shove the
old man aside. Bedside had peculiar power of his own, as the most
cunning of all Chthon's minions. In many cases he actually spoke for
Chthon. A direct attack on him would be like a sally against Chthon:
despite everything, unthinkable.

"Aton was physically balked by the salamander," Bedside said. "But he
was emotionally balked by the minionette. His death reflected his life,
could he but have read the parallels in time."

"Minionette? Death? My father lives," Arlo said, perplexed.

"All men sent to the prison Chthon are officially dead," Bedside said.
"The caverns have taken the place of capital punishment. There is no
release; it is like the mythical underworld. I died in §394 by that
definition; Aton died in §400. I was sentenced to prison Chthon because
I am mad; he because he loved a minionette. Much the same thing."

Arlo was growing desperate because of the looming approach of the cavern
menace, yet his thirst for information about his parent's situation
compelled him to follow this up. He knew Bedside was holding him here,
just as the salamander had, just as the Norns had. But the hunger the
old man had roused was more compelling than that the Norns had touched,
and harder to combat than the salamander's threat. He knew Bedside would
speak only while his terms were met, again like the Norns he resembled.

Ah--but the wolf seemed to have mislaid the scent of the prey,
temporarily. Chthon could not guide it all the way, for that would
overtly break the covenant they had so recently made. The wolf had to
find Ex itself. So a little extra time had developed. Arlo had to
delay--or lose, perhaps forever, his chance to acquire this knowledge.
Restricted as he was to the caverns, his sources of outside information
were invaluable. So he listened, though simultaneously angry about being
controlled this way.

"What's a minionette?" he asked.

"A female of modified human stock inhabiting the planet Minion. Your
grandmother was a minionette; you are quarter-minion."

"But you said my father was imprisoned for loving a minionette! My
mother--"

"Coquina is human, or close to it. She is native Hvee. The minionette is
death."

"The salamander is death!" Arlo said, looking at the creature on his
spear. It still lived, struggling every so often.

"Precisely. Aton sought the incalculable wealth of the blue garnet, but
what he found was the salamander. In the equivalent episode of his life
he sought the lovely siren--or shall we say Valkyrie--the minionette,
but that quest only brought him here to the nether world. Siren,
Valkyrie, minionette: all are mere conveyances to death. All his life
was like that."

"All reflecting his death? That makes no sense--"

"His life reflected his death, and his death his life. All he had to do
was interpret the parallels, and he would have known his future."

Arlo remained incredulous. "The salamander like the minionette? Did she
have poison fangs?"

"In her fashion. Your life, too, has parallels--if you can read them.
The hints are all about you."

Arlo smiled, looking again at the salamander. "If I meet a minionette,
I'll poke my spear through her belly."

"Undoubtedly. That would certainly be best."

If Bedside agreed with him, Arlo knew he had better reconsider. But
suddenly an unbearably intense sensation passed through him. The wolf
had recovered the scent, charged Ex, and had her in its teeth!

Arlo held the salamander before him and sprinted. This time Bedside,
alert to the menace, got out of his way. Arlo would gladly have impaled
him along with the salamander!

Moments later he burst into the garden. But his approach had already
alarmed the monster. All he saw was its huge haunch as it fled. He
hurled the spear after it, hoping to nick it with the poisoned end, but
the range was too long.

Ex lay in blood on the stone. Her body had been torn open like that of a
butchered chipper, exposing her innards--yet she lived. Arlo took one
horrified look and knew he could do nothing. He had to get help.

Where? Not from Chthon, certainly! Who else was there to turn to?

He was hardly aware of his rush home. Suddenly he was there, panting
violently, drawing on his trunks as Coquina looked up in surprise.

She wore a dress, very like those pictured in LOE. She was always
clothed, despite the stifling heat. Clothing was part of the home-cave
ritual; it had never occurred to Arlo that things should ever be
otherwise. She was a woman of about fifty, and whether she was beautiful
or ugly was irrelevant. She was his mother.

Arlo had a hard time catching his breath, and the sweat seemed to be
squirting out of his skin in this sudden oven. But Coquina never left
her burning-wall premises, heated by a boiling stream. Not for more than
a moment, certainly.

"A girl," he cried. "Attacked. By a monster. Dying--"

Coquina wasted no time with questions. "Aton's questing in the upwind
forest. Find him there. Take Sleipnir."

"I can't ride Sleipnir!" Arlo protested.

"Hang onto his tail; follow him. He can find Aton immediately and carry
you both back."

She was right: this was the fastest way. "Thanks, Mother!" She hadn't
even shown surprise over Ex!

He left the oven-cave and ran to the pasture. This was a closed minor
network of passages reserved for the animal, barricaded not against his
escape but against the intrusion of dangerous predators. He located
Sleipnir by the sounds of the animal's grazing: a steady chip-chip-chip.
Sleipnir was another glow-feeder, his great front teeth chipping off
flakes of rock to chew for their coating of lichen. It was a tedious
chore, requiring much time and effort--but the creature had time, and
strength, and imagination for little else. In fact, Aton had to pasture
him in a suitable section each time, or the chipper would work over
recently de-glowed stone, and starve.

Sleipnir had a bulbous, long-snouted head, a segmented body, and eight
powerful legs. He was low and long, able to run through fairly tight
tunnels without pause. That was what made him such a good steed--for
Aton. Sleipnir had little wit, but he knew his master and tolerated no
one else upon him though he was strong enough to carry several people at
once.

"Come, stupid," Arlo said.

The animal ignored him.

"Sleipnir!" Arlo cried loudly. Now he perked up, hearing his name--but
when he saw that it was only Arlo, he returned to his repast. CHIP!
CHIP!

Arlo grabbed hold of the creature's spikelike tail. "Find Aton!" he
bawled, making his voice sound as much like his father's as he could.
"Aton! ATON!"

That registered. Sleipnir looked about, searching for his master. When
he did not see him, he sniffed the floor.

"Aton! Upwind forest!" Arlo cried, jerking on the tail. With Ex dying,
he had to struggle with this moronic beast!

Sleipnir could not understand the words, but now the need to find his
master had been invoked, and he began to move. His brain was minimal,
but his nose was sophisticated. In a moment, he had located the freshest
spoor. He pursued it.

Was there really such a difference between man and animal, Arlo
wondered. Norns, salamander, and Doc Bedside had evoked particular
responses in Arlo, just as Arlo had evoked this response in the
pseudo-horse. Intelligence was not of itself sufficient to circumvent
such responses, or he would have been able to save Ex by ignoring the
distractions placed in his way.

When Sleipnir ran, he ran. Arlo hung to the tail with both hands and
sprinted, but the steed was too swift for him. Soon he was reduced to
bouncing: putting down both feet together in a kind of sliding hop, to
support himself while the creature's headlong pace carried him along.
This was rough exercise--but it was getting him where he wanted to go!

The passing caves became a blur. Some were dark, some light; some small,
some huge. Some were straight, with the wind rushing through; some
curved and recurved intricately. An outsider would have been amazed at
the variety of shape and color; Arlo took it all for granted.

At last they reached the upwind forest. Here the stalactites extended
down from the ceiling to connect with the stalagmites below, forming
columns. But many were not vertical; the force and eddies of the wind
had taken the dripping fluids slantwise, and the rock formations had
followed. At times over the centuries, natural forces had shifted the
wind, causing the structures to change direction, and the growing
presence of upwind columns had interrupted the airstream and affected
the downwind columns. Slow accretion had been replaced by wind erosion.
As a result, the stalactites had irregularly descending branches, and
the stalagmites had roots that twisted in widely varied configurations.
The colors, too, were divergent, with glowing blue and pink stripes
augmenting the green moss. Even Arlo could see that this represented a
kind of history of the cavern: the glow had not always been green, but
only in the developing columns were the prior types recorded.

"Father!" Arlo cried. His arms and legs were numb, his body sore from
the bruising run, but that hardly mattered.

Aton turned. He was fifty-two years old, dark-bearded and powerful, with
a certain aura of determination or ruthlessness about him. He punched
his fist into Sleipnir's nose, his way of patting the animal. The
creature was so tough it could not feel a light touch. Aton's single eye
looked inquiringly at Arlo.

"Girl. Wounded. Dying. Blood. Help," Arlo said between gulps of air.

Aton put one hand on Sleipnir's back and vaulted aboard. This vigor did
not seem strange to Arlo; his father had always been an active man, and
only recently had Arlo outgrown him. Aton leaned over, caught his son
under the arms, lifted him and deposited him on the rear segment of the
steed. Sleipnir didn't notice; all he cared about was that Aton was
riding him.

There had never been another human being in this region of the caverns
other than Aton, Coquina, Arlo, Doc Bedside, and the zombies. Yet Aton
hadn't hesitated. "Where?" Aton asked.

"In my gardens."

Aton had never been to the gardens, though he knew where they were,
because the way was blocked by so many animate and inanimate threats.
Aton did not have the aid of Chthon on that route; it was as though the
god wanted no one but Arlo there. But of course Arlo had explored all
the tunnels and knew his way through safely, regardless of Chthon's
influence.

Aton guided Sleipnir according to Arlo's instructions, and they
thundered toward the gardens. Even on this fleet mount, it took some
time because the safe route was circuitous. Afraid to contemplate what
they would find there, Arlo talked with his father: a thing he seldom
did. It was not that there was any bad feeling between them, but that
there was inadequate feeling. Arlo really did not know his father well.
"What is a minionette?" He had asked this question of Bedside, but
received no satisfactory answer. Of course a minionette came from planet
Minion; why should that be significant? Why did she equate with sirens,
Valkyries, and death?

Aton's back stiffened, and Arlo knew that he had made a mistake. As the
second son, substitute for the favored first-born, he dared not presume.
He had supposed this to be a special case. "Who spoke to you of that?"

"Old Doc Bedside."

Aton grunted contemptuously, but he relaxed a bit. "What did he tell
you?"

"Only that I was quarter-minion. My grandmother--"

"Enough!"

Arlo was glad enough to let it drop. Aton was a man of violent
temperament, and he had a sadistic streak. It was evident that Bedside
had been sowing dissent, in his subtle fashion. Time for a change of
subject.

"How did you get Sleipnir?"

Aton relaxed again. "That was Bedeker's doing." He always called Doc
Bedside that. "He and I went exploring in the early days, but we were
careless and got trapped by a caterpillar. He tried to distract it while
I pounded a hole in the wall, but it stabbed him with its tail and
incorporated him."

Arlo knew how that worked. The long caterpillars rammed their
tail-spikes through the quarry, impaling the victim through the middle.
In moments, special substances or nerves extended into the victim's
body, and instead of dying, he was reanimated as a segment of the
creature, marching in unison with the other segments. In due course, the
segments of the latter end of the creature were slowly drained of their
resources, going to sustain the forepart, shrinking until they were
little more than walking lumps. The caterpillar never ate with its
mouth; its face was a huge facade intended to frighten potential prey
toward the tail. There was little defense against a caterpillar except
avoidance, as with other chthonic menaces. But it could readily be
avoided with suitable foresight. On occasion Arlo had scrambled over a
caterpillar's mid-portion, since only the tail could attack.

Then the other meaning of Aton's words penetrated. "Bedside was
incorporated? But he's alive!"

"That took you a while, son," Aton said with a brief laugh. "Bedeker is
only half-alive. He's a creature of Chthon, a mad doctor, a golem, an
animated stick. A good doctor, though, especially with Chthon's
assistance. You should have gone to him for help first."

"I couldn't. Chthon wants the girl dead."

"I thought as much," Aton said. "Chthon wasn't in on this particular
scheme, it seems. You're beginning to appreciate that the god of the
caverns is not necessarily beneficent."

"Yes!" It had been a hard lesson, as most cavern lessons were. Yet Arlo
realized that his father was pleased. Aton hated Chthon--yet he stayed
here in Chthon's demesne, and Chthon tolerated him. Why? Arlo dared not
ask--yet.

"An ordinary man would have been lost," Aton continued after a moment.
"But Bedeker belongs to Chthon, and Chthon controls all life in the
caverns. Except the three of us. The human mind is too complex to
control without an enormous special effort."

"The myxo!" Arlo cried.

"Right. And those of us with minion blood are capable of resisting the
myxo, so that if Chthon prevails, the result is not a controlled human
mind but a zombie. So it isn't worth it. Still, the mineral intellect
has ways of making its point. Chthon could have stopped the
caterpillar--but maybe it wanted to teach us a lesson." He always
referred to Chthon as "it," signaling his smoldering antipathy. "So it
let Bedeker get caught. I escaped--only because Chthon let me--but for a
week Bedeker marched in the caterpillar. Several more segments were
incorporated behind him. I thought I'd never see him again, and I wasn't
sorry."

Aton shook his head, his dark hair waving with the motion. "Until that
episode, I never really appreciated Chthon's full power. Maybe I still
don't. Well, Chthon showed me! A predator attacked that
caterpillar--some huge wolflike thing--and--"

"Wolf!" Arlo cried. But he shut up as his father paused. He wanted to
hear the rest of the episode.

"The wolf severed it just in front of Bedeker. The main caterpillar
escaped, but Bedeker survived as an independent segment. He wasn't a
real caterpillar; he couldn't use his tail to incorporate new segments.
He was just a ten-legged fragment walking around. But now he had
control. Maybe it was really Chthon-control; I'm sure I would have died
in that situation. But in due course the predator attacked again, this
time cutting off the last four segments. And still Bedeker lived. He
returned almost to normal--it's hard to tell, since he is half mad, half
Chthon anyway--while the remainder of his former body carried on by
itself. Again, no death. The new head assumed control and started
eating. Those last segments had been pretty strong, so the thing was
stupid but powerful. Bedeker gave it to me to take care of, and he named
it Sleipnir, after the eight-legged horse of Norse mythology. You'll
find that in LOE."

Aton fell silent, and Arlo asked no more questions. The story was
incredible--yet he had to believe it. Chthon did have such power, and
Doc Bedside did have huge scars on his body whose significance suddenly
manifested. But how amazing, for the old mad doctor had almost literally
birthed this fine cavern horse--a four-segment caterpillar fragment!
Where else could such a thing have happened?

They entered the gardens. Aton looked around with interest, blinking in
the unaccustomed yellow light, for he had not had opportunity to inspect
this region before. "Nice," he said appreciatively. "I seem to remember
something like this, vaguely. I think the first time Chthon guided me
through the caverns, using the half-woman..."

"Black-haired?" Arlo asked.

"Yes. Half-zombie. Don't tell me she's still around?"

"Yes. She's one of the Norns."

"Norns!" Aton exploded, laughing. "Chthon must have quite a sense of
humor, deep in its stone circuits. She was a Lower Cavern bitch, when I
knew her."

Bitch. The female of an Old Earth dog, evidently a term of disrespect.
But now they were coming into Arlo's particular garden near the falls,
where the girl lay.

Ex remained as she had been. Arlo had difficulty looking. It was not the
sight of wounds and blood that bothered him, but the fact that he had so
recently known this person, and in fact had some responsibility for her
condition.

"She's been gutted, but she lives," Aton said. "That's remarkable. Are
you sure she's not zombie?"

"She's human! Chthon tried to take her--and then sent the wolf."

Aton looked up. "Wolf?" he asked sharply, evidently making the same
connection Arlo had. A wolf had freed Bedside from the caterpillar....

"That's what it felt like. Its mind. Bedside blocked me off, so I came
too late and hardly saw it. Big--big, like a wolf."

"You've never seen a wolf!"

"I've seen the pictures in LOE. But it's only the feel I mean. The
malignancy. It doesn't matter what it looks like. It's a wolf."

"A wolf," Aton repeated. "You're right: in the caverns, feel is more
important than appearance." Then he shook himself. "So you've got a
girl! She must have strayed from the prison."

"Yes. She said so." But now Arlo was aware of a certain deviousness in
his father and knew he was concealing something. Aton should have been
surprised, perhaps angry--but he was neither. He could hardly be in
collusion with Chthon. So what did he know?

"We can't save her," Aton said regretfully. "Her guts have been spilled.
I don't know what keeps her alive."

There were times when his father lacked tact. Yet it was true. There was
no explaining what kept Ex breathing. "We have to try," Arlo said.

"All we can do is tie her together and see what happens. Only Chthon can
save her."

"But Chthon won't."

The man's eye looked at him, and Arlo knew the question was rhetorical.
"Why not?"

"Because Chthon sent the wolf to kill her!"

Aton nodded. He gathered strong vines from the native flora of the
garden. "Don't you think Chthon could have arranged to kill her
outright, instead of leaving her hanging by a thread?"

"I--" But his arrival could not have had much effect; the wolf had
already been departing. "Chthon wanted her--this way?"

"It is possible to bargain with Chthon. That's how I saved your mother."

Arlo was torn by hope and incredulity. "You--?"

"She had the chill."

"The chill?"

"I forgot. That's not in LOE." He sighed. "I hate this business. I think
your girl is going to die, so I'm talking about something else. But
maybe this will help." He paused, finding his mental place as his hands
worked, preparing the vines. "Most of what I know about the chill I
learned from fat Hasty. That's Hastings--a fellow prisoner, a
quarter-century ago. Hasty, Framy, Bossman, Garnet, the black-haired
bitch--I never did know her name--"

"Verthandi."

Aton snorted, but continued: "Two hundred forty-one denizens of the
nether caverns, and as many more in the upper prison. But Hasty was
special. He knew everything, except how to mine a garnet. He died stuck
in a hole, chopped in half by Bossman's axe. Had to be done, because the
jelly whale was coming..." He trailed off.

"You mean a potwhale?" Arlo asked.

"Hasty did a marvelous presentation. He phrased the mystery of the chill
as though it were a parody of the earlier quest for the nature of light.
He talked about the particle theory and the wave theory, and showed how
the first was exploded and the second swamped. He had fun with his puns!
He also took his digs at the obtuseness of military doctors who suppose
that no person without a fever can be sick, even though he appears to be
dying. And the scholastic 'publish or perish' system that has always
kept professionals too busy with irrelevancies to attend to their
legitimate work."

Arlo shook his head. "I don't understand."

"No, of course you wouldn't. The prisoners didn't grasp the nuances
either. But the essence was this: the chill comes in ninety-eight-year
cycles--waves of it spreading out from the center of the galaxy. Where
it strikes, more than half the population dies. Each infected person
becomes colder and colder until he can no longer sustain the bodily
processes necessary to life. There is no cure.

"Coquina caught it when it crossed planet Hvee the last time, in §403. I
knew she would die. She had stayed in the path of the chill only to take
care of me in my madness, and in that manner she showed me what true
love was. I knew I loved her too. So I did what I had resolved never to
do, and I made a bargain with Chthon, agreeing to come here to stay
provided Chthon enabled her to live. As long as Chthon keeps its
bargain, I keep mine. Honor between enemies, you might say. She stays in
a cave so hot her body temperature cannot drop, and Chthon's ambience
touches her to keep her sane and functional, and so she survives. It
isn't much of a life for her, but if she ever leaves that heat, or the
presence of Chthon, she will die."

Arlo was stunned. In one speech his father had clarified lifelong
mysteries--yet how many new mysteries unfolded in that telling! What was
the real cause of the chill, and how could Chthon nullify it as though
Coquina were merely another hvee plant, existing by the god's will, yet
no zombie? What had brought Aton, by his own statement, to madness? How
did the minionette relate to this? And why had Chthon wanted Aton to
live here? Arlo knew better than to inquire; his father, like Bedside,
volunteered information only when he chose. This had been an
unprecedented windfall, but that was all.

Aton wrapped the vines around Ex's torso, pulling the great wound
together and poking her intestines inside, one link at a time, gently.
Even Arlo could see that this was extremely crude surgery, bound to be
futile; but there was little else to do.

"At least there are hardly any harmful microbes here," Aton murmured.
"Wounds don't suppurate here, and there are no contagious diseases.
Outside, even a scratch could kill you, or the air exhaled by a sick
man."

"A scratch by the salamander kills," Arlo said. "And the breath of a
dragon, too."

"Something like that," Aton agreed, with an obscure smile.

"I bargained with Chthon," Arlo ventured. "I threatened to kill myself
if it didn't stop the myxo."

Aton looked up at him, eye widening. "You experienced the myxo?"

"It was trying to take over Ex, and she was crusted with white, so I put
the spear to myself and--"

"And so you bargained with the nether god, because it had either to make
you a zombie or let you die. And you won!"

"I guess so. But when I left Ex, the wolf attacked--"

Aton put his hand on Arlo's shoulder. "Son, you are a man. You fought
Chthon itself to save your girl, as I did. But you did not go far
enough."

Arlo was immensely flattered by his father's statement. But he looked
down at the bound body, still slowly leaking blood, and knew that he had
lost what he had fought for. "I guess not."

"You stopped Chthon from using the myxo. But so long as it controls the
animals of the caverns, it can kill the girl. You cannot save her
without coming to terms with Chthon."

Arlo shivered despite the warmth of the gardens. "Should I try to kill
myself again?"

Aton closed his eye. "Son, I have neglected you. Aesir was my son, and
when he died it was as though I had no child. You were there, later, but
you were hardly real to me. It is the same mistake I made when I clung
to the minionette in preference to your mother. But now you are a man,
and I know that though you came second, you are every bit as much mine
as is Coquina. The second is not inferior to the first! I would not have
you die."

Again, Arlo was amazed. This was the strongest expression of affinity he
had ever heard from his father. And now he had heard the name of his
lost brother: Aesir. And he had Aton's admission that he had loved the
minionette. But Arlo kept his voice steady. "I am glad. But how can I
protect Ex from Chthon?"

"Only as I protect Coquina. Tell Chthon you will not oppose it so long
as your girl lives. Really lives, not a zombie! Chthon wants your
cooperation, even as it wanted mine. In fact--" Aton paused momentarily,
a strange expression passing across his face--"In fact, I suspect Chthon
only wanted me here in the caverns so that I could beget a child. A
human creature conceived, birthed, and wholly enclosed by the caverns.
It is possible Chthon killed Aesir because he was not suitable for its
purpose. Now you are here--and Chthon wants you whole. I don't know why.
But I think you can bargain. It would take many years to produce another
like you--and I doubt Chthon wants to wait that long."

"Chthon wants me..." Arlo echoed. "It must be true. Chthon has always
been my friend. Until Ex came."

Aton smiled. "Evidently Chthon wants no child from you! And certainly no
corruption of your mind by any outsider. There is your bargaining point,
perhaps. Tell it you will have no child by Ex and will cooperate as
before no matter what she may tell you, so long as Chthon makes no
further move against her. And repairs the damage already done."

"But I don't know how to have a child--or how not to!" Arlo protested.

"You'll find out how. And Chthon can prevent conception, so long as the
two of you remain here. I think it's a fair bargain. See if Chthon
agrees."

Arlo turned inward--and Chthon was there, his friend, as before. "Chthon
agrees," he said, wonderingly.

Aton raised the eyebrow above his good eye. "Just like that!" He had no
direct contact with Chthon and wanted none.

Arlo looked at Ex, who seemed to be resting easier now. "What is
conception?" he asked, suspecting it had something to do with the
curious crease between her legs.

Aton turned toward Sleipnir. "The girl is young yet. Do not force her.
Let her recover, let her grow a couple of years. Get to know her well.
If she is good, she will fill your life as Coquina fills mine. She will
convert the animal into a man." He climbed onto his steed.

It came to Arlo that his father had to have known that Ex was coming:
company for a boy who had not realized he was lonely. But Chthon had not
agreed to the arrangement, and here was the consequence: the wolf's
attack.

"You asked about the minionette," Aton said. "When you go home, ask your
mother. She will tell you as much as you care to know." Then, to
Sleipnir: "Any route home. I believe Chthon will protect us this one
time." And he was gone.

Arlo felt Chthon's confirmation. The god had known what Aton would say
and do, and thus had permitted his visit to the gardens. This once.

He sat beside Ex for a long time, mulling over what his father had said,
watching to see if the girl got better.

Finally Doc Bedside came. "So you have made peace with Chthon," he
observed. "Let me see to the child."

Now it was all right. Arlo let the man remove the vines and leaves and
explore the great wound. "She has astonishing vitality," Bedside
remarked. "And marvelous good fortune. No internal organs ruptured,
bleeding minimal, considering. A few stitches and Chthon's beneficence
will see her through, I suspect."

"But why did Chthon want to kill her?" Arlo asked. Aton had suggested a
reason, but now the notion of sacrificing a living human being merely to
prevent her from being a companion seemed less credible. Surely there
were less strenuous ways!

"Chthon's ways are inscrutable. But you have made your bargain; Chthon
will honor it. No creature of the caverns will harm her so long as you
and Chthon are one."

"What does Chthon want with me?" Arlo cried.

Bedside studied him in his disquieting fashion. "I am mad. By that I
mean I do not conform to the norms of your society, though I can
approximate them when necessary. Your father is half-mad. You are sane.
You are Chthon's chosen. Your destiny is huge."

"Chosen for what?"

But Bedside only smiled.

Ex recovered. It was amazingly rapid, considering the severity of her
injury, but it did take time. Arlo brought her food that Coquina made:
glow-bread, fermented vine sap, dried chipper meat. He carried her
regularly to a narrow, deep crack above flowing water so that she could
defecate cleanly. He supported her as she practiced walking. And he
talked with her.

Arlo told her all about the caverns: the rivers, the potwhales, the ice
tunnels, the caterpillars, the forests, the chimera, and Chthon. He told
her how his father mined gold and precious garnets and other stones to
make beautiful rings that Doc Bedside took outside to trade for
civilized goods: clothing, tools, books.

She in turn told him of the great outside world. How the wonderful §
spaceships traveled from Earth all over the human sector of the galaxy
and even traded with sentient alien species: the Xests, Lfa and EeoO.
(She had to pronounce those strange names several times for him: zzest,
fla only with the L and F reversed, one syllable, and EE-e-o-0 with
accents on the first and last syllables, the whole run together so that
it sounded more like an exclamation than a name.) How mankind had
fragmented into planetary sub-species, each adapted for its particular
world in subtle ways though all looked completely human and could
interbreed. (Interbreed? Arlo inquired, interested. How is that done?
But she seemed not to hear him.) How the stars came out at night, just
as described in LOE: pinpoints of light too numerous to count,
especially in the "Milky Way" region of the planetary sky. How there
were rocks floating in orbit about individual stars, called
"planetoids"--some only a few miles in diameter, so that a visitor could
hardly cling to their surfaces. "But excellent for mining rare ores,"
she said. "Because the deep strata are all exposed and accessible. Gold,
iridium--all sorts of things just there for the taking, and almost no
energy required to get them into space. Ore-shuttling is a big space
business."

"It must be," Arlo agreed, entranced with this vision. LOE had nothing
like this!

"And some of them are made into holiday stopovers. Spotels. Sealed in,
completely private, with all the comforts of home." She winked
confidentially. "I was conceived in a spotel."

"But how--?"

"My father's dead now. So's my mother. Must've been some romance,
though, while it lasted!"

That balked further questions about the nature of human breeding. But
the two became intertwined in Arlo's imagination: ore-mining,
planetoids, and romance.

They didn't talk all the time. They played games ranging from hot-hands
to chess. Ex was good at all of them, as she had excellent physical and
mental coordination. For a young girl, she knew a surprising amount.

As she grew stronger, a strange thing happened. Her body, thinned
drastically by the rigor of the injury, filled out to more than its
original form. Her legs grew rounder, especially in the upper thighs.
Her chest swelled into two humps. Hair grew under her arms and between
her legs, concealing that cleft that had so intrigued Arlo. Her body
came to resemble, to some degree, that of Verthandi the Norn. And her
face changed subtly, becoming less childlike. She was, in short, a
golden-haired little beauty.

But her manner changed most of all. She remained highly irritating, but
she also became highly suggestive. And, oddly, it was when she was most
infuriating that she was most intriguing.

"Where do these lead?" Ex asked, gesturing toward an irregular series of
openings in the wall. She was almost better now, and eager to go
everywhere.

"Only to the big gas crevasse," Arlo said. "No way to pass that. It's
the largest canyon in the caverns, hundreds of miles long."

"Oh, let me see!" she cried, and ran for the nearest hole.

"Wait!" Arlo exclaimed, pursuing her twinkling bottom. Part of his mind
noted how much fuller her buttocks were than they had been; perhaps it
was because she had sat for so long, recovering. "It isn't safe!"

But she scurried on through, bending over to clear the low tunnel
ceiling. This had the effect of thrusting out her posterior further,
making it an object of increasing interest to Arlo, though he was aware
that there really was nothing there. Still, the immediate danger alarmed
him.

"There's a dropoff!" he called. "No safe way down, from here--and the
gas would choke you anyway."

She scooted on around a bend. He followed. Beyond it was another turn,
and here the passage narrowed so far that her hips caught against the
sides. He knew the drop was close ahead, so he grabbed her where he
could. One hand passed inside her legs, catching the front of one thigh,
his fingers sinking into the smooth flesh. "Stop!" he cried.

"You're doing it!" her voice came back. "Goosing me!" She wriggled, and
her hips slid through the constriction.

He tried to hold her, but first her thighs pressed tightly against his
hand, then spread wide, and his fingers slid out. Again he experienced
that mixed excitement and alarm, wanting to hold that thigh because it
excited him, and to protect Ex from danger--and losing that hold despite
everything.

He dived after her--but now his own hips caught in the constriction. He
ripped free, scraping skin on both sides, for the rock was very rough.
Annoyed by the burning pain, and by her escape, he accelerated again.

"Oh!" she cried ahead, and for a moment he feared she had plunged into
the chasm. But she had stopped in time, and now was sitting on the cliff
edge, dangling her legs down.

"Why didn't you wait?" he demanded angrily. "You could've gotten killed
that way! I told you it was dangerous!"

She looked out into the mist before them as though nothing had happened.
"What is it, Arlo? I've never seen anything like this!"

"It's the gas crevasse, as I said," he said tightly. "The gas vapors
drop down from the ceiling, there." He pointed to the distant, lofty
roof, not actually visible from this vantage. "They drift into the
bottom, maybe a mile down, maybe more--I don't know how to judge it--and
get sucked into tubes. At the other end, way across the caverns, there's
fire. It blows into the passages and makes the hot upwind tunnels where
the prison is. The wind finally expands and cools and slows and comes
back here, to pick up more gas and repeat the cycle."

She peered down. "I can't see anything."

" 'Course you can't. There's no glow down there."

"Then how do you know about the gas?"

"My father told me." On one of those few prior occasions when Aton had
talked freely. He was more apt to tell about things than about people.

"How does he know?"

"Fat Hasty must have explained it to him, when they were on the Hard
Trek."

She sniffed. "That's a myth."

"What?"

"The Hard Trek. It's just a prison story. There never was any such
thing."

"My father was on it!" Arlo protested hotly. "They had nothing to eat,
so they ate their own dead. The chimera stalked them, and the myxo,
and--"

"It's a lovely story, anyway," she said. "And you're lovely too." She
leaned over to him where he squatted beside her and kissed him on the
mouth.

She had not done that before. The effect was potent. Arlo's whole being
seemed to funnel into that meeting of their lips, and he felt as if he
were turning, around and around and end over end. It was sheer,
confusing bliss. LOE had described kissing many times, often shortly
before the ellipses that annoyingly concealed the mechanics of
reproduction--but the reality was beyond his expectations.

Suddenly the falling and twisting were literal. Ex pushed herself off
the ledge, and almost took him with her. Arlo found himself clinging to
the rough rim by one hand, his other arm about her, while his feet
scrambled for some toehold.

In a moment his experienced toes found that lodging, and the terror of
his incipient fall abated. "What were you doing!" he cried in fury.

"I slipped." Her attitude was blithe.

"You did not! You--"

She scrambled up, treating him to another view of her newly mysterious
bottom, and ran down an adjacent passage. Again he pursued, furious.

This tunnel was even tighter than the other. Ex wriggled through just
ahead of him and finally emerged in the main passage. But Arlo,
following too closely, blinded by mixed lust and anger, got jammed
again. This time he was really wedged, his hips so tight against the
stone that he could neither advance nor retreat without exquisite pain.
He was stuck upright, facing into the passage.

Ex looped back when she found he wasn't chasing her. "What's the
matter?"

"I'm caught. I can't move," he said hotly.

"Really?" She sounded pleased.

"Well, what does it look like!"

She leaned forward to peer closely at his midsection. Her newly
developing breasts assumed more form in this position. In time, he knew,
they would resemble those of Verthandi, large and full. Later, perhaps,
they would become pendulous, like those of the other Norns, and less
stimulating. But this nascent quality was now immensely provocative. "I
think it's rising," she said.

"My hips are what's stuck!" he said. "Help me out!"

"Yes, it's definitely getting big."

"Shut up about that!" he exclaimed in a fury of embarrassment. Though he
had scant sexual shame and was proud of the erection he could muster, he
did not want it in this particular situation. It tended to show his
ignorance, and it reminded him of the touch and interest of the Norns.
What had they said about it? "This rod transfixes...?" But he had no
control.

Ex danced very close, turning and thrusting out her rear so that it
almost brushed him. "Why don't you..."

Arlo suffered an abrupt clarification of motive. He knew where to put
his hardened organ! He lunged at her, uncertain whether he intended rape
or mayhem or both. But the rocks held fast, and he got a searing bolt of
pain in the flanks. He was so angry he could hardly see her, yet he
lusted for her with an intensity he had never known could exist. Yes, he
knew what to do--when he had the chance!

"Kootchie-koo!" Ex sang, this time actually touching his member.

Arlo got smart. He twisted instead of pushing straight forward. Skin
scraped from him on either side, and the very bone seemed to be
compressed--but he wrenched free, sliding out of the constriction.

But Ex was gone. She was now as fleet as he, and she knew the caverns
well enough to hide from him indefinitely. He could not catch her.

Perhaps it was just as well. He had bargained with Chthon to preserve
her life, but in that moment he would gladly have killed her himself.

"The minionette?" Coquina repeated, and now the stress lines showed on
her face, making her look older.

"Father said I could ask you now," Arlo said, his muscles tightening
nervously. Now, for once, he was glad of the required clothing that
helped conceal the tensions of his body. "Doc Bedside said the
minionette was death like the salamander--that they were parallel, like
all his life and death. He--"

"Dr. Bedeker is mad," she said.

"Yes. He says he's all mad, and that my father is half-mad. Only I don't
think he means the same thing by the word that we do. But Bedside has
always spoken truth to me, in his fashion, and he says my father was
imprisoned for loving the minionette. Yet he also said my grandmother
was a minionette, and I am quarter-minion. How can a man be imprisoned
for loving his mother? I love you--"

Coquina put her hand to the hot wall to steady herself. Arlo grabbed her
other arm, afraid she would fall. "What's the matter?"

His mother got a grip on herself. "How are things with you and Ex?"

Coquina had met Ex only once. It had been a disaster. Coquina had shown
no jealousy, but instead had extended her arms in welcome--and Ex had
run away. Arlo had reacted with familiar fury, but he could not get Ex
to return or explain. She associated with Arlo, Aton, and Bedside,
making them all angry in little ways--yet Coquina, who had nothing but
love to give, was shunned. That was just one of the things that
aggravated Arlo--but despite it, he was drawn to Ex with increasing
passion. It was as though he liked perversity, as though part of him
wanted to hurt and be hurt--and that disgusted him. On the off-chance
that something in his heritage could account for this, he had finally
gotten up the nerve to put the question to his mother.

"She's a damned nuisance," he said. "But sometimes she's awfully sweet.
Half the time I want to kill her, and the other half--" He hesitated,
uncertain how much he should admit. He doubted that Coquina would be
pleased to hear about the misadventure of the gas crevasse, for example.
Nothing had happened, really; but had he been just a little faster...

"She is a young female, and you're a young male," Coquina said. "It is
natural for you to desire her sexually. There is no shame in this."

Then why had his mother never told him how to implement the sex act?
Obviously there was shame, somewhere. "But I desire her most when I hate
her most!" he exclaimed.

Coquina sat down on her rock chair. Because it was stone, it conveyed
the heat of the wall and floor to her body. Arlo was sweating from the
ambient temperature, but his mother never sweated. Her whole
temperature-control mechanism had broken down, apparently. "Yes, it is
time for you to know. But I have to warn you: there is pain in this--for
your father, for me, and even for you."

"Because I am quarter minion!" he said, catching on.

"Yes. I had hoped this element would be suppressed, but it seems it is
not. So it is best that you know the truth, so that you can deal with
it, as your father did."

"He loves and hates you?" Arlo asked, horrified. No one could hate
Coquina!

She smiled wanly. "No. He has never hurt me. But until he conquered his
chimera, it was very bad. There was much blood on his hands, much that
must be forgotten, because he didn't know. I pray there will be none on
yours."

"He didn't know what?" Arlo cried in frustration. At times his parents
were as bad as Bedside or the Norns in their obscure answers,
tantalizing him.

"It began with your grandfather Aurelius Five, Aton's father. Aurelius
married a daughter of Ten, by all accounts a wonderful woman the hvee
loved. But in two years she died in childbirth, for Planet Hvee is
primitive in some ways. In anguish he went to space, and there fell into
the power of the minionette. It was his terrible sorrow that attracted
her to him--even his guilt at loving her."

"I don't understand! Why should he not have remarried?"

"Minion is a proscribed planet. He broke galactic law by going there,
and broke it again by taking Malice home with him. So--"

"Malice!" The Norns had used that word! "What kind of a name is that?"

Coquina put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "This is difficult, son.
Bear with me."

"I'm sorry." She was trying to explain something vital, and he had no
right to keep interrupting. He could save his questions for later.

"All the minionettes have names like that. Fury, Agony, Torment, Wrath,
Misery--"

Arlo started to interrupt again, but turned it into a cough. He had to
listen, not argue!

Coquina smiled, and he saw in that expression the aspect that had made
his father love her. "Yes, it seems strange at first. But they are true
to their nature, as we are to ours. You see, the emotions of the
minionette are reversed. What we perceive as love, beauty, and delight,
they perceive as hate, ugliness and revulsion--and vice versa. Because
they are emotionally telepathic, they receive these emotions directly. A
man's hate is divine love to them, but his love can be fatal. In fact,
they are virtually immortal; hardly anything can kill them, and they
remain young-seeming and beautiful for centuries. They all look alike,
too, until you get to know them well. So they live until someone's love
reaches them--and then they die. Their names are actually endearments."

She took a breath, as though marshalling her strength. "The men of
Planet Minion are more nearly normal, but they have learned to hate
those they love. They beat their wives and even try to kill
them--knowing that only in this way can they preserve them. So the
Minion male has a strong sadistic streak associated with his love. That
is why the planet is proscribed; that kind of love has made too much
mischief in the history of Old Earth and would wreak devastation among
the civilized cultures of the galaxy.

"Malice stayed with Aurelius one year--long enough to bear him the child
Aton. By that time Aurelius's grief over the loss of the Daughter of Ten
was fading, and he was coming to love Malice without guilt. He did not
understand--perhaps did not allow himself to understand--that this was
what drove her away. So Aton was raised without a mother.

"But there is one other thing about the Minion culture. The women live
for centuries, but the men normally die by the age of fifty. Apparently
it takes that long for their hate to turn inevitably to love, for their
sadism to weaken, and when that happens, they are executed by their own
kind. It is a sad but honorable demise, known by the euphemism
'carelessness.' But the minionette is not widowed; she takes her son as
her next husband."

"She what?" Arlo exclaimed. All that he had learned of human culture
indicated that incest was taboo.

"It is their system, natural for them," Coquina continued, though he
could see that she herself suffered fundamental misgivings. Coquina was
a Daughter of Four, Planet Hvee, innately conservative, a child of the
land. Yet she had adapted to her extraordinary situation--for love of
the half-minion Aton. She had mastered tolerance. "The minionette is
wife to her son, and after him her grandson who is also her son, and all
her male descendants, though she is the literal mother to them all. She
bears only boys until at last she grows old; then she bears the girl who
will replace her."

"But if my grandfather--" The implications almost overwhelmed him.

"Aurelius was human, not Minion. He could not accept the Minion system.
But Malice came in quest of her son, Aton." She paused as if gathering
strength again, and this time Arlo well understood why. "You have to
understand. She had the aspect of a young, beautiful woman, and she came
as a lover not a mother, and he did not know--"

Young and beautiful. That abated his revulsion somewhat. But the other
matter could hardly be similarly dissipated. "My father Aton--married
his--mother?"

"Yes. There was no ceremony, for she had to conceal her identity from
the authorities. Technically, he was betrothed to me, but--"

"I will kill her myself!" Arlo cried, filled with a new kind of rage.

"No. She is long dead--and she was not a bad woman. I met her. I knew
her. What she was, what she did, was in her genes and in her culture. We
are all creatures of our ancestry! There is no right and wrong,
objectively."

"There has to be," Arlo said.

"I have never known a more intelligent, lovely, competent and loving
woman, apart from that ironic inversion of emotion. What I see today in
Aton is that half-share he possesses of the minionette, and I love him
as much for that as for his human side--which is also excellent." Again
she paused. "Yet I would love him regardless..."

"But he would not have married you, if she had lived," Arlo cried. "How
can you--"

"It is no bad thing to be the second love," she said. Arlo felt a
tingle, remembering the very similar thing his father had said. These
two, so different on the surface, had a certain community of nature
underneath, and were well matched. "First love may be wild, inadvised,
difficult; second love is based on experience. I regret only that the
minionette had to die to make our marriage possible."

"He would not marry you until his mother died? I will kill him!" Arlo
cried, shaking with fury, yet knowing it was bravado. He had neither the
power nor the real desire to kill his father; he had merely to express
his support for Coquina. Actually, he was getting repetitive--but the
idea of requiring one's mother to die to make way for one's wife had an
unholy fix on his mind.

"You are quarter-minion," she said. "To kill one's father--that, too, is
the way of the minion. The men who live too long are killed by their
sons, who are impatient to assume their conjugal duties."

That stopped Arlo cold. All his recent furies and passions came into
focus now: the minion blood in him craved sadistic love. No wonder his
romance with Ex had been turbulent! He would have to change that.

"I hope there is more of Aurelius in me than of the minionette," Arlo
said. "I would have liked to know that bold old man."

"His brother Benjamin still lives. Doctor Bedeker still has occasional
dealings with him. He is very like Aurelius."

"Oh?" That was most interesting! "Will I ever get to meet Benjamin?"

"You would have to leave the caverns, or he to enter them. Either is
unlikely."

True. Intriguing as it was, it was a dead end. Arlo returned to the
primary matter: "Still, you should have been Aton's first choice, not
his second."

"No. It was an arranged marriage between us. First son of Eldest Five,
Third Daughter of Eldest Four. Highly expedient, socially--but we had
never met, and did not meet until after his liaison with the minionette.
And of course he had known her since his childhood. She was his
first--and I would have been satisfied to have been his hundredth, so
long as I was his last. After knowing her, he chose me--that is the
greatest compliment of my existence."

Coquina would not speak against the minionette! "Who killed her?"

"Aton did."

Once again, Arlo was stunned. "He killed his wife--his mother? Why?
How?"

"By loving her."

Arlo sought out Ex, wanting to explain, to apologize. But she avoided
him. Her golden tresses flew out behind her as she ran down the cavern
passages. No doubt she thought he was going to hit her again. She feared
no creature of the caverns since his pact with Chthon, but Arlo himself
could hurt her.

"Wait! Wait!" he called. But she would not listen.

He pursued her far beyond the garden, across the great river whose
finned predators would have torn apart anyone else, and into the chill
ice caverns. He seldom ventured there because the footing was
treacherous, and he quickly became uncomfortably cold. But he could not
relent until he made her listen.

Ex swung around a stalagmite. "Whee!" she cried as the warmth of her
hand melted its sheen of ice and eliminated her support. Her feet went
out from under her and she took a graceful fall, unhurt. "Whee!" she
repeated, as she slid on down the winding river of ice on her bare
bottom, feet and hands lifted, spinning slowly around.

Arlo flopped on his belly and followed. A thin layer of water flowed
over the ice, making it frictionless. The heat of his run made the chill
contact stimulating. Seeing Ex rotating blithely with elevated but
attractively disposed limbs stimulated him another way. First he would
explain: Then--

The ice river debouched into an ice lake. Hairy cavern ice-fowl
fluttered out of sight as the two humans shot into the center. Broken
ice stalactites littered the surface. Arlo swept them out of the way
with hands and feet, and watched them skate in their fashion until they
crashed tinkling against the vertical ice-slick rock of the shore. It
was fun--but that was not what he was here for.

Ex's forward progress slowed. Arlo, heavier, had more momentum. He
reached out a hand and caught her foot as it passed by him, and hauled
her into him. "I just want to tell you about the minionette," he gasped.

Her mouth popped open prettily. "You know?"

"Yes. I am quarter-minion. My grandmother was Malice, the minionette. It
is from her I inherited my sadistic streak. But it can be suppressed. My
father suppressed it--and so will I. I love you."

For a moment he thought she misunderstood him. Her face froze in seeming
pain.

"What's the matter with you?" he demanded with a flash of the old
irritation. "I said I love you!" And inside he wondered whether this
could really be true, or whether Coquina's remark about the wildness of
first love had really been a warning. He had not before experienced this
type of love....

Suddenly Ex smiled. She reached out and pinched him in a most indelicate
region. "Prove it!" Then she braced both feet against him and pushed
off, hard.

She sailed across the ice in one direction, he in the other. In one
sense her reaction was funny; in another, infuriating. Either way, a
challenge. Grimly he set out to prove his love--aware that he was
catering more than a little to his minion quarter, but nonetheless
determined.

He reached the rock wall, braced his feet, and shoved off. He shot back
across the lake, toward Ex. But she bounced off the opposite wall and
passed him on the bias. "Yoo-hoo, stupid!" she cried, waving gaily.

Growing hotter as his posterior grew colder, Arlo reached the wall and
pushed off again, angling directly toward her. But she avoided him
again, maddeningly. "You're not trying very hard!" she called.

Determined, he planned a better strategy. He watched her push off just
before he struck his wall, then angled his own thrust to intersect her
line of travel. She was unable to change it in the middle of the ice,
being essentially in free-fall, and so he was able to grasp her long
hair as they passed each other.

He yanked cruelly, letting her hair transmit the full shock of the
cancellation of their inertias. Then he was sorry, as she spun about,
mouth open, eyes staring. But she only laughed, and he was angry again.

He drew her in to him. She came willingly, her legs spread, droplets of
cold water falling from her heels. Her buttocks were white where the ice
had cooled them.

She kissed him, again arousing his instant passion for her body. Then
her feet came up against his stomach, and she shoved him away again.

But he was not to be caught twice by that device! He still had hold of
her hair. Her legs flung out, but she could hot get away from him. He
hauled her back in, trying for the embrace her open arms and legs had
invited.

There was no traction. Ex laughed as he attempted to put his torso
adjacent to hers. It was like trying to write the old Earth script, in
one of his mother's lessons, while holding the sheet of paper in air.
Without firm backing, the effort was useless. Ex was anything but firm;
in fact she wriggled like a rockworm, finding his ineptitude hilarious,
all the time showing him tantalizing glimpses of the target. When she
laughed, she quivered right down to her crotch. "You're not much of a
lover!" she cried cheerily.

They had retained a net impetus across the ice. Now they fetched up
against a wall. And Arlo had an idea. Here was his backing!

He maneuvered to get her backside against the wall, her feet and hands
forward so that she could not push off again. He found rough edges,
crevices in the stone, and pressed his fingers hard against them so that
the thin sheathing of ice melted. That provided him with a firm grip.
His arms and legs formed an enclosure against the wall, and she was
trapped within it.

Now, he thought, the key maneuver. It was as though he were one of the
spaceships she had described: an ore-shuttle, bringing iridium ore up
from the surface of a planetoid. Now he was in orbit, aligning with the
hanger, the ore-storage facility. He had to dock precisely, extend his
jettison-chute, and pump his cargo into the sealed hopper. The pump
would trigger automatically as the connection was made, for this entire
operation was automatic: no human hand controlled it. That way the ships
did not have to be pressurized or carry life support systems, or
shielding against radiation. It was very efficient.

But this shuttlecraft had suffered a malfunction, with the result that
he could not grapple the receiving mechanism properly. He had to make
ties to the outlying wings of the hanger, and swing the center in to
make contact. With proper care and judgment, this could be accomplished.
The conveyor-hydrant had been primed for immediate delivery; rigid, it
nosed toward the hopper-tube. The crushed ore was already rising along
the internal conveyor, building up pressure for the release. Slowly,
slowly, toward the target...

The aim was off; a correction had to be made. Nudge to the side--too
much, compensate! Now it was dead center. Time for the decisive forward
thrust--

Contact! The hydrant triggered, jettisoning the ore.

And something at that instant shoved the nozzle to the side. Too late
for correction! The invaluable cargo missed the hopper and spewed out
into space, wasted, irrecoverable.

Arlo woke from his reverie amidst a climax of pleasure-pain. Ex was
laughing so hard she could hardly catch her breath.

Arlo's own hands had been occupied, gripping the rock behind her. He had
forgotten that hers were free. She had used them at the critical moment
to foil his purpose.

Arlo's hands let go of the rock and closed about her neck. He squeezed,
at the same time banging her head against the wall. But there was not
much force in it because of the lack of traction. Once more they drifted
out into the center of the lake.

"I'm sorry," Ex said contritely.

"Sorry! You--"

"I'll prove it. Give me the hvee."

Dubiously, still smoldering with disappointment, he took her back to the
garden. There he picked a fine blue-glow hvee plant, holding it until it
oriented on him. Then he presented it to her, knowing that it would
shrivel and die, for her love could hardly be true. Yet part of him
hoped that wouldn't happen, not only for the human relationship, but for
the sake of the unique blue hvee.

And the hvee retained its health as she placed it in her hair. Its glow,
if anything, increased. Silently she faced him, needing no words,
suddenly no teasing gamin but a beautiful girl.

She did love him; the hvee proved it by its brilliance. And by this
token they were betrothed, after the style of his ancestry.

Chapter II: Death
-----------------

Two men sat in the passenger lounge of the FTL ship. They looked out at
the simulated stellar view: it was impossible actually to see the stars
while in Faster-Than-Light travel, but the simulation was accurate and
probably more effective than the reality would have been.

One man was old. Pacemakers and inducers attached to his major organs
forced them to function, however reluctantly, and a portable lung gave
him breath and oxygen. Nevertheless he seemed ready to die, for his
whole body was wasted by the ravages of some hideous malady.

The other was a minion: a small, sour-looking man of indeterminate age,
bearded and garbed in the traditional loincloth of his culture.

"Shall we celebrate with wine, Morning Haze?" the old man inquired,
showing an ancient bottle.

"Is it permitted for your health, Benjamin?" Morning Haze inquired in
return.

"Naturally not!"

"Then by all means! What is the occasion?"

"Today I am one hundred and eight years old," Benjamin said.

"Well! For that we should make it a party and invite our pilot."

"Yes. And--your wife?"

"Not yet," Morning Haze said meaningfully.

"I beg pardon. In my infirmity I sometimes forget..."

"How well we know the cause of that infirmity! Make no apology." And the
man of Minion smiled as he rose to fetch the pilot.

Benjamin poured two glasses of wine with a slightly trembling hand, then
rested the stringy muscles of that arm.

In a moment Morning Haze returned with the pilot. This was a Xest:
eight-legged with a globular body, like the center of a compact galaxy.
Ship's gravity was maintained at a quarter Earth-normal in deference to
the needs of the spiderlike creature--and that level did no harm to old
Benjamin, either.

The Xest had no vocal apparatus, so the humans augmented their dialogue
automatically with Galactic sign language. "We are celebrating my one
hundred and eighth birthday, this day in §460," Benjamin said.

"You have been hatched one hundred and eight times?" the Xest inquired,
twitching two legs in far more facile Galactic than any human could
manage. It had associated with Benjamin for more than thirty Earth
years, yet still seemed to have no clear notion of human reproduction or
aging.

Benjamin laughed as heartily as he dared. "It is merely our measurement
of time. I was born in §352, Second Son of Eldest Five. My brother
Aurelius was born four years prior, so took the A designation, leaving
the B to me. Thus I am not of the first rank of Five, and never sought
to marry; perhaps that was fortunate. I am indubitably the oldest
surviving Five. The only surviving Five, as my old friend and companion
Morning Haze knows. Since all such humble vanities are soon to end, I
celebrate. Do you imbibe?"

"It is a festive matter?" the Xest signaled.

"Indeed it is. Be merry, for there will be no tomorrow."

The Xest made a syncopated quiver with four legs, indicating some alien
emotion. It well understood their mission, but had not until this moment
realized that the truth was to be acknowledged openly. "Then one may be
permitted the Taphid?"

"Taphid?" Morning Haze inquired.

"How fitting!" Benjamin exclaimed with such vigor that the warning
indicator on his portable lung swung into the red. "I with my wine, you
with your wife, the Xest with its Taphid. This will be the mightiest
party ever!"

The Xest brought out a small box. It lifted the lid. Frost formed: the
interior was refrigerated. Then the creature paused. "Do you both know
the meaning of the Taphid?"

"I do not," Morning Haze said.

"Not really," Benjamin said. "But I assure you, it is permissible on
this occasion, if it is your desire. Anything is permissible, save
deliberate discourtesy. My alcoholic beverage is an example: it will
surely kill me."

"Death we comprehend," the Xest signaled. "Yet there are differing
modes. Why does the minionette remain alone in her cell?"

"Her presence would not enhance our celebration," Morning Haze said. "In
due course I shall go to her and initiate a private celebration, in that
way avoiding a demonstration that could be offensive to others."

Benjamin set down his drink. "This may be out of place--but I suggest,
with no disrespect intended, that she should be with us now. I doubt
that any offence will be taken--on this occasion. It is right that our
friend be enlightened--as the Xest shall enlighten us."

The minion signaled directly to the Xest. "You realize that though our
definitions of beauty may differ, this may not be pretty for you?"

"The Taphid is not pretty, by your definition. In fact, there will be
some risk to you."

"You aren't fooling--either of you," Benjamin said with a smile. "I have
no such telepathy as you do, but my smattering of information--I say,
let's indulge ourselves, each in his fashion and perhaps in his
companion's fashion. We shall none of us have another chance!"

"Very well," Morning Haze agreed, touching a stud on his wrist band. "I
have released the lock. Misery will join us presently." He leaned over
the table and picked up an ornate whip.

Benjamin poured himself another drink, though the minion's drink
remained untouched. "Odd, isn't it, the diverse mechanisms we invoke on
behalf of individual demise," he said. "I am taking sweet poison; the
minion takes the minionette, the Xest takes the Taphid. Does it not show
how very similar we really are, at the root?"

"We are all sentient life-forms, therefore similar," Morning Haze
remarked, flexing the whip experimentally. It was evidently an
instrument he was well familiar with. "The Human, the Xest, the Lfa, the
EeoO--superficial distinctions at Ragnarok, as we discovered."

The Xest lifted out a frozen cube. It steamed as the heated air of the
ship touched its surfaces. "There will be perhaps half a unit of your
time. Is this sufficient?"

Benjamin looked at his watch, which was built into the master control of
his digestive regulator. "Half an hour... contact is in forty-two
minutes at present velocity and azimuth. I believe that is a
satisfactory margin."

"Quite satisfactory," Morning Haze agreed. "If one of you will be so
good as to notify me when only five minutes remain..."

"I expect to be too drunk to speak, if my liver has not already failed,"
Benjamin said with regret. "I have shorted out my alcohol-neutralizing
circuit, so that the raw element can reach my old brain."

"One, too, will be incapacitated," the Xest signaled.

"In Old English that would have been a pun," Benjamin observed. "One,
two--"

"I will notify you," the minionette said from the doorway.

Morning Haze peered over his whip at her. "Thank you, my dear." He
elevated his weapon. "Step forward, please."

She stepped into the room. Misery was a tall figure in a voluminous
cloak, veiled; yet her motion conveyed the suggestion of extraordinary
beauty.

"Let me see your hair," Morning Haze said.

She hesitated. "There is little luster."

"Because I have neglected you, my love," Morning Haze said. The whip
cracked loudly. Misery's veil flew off her face. Her hood fell back to
reveal dull brown tresses. A streak appeared across her cheek where the
whip had struck. But she smiled radiantly.

"Misery, meet my old friend Benjamin," the minion said. "And my other
friend the Xest, who is nameless as is the custom of his kind. Smile for
them, bitch."

The minionette smiled dutifully at each, and such was her facility at
this expression that Benjamin paused in his imbibing to smile back while
the Xest's leg-joints spasmed together.

"Will you now commit mergeance?" the Xest signaled. "Excuse it if one's
curiosity transgresses propriety. Our kind has never properly
comprehended the complete nature of your kind."

"And never will," Benjamin agreed. "There is no transgression this
hour." He stood unsteadily, his pacers shifting across his body like so
many decorations. "Friend minion, my brother died in §402 of the
minionette. Malice was her name, I believe. I have harbored for decades
an insidious urge that only rising intoxication permits me to vent now.
May I?"

Morning Haze handed him the whip. "It would gratify me, friend. Who has
a better right than you?"

Benjamin raised the whip. "You see," he explained to the Xest as well as
he could with only one hand left to signal, "the emotions of the
minionette are reversed. Our pain is her pleasure. I feel extremely
guilty about this, therefore--"

He cracked the whip, inexpertly. The lash caught the woman across the
shoulder, more or less harmlessly. "Damn Chthon!" Benjamin swore as his
lung-unit swung out and banged into his side, in effect punishing him
instead of the object. The minionette smiled.

"You lack practice," the minion said, also smiling--and now the
minionette looked pained. "I was not addressing myself to you!" Morning
Haze shot at her, and her smile returned.

"This is most interesting," the Xest signaled. "There is a certain
similarity to the Taphid. One begins to comprehend."

Benjamin clasped his glass left-handed, took another gulp of wine,
steadied himself, checked to be sure his pacers were clear, and raised
the whip again. "When I strike her well, I cause her pain, and so she is
happy. It is my guilt at causing the pain that affects her, not the
injury itself, which she is well equipped to endure. When I miss the
mark, I am angry at myself for my inexpertise--and again she is happy.
That is the beauty of it. Not for a century have I had such a chance to
exercise my suppressed antagonisms!"

"Except at Ragnarok," Morning Haze murmured.

"Ah, yes. Chthon..."

"Nevertheless, it does seem to have a tonic effect," the minion added.
"You are moving more spryly than hitherto."

"Yes! By such expression of hostilities I might extend my life
indefinitely, were it not to end well within the hour regardless."

"This one would like to comprehend," the Xest signaled. "This concept of
inevitable destruction--it relates to our mutual destiny." The cube
before it was melting.

"Since this is the proper occasion for the exposition of the
unfortunate," the minion said, "I shall explain about Ragnarok while my
friend beats my mother."

"Parent?" the Xest inquired. "One had supposed she was your mate, such
as one comprehends the term."

"She is. Mate and mother--and, for many fortunate minions, grandmother
and on up the ancestral line. In the normal course she would also be my
daughter-in-law, mate to my son, and so on down the line. After my
demise, of course. This is the way it is on my planet."

"Then you reproduce by fission!" the Xest signaled, as it were a great
light dawning. "Your individuality continues from generation to
generation, as does ours."

"Congratulations," Benjamin gasped, made breathless by his rather
ineffective exertions with the whip. "Man of Minion, you have at last
made clear the riddle of the centuries: the Nature of Human
Reproduction." He chuckled, bringing up a morsel of spittle. "Fission!"

The Xest paused, contemplating its dissolving cube. "But why, then, your
two aspects?"

"Two sexes," Morning Haze said patiently.

"Two species?"

"Two variations, male and female. Both unite to form a new individual."

"Yes," the Xest agreed, understanding anew. "As do the EeoO! Yet your
female aspect is continuous, parent, mate, offspring. This is fission,
as well as fusion."

"Marvelously well stated," Benjamin said.

The minion shook his head. "Surely the sexed species have been over this
ground with your sexless species many times! Perhaps it would help if
you explained your own system of reproduction--and how the Taphid
relates to it."

"Gladly. We fission involuntarily, as when an appendage is accidentally
severed. It regenerates, of course--but the appendage also regenerates a
new Xest. So there are two where there was one. Since we are
overpopulated, a debt to society is incurred. We do not enjoy debt. So
we employ the Taphid."

Benjamin was getting the hang of the whip, despite his debilitation and
advancing state of intoxication. Strips of cloth were falling from the
minionette, bringing her splendid body into view. Her hair was turning
red, as though a flame were playing in it.

"It is hard to believe you are over eighty years old!" Benjamin
murmured.

"I am older than you," Misery said. "I birthed three sons before Pink
Rock. He broke the chain by turning awful before I could conceive by
him, and my tribe had to terminate him for his carelessness. Thus I was
widowed. Had Stone Heart not come at that time--"

"Amazing!" Benjamin gasped. "Your face, your breast--a human girl in
your condition would be a full century your junior."

"Do not neglect the whip," she reminded him.

"Sorry." He cracked her again, exposing a bit more of that torso he so
admired. "What a crime I am committing--sadist and voyeur! And I too far
gone to utilize any of her, were it permitted."

"In our experience," Morning Haze said meanwhile to the Xest, "the
Taphid only consumes. Plastic, flesh, wood--anything remotely edible.
What is the specific use you make of it?"

"The same," the Xest replied. "The Taphid is the most efficient consumer
we have located--better than anything native to our own planets.
Therefore it is in great demand and accounts for the majority of our
trade with other galactic species." It examined the cube again, passing
one leg over it. "The grubs will emerge soon."

"Do not tax yourself unduly, sir," the minion said to Benjamin. "We do
want you with us at the finale."

"Perhaps that is best," the old man agreed, turning over the whip. "This
is marvelously restorative, but there are limits. Most of my pacers are
now in their warning zones."

Morning Haze lifted the whip and efficiently cracked off the remnants of
the minionette's clothing. She had a breathtakingly (in a convenience of
speaking, for the Xest did not breathe) voluptuous figure: neither
slender not exaggerated, but crafted as though by a master artisan to
represent the feminine ideal.

Benjamin watched, sipping more wine. "I begin to understand why my
brother took up with Malice," he said. "Had I been subjected to such
temptation, I would not have remained celibate. Yea, even though I knew
the doom that awaits those who become enamored of her kind!"

"The doom that awaits all minions," Morning Haze said. "Except this one,
for a reason uniquely galactic. Now let me see--how can I climax her in
the most humiliating manner?

"That requires no intense concentration," Benjamin said. "Remember my
nephew."

"How could I forget? I am your nephew."

Benjamin sighed. "Ah, it is indeed the time of the unveiling of ancient
secrets! But yes, let the record be acknowledged before the end! You are
my kin, and the heir to the fortune of Eldest Five."

The minionette moaned.

Benjamin smiled. "See how our gladness hurts her! Are we not sadistic?"

"If one may inquire," the Xest signaled. "In what manner may the two of
you be related? One becomes confused again."

"Humans have foolish pride," Benjamin explained. "When we transgress our
social bylaws, we attempt to conceal it, thinking to protect the
reputation of our families. Disloyalty to our legal mates is one such
transgression."

Morning Haze looked across. "The minionette never transgresses," he
said. "She is always loyal to her inherent mate, of whatever generation.
Even the whipping you gave her, she tolerated only at my directive, and
only in my presence."

"True, nephew, true! Though I wonder at times what would happen if one
of them thought her natural mate dead, so took another--then discovered
her natural one alive after all. How would she resolve such inadvertent
transgression?"

"The most natural mate is always preemptive. The intruder would have to
step aside."

"Even if he were legally, galactically married to her, or shared a blood
relation?"

"In such a case, the two mates would have to meet in mortal combat--"

"But normal humans are not always so strong. My nephew Aton, betrothed
or married in his fashion to Malice, sought information by visiting
Planet Minion in §401. There he tarried with a recently widowed native
girl--"

"Stone Heart!" Misery cried, smiling brilliantly.

"Perhaps that is what he termed himself," Benjamin agreed. "And so he
impregnated you, Misery, and departed the planet. In due course you
birthed Morning Haze, who matured to become your husband. And so he is
my grandnephew, and his quarter-human blood is the blood of the great
Family of Five. This is the secret reason I sought him out, and
facilitated his entry into the galactic culture, though I violated our
law in the doing of it. I have not been disappointed!"

"How fortunate your nephew Aton was able to impregnate her so readily,"
the Xest signaled, though obviously it was using a term it was still
vague about, and hardly agreed with the "fortune" of such ready
replication.

"No fortune," Misery said. "We conceive when love is strongest. Stone
Heart's love was more powerful than any I have known."

"Even than mine?" Morning Haze inquired wryly. "Remember, I am kin to
you, as my father was not."

"He had supreme emotion," she insisted. "He very nearly killed me with
the violence of his passion. If only he had stayed--"

Morning Haze struck her in the face with his fist. "I would have killed
him, to possess you, bitch that you are!"

"Ah, now you almost approach his love," she murmured, pleased.

Benjamin turned to the Xest. "So your kind has a problem of surplus
goods?"

"No. Our problem is a chronic brevity of resources."

"But then why the Taphid, this efficient consumer?"

"You must understand our debt system. Each entity must maintain a
favorable balance, returning as much or more to the species as one
consumes. If one fissions recklessly, one multiplies one's debt."

"Even when fission is involuntary? The leg-regenerating-the-individual
sort of thing?"

"Correct. Such accidents are disastrous. We can not permit promiscuous
multiplication of entities, whatever the pretext. Therefore, the
Taphid."

Benjamin shook his head. "I am inebriated and my reasoning powers are
minimal. Somehow it seems that the efficient consumption activity of the
Taphid would only aggravate your problem."

"Not so. It is essential that fission-control be practiced."

Benjamin shook his head. "No doubt all will come clear in due course."

"Your own situation," the Xest asked politely. "How did you come by it?
You seem to be well on the way to complete cancellation of debt."

Benjamin stared into his drink. Most of the indicators on his pacers had
reverted to near-normal, but he was obviously not in ideal condition.
"The situation is galactic. My own part in it originated with my brother
Aurelius, who bore a son by a minionette, as we have already noted." He
glanced up. "We did note it? My ancient brain fogs--"

"It is understood," the Xest said diplomatically.

"When that son Aton took up with his mother--this is referred to as the
Oedipus complex in our annals, as contrasted with the Electra complex in
which a girl takes up with her father--he was in due course discovered
and sent to the terminal prison Chthon. He escaped, but in the process
discovered the cavern entity Chthon, a mineral intelligence, who
maintained an abiding antipathy to all living things. It became apparent
that this chthonic entity intended to eliminate all life in the galaxy.
To prevent this, we mounted a preemptive attack against Chthon, using
our base on the surface of Chthon-Planet, called Idyllia. Fitting
symbolism, that: Heaven above, Hell below, both warmed by the same fiery
winds. As though there is no concrete distinction between the two... but
I drift. I--where was I?"

"Preemptive attack," Morning Haze called.

"Thank you, nephew. I found myself there in the front ranks, as it were.
At least, I was on the surface of that planet because I was considered
to have the best chance to reach my nephew Aton and convert him to our
side. And because the distant Earth-government did not take the threat
seriously enough, I had to act myself. I believe I succeeded, or would
have--but I found myself enmeshed in mortal combat with the insane Dr.
Bedeker."

"Surely there was more than that!" Morning Haze objected. He had tired
of whipping Misery, and now was banging her face against the wall, using
her luxuriant hair as a handhold. She looked more beautiful than ever,
and her happiness seemed to radiate from her. Benjamin, drunk as he was,
found this masochism fascinating; never had such loveliness been so
brutally treated!

"Of course there was more; I did not realize it was of interest." He
glanced at the Xest as he signaled, and saw the grubs emerging from the
thaw. Quickly he returned his gaze to the nude woman, noting her breasts
moved up and down as her head was forced back. She offered no resistance
to any of this.

"My nephew Aton, half-minion, killed his mother, then took up with his
arranged bride, a daughter of Four named Coquina. Coquina the shell. A
lovely girl--lovely." But it was Misery the minionette he saw, not the
Hvee girl. "However, she came down with the chill, and he had to take
her to Chthon caverns, where controlled environment could preserve her
life." He paused again. "There must have been more to it than that. They
tried heated chambers before, during earlier chill sieges, and that
didn't work. I--now wait, I can find my own place this time! I--I was
present when Dr. Bedeker made the contract. 'I will pray to your god,'
Aton said, 'if only she lives.' And they took Coquina away."

Benjamin closed his eyes. "There was nothing I could do. But I had seen
my nephew--a man of incalculable potential and unbreakable will, who
could stand up to the chthonic power itself--I had seen him broken.
Bedeker had won. In that awful victory he made me his enemy, and I swore
to myself that I would kill him. But I had no way to reach him--and even
if I could, Aton and Coquina were hostage. And so my hate for the
destroyer of the great Family of Five consumed me, from that moment in
§403 until the war of §426.

"Yet it was my enemy Bedeker who kept me informed, for he alone had free
access to Chthon. I never betrayed him to the authorities, for then I
would have lost all contact with my nephew and his wife. I learned that
Aton had two sons, Aesir and Arlo; the first died young and the second
lived to about fifteen, when Ragnarok came and all life on and in that
planet was exterminated. I, virtually alone, escaped. If you could call
it escape."

Benjamin paused for yet another drink. "This is not as much fun as I had
hoped," he said, setting the first glass down. "I can't get high enough
to forget what I remember! Well, all that was thirty-four years ago. I
was seventy-four at the time, Bedeker perhaps a decade younger. It was a
phantasmagoric battle, there at the fringe of the nether caverns; there
were monsters like none known to man. But I knew somehow that if I
killed Bedeker, nothing else would touch me.

"Well, I killed him. But in his expiration he wounded me, and infected
me with some chthonic malady, a botulism-type infection or something
remotely akin to it, not quite familiar to our medical science. It
ravaged my nervous system and God knows what else. You see me now! Oh, I
had the very best medical care--but after all, Chthon had won, and all
they could do was extend my life artificially. It has not been a
pleasure--and now I am glad to let it go."

"Forgive my insistence," Morning Haze said as he labored over a reverse
lock on one of Misery's elbows. Such pressure should have broken a
normal woman's arm, but had no apparent effect on her. "But I feel that
there is yet more to this matter, and I am of a mind to plumb all
secrets. There was an emotional intensification when you spoke of Aton's
sons. I lack the sensitivity my wife has, yet--"

"Yes," the minionette agreed. "He has not yet expressed his full love.
It is very deep and large, yet from a small avenue, like a great lake
filling a caldera, fed by a tiny stream."

Benjamin chuckled ruefully. "By 'love' you mean 'hate.' Yes. Very
fetching imagery, that stream-fed caldera, suggestive as it is of some
prior volcanic eruption. It is the time of deepest confession. Yes,
Bedeker told me of Aton's two sons. The first was Aesir, named after
Norse mythology. The Aesir were the gods of--but that is irrelevant. By
the mad doctor's account, Aesir was a thoroughly charming lad. I believe
Bedeker spoke truly, for he delighted in tormenting me, and he knew the
truth was the most cutting weapon of all. How I hated him!

"He told me how Aesir, a bright, friendly boy even as a toddler,
captivated the entire caverns. He was, if I may use the expression,
favored of Chthon. No creature would hurt him--not even the demonic
salamander, whose venom meant certain and almost instant death. Hitherto
only Bedeker had possessed immunity from cavern danger, thanks to his
affiliation with the cavern sentience of Chthon. Apart from what he
termed the zombies, that is; I believe those were mindless women. I
never grasped their purpose in that scheme. At any rate, Bedeker was
insanely jealous--no pun!--and resolved to eliminate the child. Oh,
yes--he told me this and I believed him. I still believe...

"He could not kill Aesir directly because the lad was Chthon's chosen
fool, destined to do what Bedeker could not. Because, unlike Bedeker,
Aesir was wholly sane. The only sane, intelligent entity able to
communicate directly with Chthon, to do the cavern entity's will
willingly. Bedeker was completely dependent on that mineral entity; had
he antagonized Chthon directly, he would have died. So he schemed....

"I don't know how he arranged it, deceiving Chthon as well as the lad's
parents--but Bedeker did kill Aesir. All others thought it was an
accident. Me he told, for he had to brag to someone. I alone knew the
dreadful secret--as much as anyone but Bedeker himself knew. I alone had
motive for revenge. But I, too, was limited.

"And so I bound him to his deep cave. I used certain connections I had
to put a galactic intercept on all his available assets. He could not
make any purchase, draw any credit, without immediate alert and arrest.
That meant his coded spaceship was useless. In fact, he was effectively
barred from space."

Benjamin smiled, and the minionette smiled with him. "Bedeker was, as he
termed it, half-mad--but the sane, or shall we say human portion of him,
longed for galactic society. He used to travel to Earth just to browse
around the planetary library or gaze upon the ancient oceans. He was an
educated man, a scholar in his fashion. He understood artistic things;
perhaps one has to be mad to have that ability! I deprived him of all
that. Only with my collaboration could he emerge from his caverns, and
only where and when specified. Then he had to bring the beautiful
handcrafted bracelets and rings my nephew crafted, accepting in trade my
gifts to Aton and Coquina. He was my messenger boy, my servant! And so I
was avenged for Aesir, though I never knew the boy directly."

"Beautiful!" Misery said. "Such love..."

The minion looked up from his project. He was trying to blind the
minionette by poking out her eyeballs with his fingers, but she seemed
invulnerable. "So that was the true manner of our meeting! I had
supposed you were merely recruiting competent personnel for the campaign
against the mineral entity--"

"I was, I was!" Benjamin agreed.

"So I became the commander of the backup forces. But you returned to
tell me that the battle was lost, and to withdraw immediately, because
the killchill was starting. Only that timely warning saved me and my
complement; we escaped ahead of that wave--"

"The wave we are now returning to," the Xest signaled. "I was the pilot
of your ship--and now I, also, understand."

"Ragnarok," Morning Have repeated. "The great encounter between the
forces of good and evil--and good lost, as it was fated to."

"Yet to Chthon, life was the evil," the Xest signaled. "And it may have
been correct. Much of life it knows only through Dr. Bedeker. Are we not
now unified in seeking death?"

Benjamin looked at the Xest, in order to read the signals. He blinked
and looked again, temporarily sober. "Minion!" he whispered.

Morning Haze paused, and Misery also looked. All three people were
astonished.

The Taphid grubs had emerged from their frozen hibernation and now
swarmed around the Xest, who stood balanced on the deck. At each foot
the shiny white bodies clustered, their sandpaper tongues rasping
avidly. They were consuming the Xest's legs.

"You asked to be notified of the time," the Xest signaled with the stump
of one leg. "It is a fraction early, but one may not be able to--"

"So I did," Morning Haze replied. "No need to worry--my wife agreed to
remind me. I thank you nevertheless." His eyes remained fixed on the
Xest. "Are you aware--?"

"One is being consumed," the Xest said. "After one, the Taphid will come
for you. However--"

"You import the Taphid at great expense to consume you?" Benjamin
demanded.

"Of course. This guarantees eradication of debt."

"But suicide--death by torture--"

"Beautiful!" the minionette said.

The Xest settled another notch as its legs were shortened. It was now
only half its original height, and signaling was becoming awkward. "We
knew... would comprehend."

"I don't comprehend!" Benjamin said.

Now the minionette turned to him. "Ordinary death is impossible for this
creature. Were it to be cut in half, both portions would regenerate into
complete entities, doubling its societal debt. Were it sundered by an
explosion, every fragment would regenerate, even single-cell debris,
multiplying its debt a hundred- or a thousandfold. The only certain way
to terminate potential debt is to undergo complete consumption."

Morning Haze shook his head. "Bitch, how do you know this?"

"She... telepathic... as one," the Xest signaled with difficulty.
"Receives... pain of demolition... appreciates properly."

Benjamin dispensed with his glass and tilted the bottle to his mouth. He
choked, but got a good swig down.

"You... killing self," the Xest pointed out. "You... coming...
comprehend."

"Yes," Benjamin agreed. "I comprehend at last."

"Come, love," the minion said. "It is time." He kissed her.

Suddenly the minionette writhed in pain. "No!" she cried.

"I have waited fifty-eight years to love you," Morning Haze said. "Now
that we are all about to die, what difference can it make to you?" He
kissed her again and ran his hand across her shoulder and over her
breast: not roughly, but delicately. "Your very presence thrills me.
Your aspect is beyond description, mother mine. Never have I known a
creature so lovely--"

"Causing pain," the Xest signaled. "She... mercy!"

"Let me possess you truly," the minion said, ignoring all else. "Not
with sadism, but with utter joy and respect. I love you!"

The minionette screamed. She twisted violently, trying to free herself
from his embrace. "Xest, help me!" she cried as if deranged.

Now the Taphid had reached the Xest's globular body. Yet the creature
managed one more series of signals with the last short stump of one leg.
"One transmits... agony... you."

And the minionette relaxed. "What bliss you send! Now I can endure..."

The hunger of the Taphids seemed to grow as the body of the Xest shrank.
The last of the leg-stump diminished and disappeared, and the globe of
the body ground into the collective maw of the voracious grubs. The
Xest, facing certain death anyway, still preferred to utilize its
familiar mechanism, canceling all potential debt.

Morning Haze clasped Misery to him in an expression of passion that
would surely have been fatal to her in other circumstances. But the Xest
was dying as the Taphids ate out its innards, transmitting exquisite
agony, and the smile on the face of the minionette was beatific.

"I never thought I'd see the like!" Benjamin said, his head swiveling
from one event to the other. "It is now thirty seconds until--" Then he
clasped his chest. "Oh-oh--one of my gimcracks failed at last--"

Benjamin staggered forward, tripped over the boiling mass of the Xest,
and fell. He landed on one desperately outflung arm, and the brittle
bone snapped instantly. But this was the lesser horror. The Taphids
swarmed eagerly over him. The effect was so stimulating that he was able
to function without the defunct pacer. He wrenched himself out--but now
there was no escape.

The old man crawled on three limbs across the deck, slapping feebly at
the rasping grubs with his dangling arm. He lost his fragile balance and
rolled into the vibrant minionette. The Taphids spread out to attack
this new, delicious prey.

"Aahhh!" Misery cried in renewed ecstasy, as Benjamin's death agony
joined that of the Xest, and the minion's climax was augmented by the
devastating appetite of the Taphids. Her outflung arm convulsed,
bringing Benjamin's staring face into her breast. Taphids fell wriggling
from his punctured eyes and began their demolition of her mammary. The
minionette had found paradise at last.

Then the killchill struck. There was no immediate effect on the metallic
or ceramic parts of the ship, but everything either living or of organic
origin began to disintegrate. The wood paneling sagged and powdered out;
the plastic fixtures melted.

All life dissolved. Human, Xest and Taphid melted into a common goo, its
liquids flowing across the deck, its gases bubbling out. Then a kind of
flame played over it, as the fundamental proteins that made life
possible were destroyed.

The husk of the ship continued, truly dead--as was all the galaxy where
the wave had passed. The remainder of the galaxy was following at the
speed of light. The ramifications of the forced interaction between
fluorine and oxygen made the process inevitable.

Chthon had won.

Chapter III: War
----------------

Arlo snapped awake. Beside him, Ex sat up too. She was more beautiful
than ever, despite the rather sadistic turns their love seemed to take.
He had found himself striking her, reviling her, despite all his efforts
to suppress his quarter-minion sadism. Yet she accepted it with singular
grace, making him ashamed, angry at himself.

"What is it?" she asked, stretching languorously.

"I had a dream..."

"A lovely one..." she said. "Was it of me?"

"A nightmare!" Then he had to fend her off as she bashed him with a
fistful of moss. "But that isn't what woke me. Something's in the
caverns." He looked about, seeing beyond the bright garden. "I sense
tremendous conflict."

He had told her about his minion blood that made him partially
telepathic. It was that ability, he realized now, that had enabled him
to communicate with Chthon. The cavern god was virtually omnipotent
within its sphere, but the ordinary human mind was deaf to that power.
Coquina could not perceive Chthon at all, and Aton would not; but Arlo
had associated with Chthon from the time he was conceived, and developed
this ability right along with his human speech.

In fact, it was Chthon who had awakened him. "Stay here, Ex," Arlo said.
"I have to go investigate."

"C'mon, stay," she said, taking his hand and holding it against her
body.

Arlo was torn by indecision. Was she offering cooperation, a really
willing liaison? That was too good to turn down! But Chthon had called,
and he had agreed to cooperate with Chthon. What should he do?

Now the summons became more urgent. Chthon was really concerned! But Ex
spread her legs, invoking his masculine reaction in the way she knew so
well how to do. Such an invitation was compulsive.

A warning mood came from Chthon. Arlo had a brief vision of Ex suffering
from the myxo, or torn open by some great wolflike beast, and decided:
he could not risk breaking the contract. "Chthon summons; I have to go."

"If you do, I'll make you sorry," Ex said.

"Not as sorry as Chthon can make me," he said. Better her bitchiness for
a few days, than Chthon's ire! He went.

He ran easily through the caverns, following Chthon's call. It was a
long way. He left the cool, scented passages of the garden region and
entered the extensive, sloping tunnels that conveyed air to the gas
crevasse. But he moved upwind, away from the crevasse. Though these
tubes gradually descended, the wind became stronger, requiring increased
output of energy to maintain his pace. He would have slowed, but Chthon
infused strength into him, alleviating his fatigue. Gradually the air
became hot, and the sweat of his exertion made him thirsty. He had to
detour briefly to seek a river. It was sucker-infested, but Chthon held
the leeches back while Arlo drank deeply. Then onward.

As he approached the prison region, he became cautious, warned by his
friend. He slowed, then concealed himself in a cave aperture.

None too soon. People were marching down a passage, bracing themselves
against the stiff hot wind. At first he thought they were prisoners, for
they wore the waterbags; then he saw that they were clothed.

In fact, they were women, strange not only in their apparel. They were
all young, quite pretty, and disturbingly familiar. They carried what he
recognized as weapons: spears, clubs, and others he recognized only from
descriptions in LOE: swords and bows. Much of it was incomprehensible to
him, however.

These were Amazons: fabled female warriors. What were they doing here?
Never in his memory had humans from Outside invaded the caverns. They
could not be prisoners; they were an army.

Chthon surely knew what this meant, but Chthon could not convey such a
concept directly. Arlo waited until the troops were past, then did some
stalking of his own. He could locate Doc Bedside and ask him--but
Bedside was far away, and anyway Arlo preferred to do his own research.
If he could isolate and capture one of these intruders...

He followed the detachment down the wind passage. He knew the caverns as
evidently they did not; some of these women were bound to get lost. For
one thing, this passage terminated in a river--and down the river was a
potwhale. A large one. That would disrupt their formation!

Sure enough: in the next hour they found the river and followed it down.

And when they came to the potwhale pool, they set out to swim across it,
like total fools. He ascended to a passage crossing above the dome,
located in a crack in the floor, and peered down into the pool from
directly above.

They stripped, laying their uniforms, weapons, and water bags carefully
on the surrounding ledge, showing their marvelously voluptuous torsos.
In a reaction that was becoming so frequent as to be an embarrassment,
Arlo's member stiffened. The sight of any female body had an effect on
him, but these were exceptionally stimulating bodies!

Naturally the potwhale came up and started taking them in. Its bulk
filled the pool--for of course the potwhale itself had widened the pool
over the centuries to accommodate its slow growth--and its ropelike
tongue slapped about, coiling around any swimmer it touched, hauling her
into its maw. Such a waste of beauty!

The Amazons tried to fight, but they were at a disadvantage in the
water. Nevertheless they performed creditably. They stabbed their spears
into the blubber of the potwhale and hacked off its tongue. After a
while it had had enough. It submerged.

One of the Amazons had fled into a confusing tunnel-loop. Rather, she
was exploring, for she did not rush. She had a queenly bearing, and
evidently had some authority over the detachment. Perhaps she was
looking for other dangers, so that the women would not fall into any
more such traps. That was an intelligent thing to do. Already Arlo heard
the measured tread of the caterpillar of this territory, and he knew
other predators would soon converge.

Meanwhile, this was his chance. Arlo dropped silently into the tunnel
and cut her off in a pocket, holding his spear ready. He had no doubt of
his ability to subdue her, for he was a man, she a woman.

"Why are you here?" he demanded in verbal Galactic.

She whirled, seeing him in the green stone-glow. "Why hello, Arlo," she
said.

He paused, startled. How could this stranger Amazon, new to the caverns,
know him so readily?

"Of course we know you," she said. "You are the only independent
cave-boy in Chthon. I spotted you back in the wind tunnel as we marched
by, and saw you following us, and then I glimpsed your face in the
ceiling fault. I hoped I could finally approach you if I came alone. I
did not wish to frighten you."

"I am not frightened!" he said indignantly.

"True. Forgive my ill choice of words. We know you will help us. As you
have seen, we desperately need help, for we do not know the dangers of
the caverns."

"You are telepathic!" he cried.

"I am a minionette," she said, standing straight.

The minionette! The word conjured a confused host of images, angry and
enticing. Now he saw how beautiful she was despite her clothing;
lovelier than Ex or Coquina or Verthandi, lovelier even than her nude
companions of the Amazon detachment. Her hair was like a living flame as
it billowed about her face and shoulders, and her eyes were deep garden
pools.

So this was a living, semi-telepathic minionette, like that of his
recent dream. It was suddenly very easy to appreciate why his human
grandfather and half-human father had loved one. She was so absolutely
gorgeous it almost hurt his eyes to look at her.

Arlo felt a tinge of guilt, for he was betrothed to Ex and thought he
had set aside casual lust. Not at all, he now knew!

"You are handsome yourself," she said. "Your guilt pleases me."

It was true! Not only could she read his emotion, she received it
inverted. She liked his self-condemnation, the bitch!

"Yes," she agreed. "That is why Planet Minion was proscribed, until this
mission. Normal humans did not want us among them, though we are really
quite human ourselves."

"Who are you?" It was all he could think of at the moment.

"I am Torment. Once I met your father Aton. What a rare lover he was!"

Baffled rage flooded him. "My father never loved you!"

"No. He loved my sister Misery--but all of us felt the rampant
emanations of it. Lovely!"

"It was Malice he loved!" Arlo cried. "His--mother."

"He loved us all."

Oh--he had allowed himself to be confused. She meant Aton had hated them
all. But who was this Misery she mentioned? It was as though he knew
her... from his dream?

"You possess the secrets of Chthon," Torment said. "Chthon is wonderful;
Chthon loves us all. Help us win Chthon."

Translation: Chthon hated them all with a mighty hate. Thus they all
became bright and beautiful and sought to come closer to the cavern god.
What a devastating army!

Chthon! he cried inwardly. What do I do now?

And Chthon replied: Leave her.

Arlo jumped. He had comprehended the words--as words! Always before it
had been a general, nonverbal comprehension. His linkage with Chthon had
abruptly improved.

"So you are in direct contact with the cavern entity," Torment said.
"Excellent. Take us to its home base."

"So you can destroy Chthon?" Arlo asked angrily. "Get out of here!"

She looked at him, unafraid. "Arlo, you are of us. You are human--and
minion. Chthon is out to kill us all--and you, too, when it no longer
needs you. Its promises are worthless, for it is the ultimate enemy.
Chthon means to wipe out all life in the galaxy."

"Chthon is my friend!" Arlo cried, stabbing his spear at her. If there
were evil in beauty, or beauty in evil, the minionette personified it.
Surely Chthon had brought him here to show him this!

Torment parried the thrust easily, smiling. "Better learn to fight,
young man."

Enraged, Arlo struck at her with his fist. She took the blow on her
shoulder, unflinching, unaffected. "Very nice, Arlo. You are strong. But
you pulled your punch, and you did not aim for a vital spot. Try it
again."

The bitch was right. His misadventure with Ex, that had almost killed
her before he really knew her, had made him cautious. But now he was
beyond caring. He struck Torment on the cheek as hard as he could.

The blow rocked her back against the wall. But she smiled dazzlingly,
still unhurt. "You are not the man your father was--but you have good
potential."

Arlo struck at her again. This time she caught his hand, spun about, and
threw him over her hip. But he did not land hard on the rock floor, for
she held him up. She leaned over and kissed him on the nose. "Tempting
as it is, I may not dally with you, cave-boy. Take me to Chthon."

"Chthon is here," he said.

"I don't see it."

Then she stiffened. Chthon was applying the myxo siege on her. This time
Arlo had no objection. "You wanted to meet Chthon," he told her
mockingly. "How do you like it?" And while she was struggling, he took
her weapons: the short sword, a bright metal knife at her hip, and a
tube of some sort that was lodged in the front of her uniform,
vertically between her remarkable breasts. He sighted down it, but the
tube was blocked: evidently not a weapon after all.

The white slime was forming on Torment's face, arms and legs, staining
her uniform. Arlo pulled up her brief metallic skirt to verify that the
myxo extended all over her body. He discovered that even under the awful
white coating, her torso was exquisitely shaped. Apparently this was the
heritage of every minionette: incomparable figure that no coating or
clothing could make repulsive. She would become a zombie--but an
extremely attractive one. Verthandi would be jealous!

He had to smile at that. Jealousy in zombies?

Then Torment smiled. The myxo flaked off, a very shallow layer. "Love me
some more, Chthon!" she cried. "I am in ecstasy!"

And abruptly the myxo siege halted.

Arlo stared. The minionette had fought off Chthon!

Torment opened her eyes. She spat out a lump of yellowish pus. "We
believed we would be effective against the cavern entity because of our
nature. Obviously it used telepathy, and we--" she shrugged. "This is
the reason Life's army has been largely recruited from Planet Minion. It
is good to have this confirmation. It would be sad to destroy so loving
a sentience."

"You must not!" Arlo cried.

"It is either us or it," she said. "We are of the living, it is of the
dead--and Ragnarok is at hand. All living sentients support our effort,
human and nonhuman alike. The Xests and Lfa and--"

"Not Hvee!" Arlo cried. "Not the Family of Five!"

"Your granduncle Benjamin commands this task force," she said. "And your
brother Morning Haze pilots our ship."

"I have no brother!"

"You have more than you know," she said. She paused momentarily.
"Actually, I misremember. A Xest is the pilot; Morning Haze commands the
backup troops."

Her very mismemory argued strongly for her sincerity--yet she was
speaking nonsense!

"Please return to me my weapons," she said.

Numbly, Arlo handed back her sword and knife. Again parts of his dream
haunted him, for it had involved Benjamin and Morning Haze. Had it
really been a dream, or was it in fact a vision? Could Torment have read
his mind and fed his fancies back to him as supposed facts? Yet his
vision had indicated that Ragnarok was long over, and that Chthon had
been victorious. If it were false, she should hardly have advertised it;
if it reflected truth, why should he be concerned?

"Keep the blowgun," she said. "You may need it."

"Blowgun?" He looked at the tube.

"You blow hard in this end. The dart shoots out to strike the target.
Careful--it's poisoned."

"Poisoned?" Events had dazed him.

"Pseudo-curare. Will stun a creature your size in seconds, kill in
minutes if not antidoted. Here--you'll want some more darts, and here is
the nullifying agent." She brought out several more and pressed them
into his hand, along with a little cube. "Oh--you don't have anywhere to
carry them, do you!"

"In my mouth," he said.

She laughed musically. "What a delicious thought! You'll carry them
right to heaven that way! In approximately five seconds. Your saliva
would dissolve the protective coating on the tips, releasing the
poison."

"In my hand, then." His brow wrinkled. "With this--you could have killed
me."

"None of us would kill you, cave-boy," Torment said. "You are our ace in
the hole."

"What?"

"Archaic slang. These verbalisms continue so long as they are useful.
Look it up in LOE."

Arlo realized that this beautiful woman was not only stronger than he,
she was smarter. He turned to go.

A dozen other minionettes blocked the passage behind him. Each was
exactly like Torment: firm, round legs made alluring by the shadows of
the short skirts, projecting breasts, firesmoke hair, lovely even facial
features. It was as though copies had been made. He could not have told
any of them from Torment, had he met them alone.

They parted to let him through, smiling as they picked up his dismay.
Disconcerted, Arlo left.

Near his home region, Arlo spied a young chipper about his own size. On
a sudden notion he raised the blowgun, took a breath, aimed and blew.
There was a satisfying release of pressure, a swish, and the dart was
sticking in the furry back of the animal.

The chipper turned to him, surprised at the slight pain of the dart.
Then it fell over.

Arlo went to it. "Hey, chip--I didn't mean to hurt you," he said. "Get
up."

But the animal was dying.

Arlo looked at the blowgun, then at the darts. He shuddered. He
contemplated the little curative cube, wondering how it worked. It had
nothing but a button on one side. Finally he set the cube against the
flank of the animal and pushed down the stud.

There was a ping! from the cube, and it jerked slightly in his hand.
Arlo dropped it. But really nothing happened, and after a moment he
picked it up again.

The chipper revived. It raised its head, then hauled itself to its feet.
Evidently the cube had done its job; the victim would live.

Arlo inserted a new dart in the tube and went on.

A stranger sat in the garden: small, short-haired, feminine.

"Don't you recognize me, Arlo?" she demanded, rising.

The voice! "Ex!" But she looked so changed! Without her flying golden
tresses, her head seemed small, her neck long. Her breasts were suddenly
much lower and larger, more like those of the minionettes. In fact--

"Bedside did it," she said, "He snuck up on me while I was asleep and--"

"You weren't asleep!" Arlo cried. "You let him. You threatened to do
something to make me sorry, if I went--"

"All right. I let him. Bedside can't hurt me, not while you have the
pact with Chthon--but he surely doesn't like me. He thought you'd kick
me out if I weren't so pretty, but I know better. So I accepted his
gambit, and--"

"You--you're a minionette!" Arlo whispered, seeing the flame and smoke
in the ragged stump of her hair, the dawning perfection of her torso,
the comeliness of her features. Not a perfect minionette, but a close
approximation. Had he not spoken so recently to Torment, seen her
identical sisters, and had the vision-dream, he would not have been
attuned, not recognized it in Ex. But the traces were unmistakable now
that the distraction of the golden hair was gone.

"Yes, she is a minionette," a man's voice said. It was Doc Bedside. "Her
name is not Ex, but Vex. They have this intriguing code of
nomenclature--but surely you know of that, being the child of Malice.
Now what do you think of her, Arlo?"

Suddenly a mystery was resolved. No wonder Ex had been so perverse,
especially at the point of love. Her emotions were reversed! It had not
been his latent sadism, but her masochism that brought out the worst in
him. She had had to make him hate her, at least temporarily, so that she
could love him. Every act of irritation had been her courtship.

Angered by the man's assumption, Arlo reacted oppositely. "I think I
want to possess her." And he took her in his arms, his member rising.
Let Bedside watch; let the old, mad zombie, murderer of Aesir, suffer
open defeat! Arlo had not been repelled by his experience with the
warrior minionette Torment, but rather intrigued--and now he had his own
minionette. So, with mixed lust and ire, he took her down--and she
cooperated, chuckling. She didn't like Bedside either, and in this
manner she won her wager.

"She is twice her apparent age," Bedside said, unruffled. "She looks
twelve--or did, before she bloomed for you. But chronologically she is
twenty-six--a generous ten years your senior."

At the point of entry, Arlo stopped. "You lie," he muttered.

"Ask her." And now Bedside chuckled. "The minionette can not lie to her
beloved."

"It is true," Ex/Vex admitted. "I was birthed in §400. But it doesn't
make any difference. See, the hvee still glows."

"§400!" Arlo cried, his member dwindling.

"It is the minionette way," Vex said. "Until we have a man, we remain
young. A widowed minionette even regresses somewhat: first her hair
fades, then her form diminishes. We are creatures of love, Arlo. Until I
loved you, I was a child; and my development is just one of the proofs
of my love, along with your blue hvee. Soon I shall be fully
beautiful--and it is all for you, my lover, my beloved, my husband, my
all." She shot a momentary snarl at Bedside. "Ask him!"

"True," Bedside said, accommodating smoothly to this new aspect of
debate. Arlo realized the man was keeping his hate controlled, to not
give Vex any pleasure in it. "The minionette loves her lover truly,
until she bears a son. Then she discards him for that son."

"But not before he wishes," Vex fired back. "While the father lives, the
father has priority."

"Exactly," Bedside said. Vex's eyes went staring for a moment, and her
body tensed. Arlo realized that the doctor had in some clever, subtle
way scored heavily.

Still clasping her exciting body, still halfway at the point, Arlo
understood that he had become a pawn in the battle between Chthon and
the minionettes. The invaders wanted his help, so they had sent in an
advance scout to convert him. Chthon had known this and had sought to
eliminate her at the outset. Now the fight was verbal, informational,
but just as vicious.

Still, the hvee showed Vex's love was true, and he did not object to her
being a minionette. Even her age became irrelevant: she had bloomed for
him. And he still could spite Bedside by completing his act of love in
the man's presence. In fact, it would be best that way, for Bedside's
hate and frustration would cancel out Arlo's love and keep Vex sweet.
His member stiffened again. Oh yes, he knew why she was cooperating so
nicely, and he was glad of it! She even felt his background anger at the
situation, that it should have to be this way, and enjoyed that too.
What a complex of adversities, combining to build a positive structure!

Her legs spread wider, and she wriggled to accommodate him. "I'm glad
you know," she whispered. "Now we can really do it. Love me!"

Viciously he thrust, trying to make her hurt.

"She called you her lover, her beloved, her husband, her all," Bedside
remarked. "But she omitted something. She should have added--"

"Shut up!" Vex screeched, pulling Arlo's face down to hers.

"Kin."

"Don't listen to him!" Vex whispered fiercely in Arlo's ear. She
half-smothered him with frantic kisses.

"Don't worry," Arlo reassured her. "Nothing he can say can--"

"She is also your sister," Bedside continued imperturbably.

"She--!" Arlo froze in mid-stroke, shocked. The ban against
brother-sister relations pervaded LOE.

"Damn!" Vex murmured as she smiled beatifically and moved to take him
in. "You feel so new and wonderful."

Suddenly his confusion resolved. "All minionettes are sisters," he said.
"It is a convention between them. I am quarter-minion, so in that
sense--"

"Ooo, you hurt!" Vex protested, reacting to his resolution of conflict.
She tried to withdraw, but he held her tight.

"Via the human connection, no figure of speech," Bedside said.

Intellectual dialogue was difficult in the present circumstance. "I have
no sister!" Arlo snapped, and felt Vex soften and warm, inside and out,
as his ire manifested. Yet what had the Norns said? This hardening
rod... "Only a brother--and he's dead."

"More precisely, half-sister," Bedside continued. "The truth is, Aton
Five has three living children by three separate women."

"He is loyal to Coquina!" Arlo flared. What oddities of dialogue had he
gotten into, amidst this attempted act of love? "I know all about it.
Malice is dead."

"You are the youngest, birthed in §410," Bedside said. "By the
minionette Misery he conceived Morning Haze, birthed in §402 on Planet
Minion, heir to the Eldest Five fortune. At such time as his status is
acknowledged--which may be never, for he is a bastard, a crossbreed of
two cultures, both of which disapprove bastardy." Bedside scowled,
thinking of Benjamin, his abiding enemy. "But do not be concerned: it
was but a momentary dalliance."

"So maybe I do have a half-brother," Arlo said, for this coincided with
his vision and therefore became believable. "He is illegitimate. I am
the named heir to Eldest Five; I bear the A designation."

"But you are legally dead, as is your father. Aton died in §400, in the
eyes of Galactic Law. The dead do not inherit."

"Neither do they conceive bastards," Arlo muttered. But he found he did
not care for this technicality. "Then let Morning Haze inherit! He is a
good man, kind to his minionette. I have things to occupy me here." And
he resumed operations with willing Vex.

"By his mother/lover, the minionette Malice, Aton conceived his
firstborn, birthed while he was in prison in §400," Bedside continued.
"This one was legitimate." He held up a hand to forestall Arlo's
outburst. "Stay your wrath--Aton did not know of this child either.
Malice had no real chance to inform him before he killed her. But the
infant was returned to Planet Minion by your granduncle Benjamin, to
protect the name of Five, and I have blackmailed him since. He is the
very model of discretion; never once has he spoken of this matter to any
outsider, and he never will. But there are no secrets from Chthon. Now,
if you do not behave, I shall inform Aton."

"He will never credit such lies!" Arlo said.

"Is it a lie? Ask Vex whose child she is, then."

Arlo, his attention split between the bitter dialogue and the most
stimulating physical interaction with the girl, had not made the obvious
connection before. "Not--?" he demanded with dawning horror.

"I am the child of Aton and Malice," Vex said. "I am daughter and
granddaughter to that minionette."

Stunned, Arlo tried to reject it. "The minionettes bear only boys!"

"Not so, else their line would perish," Bedside said. "When a minionette
is old, or sees herself near death, she births a girl. Malice knew she
would die when Aton came to her again, for he lacked the discipline of a
native minion. So--"

"Impossible! A woman can't control--" Arlo said.

"A minionette can," Vex said. "Her body can choose between the male and
female seed of her lover, accepting only the appropriate type. Soon I
shall conceive a son by you, unless death approaches me. Then I would
give you a girl to replace me."

"Electra!" Arlo said, recognizing another concept from LOE. Then: "My
sister!" Actually, Chthon would not let her conceive, but that hardly
changed the picture.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Vex asked. "The mad doctor thought the truth would
drive you away from me, like the cutting of my hair, and I feared it
too, but our love remains true. Doesn't it?" And she made a flexing
motion inside that brought Arlo to an unwilling, guilty, but powerful
climax.

"My sister!" he gasped, horrified by the reality of Minion's system and
the prediction of the Norns. In that moment he hated Vex--yet he loved
her, too. He knew he would be unable to resist her blandishments in
future--for however angry he became, her love would always match it. And
the guilt of the association carried its own spur; forbidden fruit was
attractive. He was quarter-minion, she three-quarters, and the trap had
sprung.

Now at last he understood what had motivated his father to such acts of
desperation and incest.

The war proceeded. Day by day the minionettes advanced along the
passages, spreading out from their base at the old prison. Resistive to
the myxo and ever more sophisticated about the assorted menaces of the
caverns, they routed out the underworld creatures Chthon sent against
them. One specimen of each was sent to the surface of the planet for
study.

"I don't think I like this," Arlo said to Vex as they relaxed in the
garden. "Those animals are innocent; they should not be wiped out."

"Caterpillars? Potwhales? Dragons? Chimeras?" she retorted derisively.
"Innocent? What about that wolf thing that laid me open?" She paused,
reflecting. "Actually, that was sort of fun. You know, we minionettes
are almost unkillable by normal means, but that thing--I'd like to meet
it again."

Arlo remembered the massive malevolence of the wolf. "You have a death
wish," he said. "Bitch or bride, I don't want you dead. I'll help the
Amazons track it down and kill it."

"As you wish," she said diffidently.

He reached for her, but she avoided him, responsive to his positive
emotion. "Remember, I'm your sister!" she reminded him teasingly. "Your
culture says you shall not raise your penis to me."

"Hell with my culture, sister!" he cried, grabbing for her leg.

"Sister!" It was Aton's voice.

Aton and Doc Bedside stood at the entrance to this bright inlet,
blinking in the daylight illumination of the high gas jets. Arlo had
never expected such a visitation--but of course Bedside could guide Aton
in safely, if it were Chthon's will. There was about to be another facet
of the Chthon/minionette struggle.

"As I informed you," Bedside said to Aton. "Your daughter--by your
mother."

Aton stared--and Vex stood up straight, smoothing her flanks, inhaling.
Her figure had filled out completely now, and except for her short hair
and certain human touches, she was every inch a minionette. Even the
hair showed it, for it formed a crown of rolling flame.

"My daughter..." Aton said, his eyes fixed on Vex. "So like Malice..."

Arlo stood still, watching it unfold. What was his father going to do?
Kill the minionette? Arlo could not allow that. Obviously Bedside had
done it to get rid of Vex. The revelation of her relation to Arlo had
not eliminated her, so now the battle had been widened to include Aton,
who had killed Vex's mother. By loving her.

"An abomination!" Aton said. "That she should come here to tempt my
son--"

Arlo raised his blowgun, uncertain whether he had the courage to use it
against his father. But Vex took more direct action. She walked across
the path into Aton's arms. "Father!" she said passionately.

Arlo saw his father's hands clench as though to crush her. Again he
raised the blowgun. But he remembered how very difficult the minionette
was to kill. Barehanded, Aton could not do it. The stronger his hate,
the less chance he stood.

Then Aton kissed his daughter. Vex kissed him back. By appearance alone,
they were an ideal couple, and Arlo knew in that moment how Aton had
been with Malice. This was as close a duplication as possible.

Doc Bedside appeared at Arlo's side. "You realize, of course, where this
will lead," he said.

"No!" Arlo said angrily.

"He hates her--but he loves her, as you do. For she is Electra, and he
is dead because of her mother."

Arlo shook his head. "What?"

"Electra, in Greek legend, was the daughter of Agamemnon and Queen
Clytemnestra. The Queen killed her husband, and Electra was so outraged
that she hid her young brother Orestes from the Queen's wrath, and
enabled him to grow up to avenge his father. Later, the Electra complex
was designated as a girl's sexual love for her father, in competition
with her mother. It is in many ways parallel to the Oedipus complex: a
boy's sexual love for his mother. How fitting that Aton should enact
both roles."

"Both?" Arlo was still bemused.

"The mode of the minionette is of course Oedipal, with the woman mating,
successively, her spouse, son, grandson, and so on down the line. But--"

"I know this!" Arlo snapped.

"But when she passes, she leaves a daughter to carry on--and naturally
that young girl's attraction is to her family line. She thus is the
willing consort of her father, the first man in her life and her nearest
of kin. By him she bears his successor. And so Electra complements
Oedipus in a beautiful, continuing relationship. It will be so
satisfying to see it enacted here--don't you agree?"

Slowly the awful concept hammered its way through Arlo's skull. Bedside
had hinted at it before: the father took precedence over the son, until
the son killed the father in the recurring Oedipal pattern. This was the
hell Vex had brought into their lives. "My father--the minionette..."

Suddenly Aton threw Vex aside, cursing. She fell to the floor and lay
unmoving, though of course she was not hurt.

"Naturally he resists the concept much more violently than you do,"
Bedside continued. "He was raised on Planet Hvee and received the finest
galactic tutoring. He has civilized reservations. He knows it is
forbidden--knows it right down through his subconscious. Which means he
is genuinely, violently angry about the temptation. That of course makes
him doubly attractive to the minionette. See how she lures him."

Indeed, Vex presented a remarkably fetching picture of romantic
innocence, half-supine on the floor, legs spread, palms flat against the
stone to her right, arms supporting her twisting shoulders so that her
breasts hung partly forward, her head drooping. Never had she been more
lovely, this angel in distress.

Aton whirled and strode into the darkness of the tunnel, almost
radiating fury.

"He will return," Bedside said. "Inevitably--for she is his daughter,
child of his beloved mother, the minionette."

"But she is my betrothed..." Arlo whispered. "The minionette is always
true."

"True to her nature," Bedside said. "True to her closest kin. You are
her half-brother, only quarter-minion. Aton is her father, half-minion.
He is the one."

Arlo looked at Vex and saw her looking after Aton. He knew he had lost
her. No human law or scruple could prevail against the combined tides of
minion blood and minion nature. "What remains for me?" he asked Bedside,
almost as if in this extremity the mad doctor were his friend.

"Chthon loves you," Bedside said. "Chthon sought to spare you this.
Chthon can fulfill you."

"As a zombie?" Arlo flashed.

"As a god."

Arlo, his heart numbed, acceded--as he knew his father had before him,
when Coquina was dying. Doc Bedside had prevailed again, this time
destroying Coquina and perhaps the whole thrust of Life's invasion. But
Arlo hardly cared. "Chthon was always my friend," he said.

"Always!" Bedside agreed warmly.

Chapter IV: Tree
----------------

Doc Bedside conducted Arlo to an unfamiliar section of the caverns where
the stone was a strange gray, with portions bare of glow. The passages
diverged and rediverged in grotesque loops, and there was no wind at
all. Stagnant pools filled the declivities, and the glow had settled in
them, providing what scant light there was. This, surely, was a place of
dying. The normal small sounds of cavern animals were absent.

"This is the lowest portion of the caverns that man has trodden," Doc
Bedside said. "See, there is my marker." He indicated a cairn, a pile of
stones. Beside it was the crude outline of a human skull, scratched in
the soft rock of the floor. Beneath that were four jagged letters: MYXO.
"Undisturbed these thirty years. I made that as a warning for any fools
who might follow, back in §395."

"But the myxo can strike anywhere," Arlo said. "It is Chthon's weapon,
his zombie-device."

"Back then, Chthon was just developing it," Bedside said. "I was
Chthon's first human subject."

"But you're not a zombie." Arlo paused, reconsidering. "Not completely."

Bedside smiled. "I am half-zombie, half-mad, half-human. Chthon overlaps
my madness, so all you witness is near-normality. You will comprehend my
rationale shortly."

"I don't want to be like you!" Arlo protested. "Or like the Norns."

"On the failures of the past are built the successes of the future. The
zombies are complete failures; Verthandi the Norn and I are
half-failures. Your father might have been a success, but in the end
resisted too strongly. Your brother Aesir was closer yet."

"So you killed him," Arlo said.

Bedside's composure was momentarily broken. "How would you know of
that?" he asked tightly.

"Uncle Benjamin told me."

"You never met Benjamin!"

"No?" Arlo did not choose to explain about the vision. "He said you were
jealous of Aesir, who was closer to Chthon than you were, so you killed
him. How can I be sure you won't kill me, too?"

Bedside slumped, very much the way Coquina had when she told him about
the minionette. "I did kill him--and suffered the double vengeance of
Benjamin and Chthon. I need no further lessons of that nature."

Mad as he might be, Bedside always spoke truth. "What happened?"

"The cavern creatures all loved him, for he was beloved of Chthon. None
would harm him. But I initiated a game, a blind hunt, and in their
confusion they destroyed him. Yet Chthon became aware, though I had not
touched him myself, and Chthon put me into a caterpillar..."

"Sleipnir!"

"It is not a process I recommend. I assure you, I would kill you only if
Chthon directed it. I am the servant, not the master, not the chosen.
You will not be like me; you will be the first living chthonic god.
Chthon does not need or desire any more partial successes. You must
believe that, or this is useless. You must come to Chthon voluntarily,
with no reservation in your mind or soul."

"I can't be sure of that," Arlo said. "I'd have to know what I was
getting into." Chthon was his friend--but there were limits to
friendship.

"Chthon will show you. Your mind will not be touched, only your
perceptions. Then you will return to your garden, alone, where you will
meditate upon the options with full knowledge. Thereafter, you will walk
either to the claws of the minionette, knowing how that must end, or to
the comfort of Chthon."

"Nice phrasing, that," Arlo remarked dryly.

"Phrase it as you will. Your choice will be free." Bedside's words were
augmented by a mental projection from Chthon, doubling and more than
doubling the effect.

"I believe it," Arlo agreed. "Chthon has always been fair with me. How
do we proceed?"

"Lie here. Be comfortable, relaxed. Open your mind to Chthon," Bedside
said. "Do not resist; Chthon is your friend. Chthon will assuage your
wounds."

Arlo lay on the rock. It was not uncomfortable, for he had often slept
on stone before. His gaze traveled to the ceiling. Above him was a
massive stalactite, crystalline, translucent at the fringe: It
resembled, in it gross fashion, an open hvee flower. From it a thin mist
descended, like that of the gas crevasse. Was he now to discover what
happened in the suffocating depths of that chasm? To be sucked through a
network of pipes to be consumed in the flames? Would his essence emerge
as a precious blue garnet, forever inaccessible?

No. He trusted Chthon. More than he trusted the minionette!

Arlo opened his mind. And it was like walking down a long dark tunnel.
Yet, as he traveled down it, the way became opaque. The walls wavered
and his footing became unsteady. "Relax; let the irrelevancies bubble
off," Bedside said from somewhere outside. "You are seeking to extricate
yourself from the prison of your senses. Let the body go. Don't force
it. Just let it pass in its own way."

Arlo relaxed--and the tunnel in his imagination firmed. He walked down
it to meet his friend and god directly. Now a light manifested far
ahead, and he knew that light was Chthon.

As he went, the way became easier, the obstacles fewer and less
formidable. The tunnel widened and finally opened out in a vista of
dazzling beauty. It was an explosion. From a pinpoint source, bright
plasma thrust outward in a multidimensional sphere. Fire-radiation and
matter-smoke, like the hair of a loving minionette, it expanded at an
awesome velocity.

"This is the nascent universe," a voice said. "Éclat quintessential."

And it was. Arlo had never imagined such splendor. He watched it
blossom, form rifts and internal swirls, fragments. The fragments
sundered in turn, their main parts coalescing and turning, swirling,
throwing off sparks of matter in the form of gas. Glowing segments
developed, thousands of them, millions, filling the universe with their
secondary light. Then these faded, becoming smaller as their aggregate
formations became larger. Motes appeared within them as they paled.

"Quasars," the voice said. "Prototype galaxies--masses of energy and
gas, forerunners of more solid matter."

"I don't understand!" Arlo protested. But how he wanted to!

The focus centered on one quasar. It wavered and changed as it spun
through the great emptiness around it: chaos without and within. Parts
of it were fire, and parts were ice; where they met they steamed and
hissed and formed into--a giant man.

But the giant died and fell apart, and his flesh tumbled into soil, his
bones became stones and mountains, and his hair took on independent life
and became vegetation. His blood ran out and pooled into a great sea,
turning green. His skull exploded, the dome of it forming the sky; his
brains became clouds.

Maggots bred in the decaying hulk, ancestral Taphids, and these stood up
and showed themselves as animal life of diverse kinds, including men and
women.

Arlo watched, shocked. Life was infestation, corruption of the perfect
body of the world! Even humankind, even Arlo himself--maggots!

Now he saw the formation of inanimate sentience. While the maggots
riddled the fallen giant's body, the molten metal beneath formed into
the solid globe of the planet. Natural forces acted within it: bubbles
of gas pushing up, water percolating down, molten rock spreading
sideways. Caverns formed as the more volatile substances melted and
vaporized, leaving their strata empty. Uneven heat-expansion and
cold-contraction forced the layers to buckle and crumble. Amidst this
rubble crystals formed, growing enormously in favorable situations and
shattering when conditions changed. Some succumbed to slow pressure,
transforming into other substances. Some generated substantial electric
and magnetic potential; lightning flared, arcing across differentials of
charge, remelting metals in spot locations, causing them to flow in
myriad rivulets, only to harden abruptly in place. As the shifting
pressures and heating continued, new currents were generated, traveling
along the metal circuits. Some formed transformers, funneling broad,
slow charges into high, narrow ones, producing new currents in the old
channels, currents that possessed new properties. Recirculations,
juxtapositions, and feedbacks occurred, intensifying the effect, until a
portion of it became self-sustaining, like a fire. Then it spread
slowly, replicating itself with variations throughout the planet. In
some regions natural fires raged, feeding on combustible gases; these
provided a steady source of heat energy which translated into constantly
moving air. In others, the formations were so constituted as to
refrigerate themselves, for the air expanded and cooled quite rapidly.
These temperature differentials enabled diverse processes to operate.
After billions of years of random, inanimate experimentation, one of the
complex feedback circuits achieved the ultimate condition: sentience.

This occurred wherever conditions suited--and there were many such
planets in the universe. But these inanimate sentiences were largely
immobile; they could think, but not act. And so, constant, they
functioned--until the maggots of life intruded destructively. The
chemical processes of life had already transformed the atmospheres of
all planets they infested, developing corrosive properties that
prevented any surface expansion of mineral organization; now they
burrowed down into the deep rock itself. The war between the living
sentiences and the dead sentiences began.

The forces of the living were multiple. On thousands of planets in the
adjoining reaches of the galaxy, the maggots squirmed. But on only a few
did they achieve the power to infect neighboring systems. They
accomplished this by using machines: truncated, limited versions of
mineral intellect, adapted to provide not superior thought but superior
physical force. The mineral sentiences, in contrast, adapted truncated
versions of living entities, also used for mechanical force rather than
mental. Neither side possessed the sophistication to develop its use of
enemy fragments thoroughly, but each side soon became largely dependent
on those fragments. It was an ironic impasse.

The main sources of Life's contagion were four: Lfa, EeoO, Xest, and
Human. Each originated on a single planet, festering there for a
prolonged period before bursting out.

Arlo watched the spread of life to planets across the galaxy. First the
Lfa, who resembled animate piles of refuse, dismantled themselves and
formed, after millennia of unsuccess, a viable space-traveling format.
Wherever they landed, they formed new Lfa entities by contributing from
each entity a part, until the new individual was complete. Then the
parent-entities would regenerate the missing parts. It required the
presence of fifty to a hundred parents to form one offspring in this
manner, but the new entity was able to function effectively almost from
formation. There was no limit to the number of times this assembly tax
could be invoked, and it was possible for each parent entity to
contribute to several offspring simultaneously. Thus the Lfa expansion
through the galaxy was limited largely by the velocity of their
space-travel assemblages and the availability of suitable worlds. In a
few thousand years they had colonized half the galaxy.

The EeoO, in contrast, replicated largely by pooling. A minimum of four
entities--one each of E, e, o, and O--melted and merged in a common
puddle, and from this four small EeoO's coalesced, or more if the pool
were larger. As the infants grew, they sundered, first into twin Eo and
eO entities, then into mature adult individual E's, o's, e's and O's.
They were now ready to pool, at will or need, preferably with
individuals from other parent-pools, for the sake of species-unifying
exogamy. However, they were vulnerable when pooled, for any dilution or
draining of the pool would interrupt the process, prevent replication,
and terminate the contributory entities. Thus the EeoO accounted for
only one-fifth the galactic colonization, though the initiation of their
expansion may actually have predated that of the Lfa.

The Xests reproduced by fission--any fragment of their bodies, when
separated from the whole, formed into a new entity, complete and
functional from the outset, possessing the entire mentality of the
parent entity. Therefore their potential for replication was greatest in
the galaxy. But they believed in economy and fiercely defended their
resources by controlling their population and eschewing all but
essential contact with other galactic species. So they came to occupy
only another fifth of the galaxy.

The Humans were the last to exploit space, but their expansion was
explosive even in the volatile framework of Life. Their form of
replication was not remarkably efficient, but they had accumulated a
tremendous population on their home-world before achieving space. They
were sexed entities, with the coupling of one male and one female
required for genesis of a new individual. The male inserted seeds into
the body of the female, who subsequently fissioned into two: an adult
and an infant. The adult protected and fed the infant until it became
adult, a time-consuming process involving as much as a third of the
normal Human individual-entity life span. However, it was possible for
one or two adults to conceive and care for several infants in
overlapping sequence, and infant losses were minimal. The result was
inevitable growth of population, with strong cultural continuity. The
Humans colonized a full tenth of the galaxy in less than four hundred of
their years.

The initial encounter between life and nonlife sentience occurred in
that small Human sector of the galaxy, perhaps because this species was
most prone to raid the mineral interiors of its planets. Therefore
Humans predominated at first--but soon the other three living galactic
sentiences joined in the battle, recognizing a common threat.

Arlo reeled. There was too much illumination, too much information. More
than he had ever imagined! "But--but--" he started, and halted,
surprised to discover he did have a voice, here in this vision.
"How--how--?" But he could not formulate his question; the concept would
not compress enough to be compassed for a query.

And Chthon was with him, an immaterial presence, benign and ambient. The
scene shifted, and it was a laboratory on the surface of Planet Old
Earth, spawning ground for the Humans. "Here is a holographic
transcription, authenticated," one man said, drawing a cube from a
pocket of the white vegetable-fiber clothing he wore. "There is no
longer any question--yet no answer either. This device has accelerated
until its velocity is beyond our capacity to measure directly."

"Locked in a closed orbit about a magnetic core?" the other inquired,
lifting a hairy eyebrow skeptically while his fingers toyed with one of
the shiny metal buttons on his dark animal-skin jacket. "Where did it
go?"

"It's still there--it has to be--but nevertheless out of our ken. Why
don't you watch the transcript for yourself? I don't really believe it
myself, yet."

"Hmph." They watched the holograph projection, seeing the
experiment-sphere within its vacuum torus. The sphere was about the size
of a man's fist, and the torus was a transparent donut (Arlo had read of
this delicacy in LOE and pestered his mother to make one once: it was a
disappointment, nothing but sweetened cooked dough) fifty feet in
diameter. The outer rim was braced by a twelve-inch-thick steel girder
backed by twenty feet of reinforced concrete, and the whole thing was
set into bedrock. The center of the torus was a giant electromagnet, its
elements surrounding the vacuum chamber on three sides: top, bottom,
inner. Chthon explained it all in nonverbal concept, for Arlo could
hardly have grasped the significance independently.

The metal sphere would be attracted by a magnetic force so great it
could theoretically remain stable at 99 percent of the velocity of
light. The magnet would not be turned on until a significant fraction of
lightspeed was achieved, for the sphere would have no chance to move
otherwise.

"Self-powered," the white-frocked man said. "Slow to begin."

"So I notice," the black-jacketed one said. The ball was traveling,
thanks to the initial rolling impetus of introduction to the torus, at a
velocity of approximately one inch per second, or five feet per minute.
Slowly it accelerated.

"I'll jump the tape forward one hour," the white frocked one said. "It
does start slowly, but as you'll see--"

Suddenly the sphere was moving at about a foot per second, sixty feet
per minute.

"Great!" Black-Jacket said derisively. "In one hour it accelerated to
substantially less than one mile per hour. Great in rush-hour traffic!"

("Rush-hour traffic?" Arlo inquired. "The press of Human machines
through clogged apertures: a standing source of personal irritation,"
Chthon's voice explained.)

"Here is another hour."

Now the sphere was doing ten miles an hour. "Its acceleration, without a
doubt, is improving," Black-Jacket said. "But frankly at this rate--"

"Don't you see--it's a geometric rate. It accelerates to ten times its
former velocity--every hour."

"Sure--so far. Let's see the next three hours."

The image changed. Now the sphere was rolling around its channel at a
hundred miles an hour. Another jump--and it became a blur, invisible.

"Back off!" Black-Jacket exclaimed. "That's--"

"One thousand miles an hour," White-Frock said smugly. "We're too close
and it is too small to make out comfortably at this velocity."

"Pick it up from one hundred per, and let me watch it straight."

They did. The sphere accelerated smoothly from one hundred to one
thousand miles an hour, then continued on rapidly to two thousand, four
thousand, and ten thousand miles per hour.

"You aren't getting input from the magnet?"

"Magnet was off. No exterior input. That's why it's rolling, owing to
friction with the outside surface. The magnet would maintain it in a
kind of orbit, no contact with any physical surface. The thing appears
to draw power from some exterior reservoir--but not our magnet or
anything else we can detect. A lot of power. In fact, there seems to
develop a transfer of power the other way: from the test sphere to the
magnet, later in the program. Otherwise the sphere would have broken
free--"

"Sounds to me as if you're talking perpetual motion!"

"Perhaps we are. Actually, perpetual motion exists, as with an object
hurtling through deep space. But--"

"All right!" Black-Jacket mopped his brow. "You know what I mean."

"It all depends on how great the reservoir of hidden power is. If, as we
suspect, it is fundamental to the structure of the universe--perhaps the
inertial velocity of the original cosmic explosion--"

"You mean if we use up this power, the universe will stop expanding and
begin to collapse?"

"A few seconds sooner than otherwise, yes. Considering the tens of
billions of years in that time scale, the effect would be infinitesimal,
and not even detectable until long after our species has passed from the
scene, even if we caused a differential of eons."

"Free power, then."

"It does look like it, sir."

Black-Jacket nodded. "We'll look this gift horse in the mouth very
thoroughly, very soon."

("Gift horse?" Arlo inquired. "A four-footed mammal--"I know what a
horse is, from LOE. But what's this business of--" "An Earth horse
commands a good price unless defective. Advanced age is a defect. The
teeth in its mouth indicate its age by their wear. Therefore--" "I see,"
Arlo said dubiously.)

"If there is any fakery involved..." Black-Jacket continued, trailing
off meaningfully.

"We welcome your investigation," White-Frock said. "The civilian wants
to know as badly as the military, I can assure you. We frankly don't
understand this thing, and don't trust it--but we suspect its effect on
our economy will be profound."

"Profound! If true, it's nuclear!"

"More than that. We're frankly scared of it."

"How fast does it go?"

"Measurements are necessarily imprecise. But if the observed ratio is
maintained--" He made a little flourish with his hand, resembling a
figure 8 lying sideways.

"Out with it, man! How fast?"

"In approximately ten hours, it should match the velocity of light in a
vacuum."

"Um. We brasshats are not entirely dull. You realize what you're
saying?"

"I realize what I am implying. Relativistically--"

"Paradox. So let's look for the flaw. How long did you run the test?"

"Three days."

"Seventy-two hours? Why didn't you turn it off?"

"We were unable to activate the unit's control system."

"What kind of tests do you run? Everything's supposed to be fail-safe!"

"Theoretically, yes. But--"

"So just turn off the switch!"

"We tried."

"Look, doctor--"

"Our switch seems to have become inoperative."

"Well, repair it! Considering the billions dumped in this sump--"

"It is in working order. The problem is, our remote control is limited
to the speed of light. Of the electromagnetic propagation of energy."

Black-Jacket paused. "You're telling me that the sphere didn't level off
at light-speed? That that thing's going too fast to--faster than light?"

White-Frock nodded. "That seems to be the case. We are picking up
Cherenkov radiation--"

"What?"

"Cherenkov radiation. An impulse that manifests when some other energy
exceeds the velocity of light through a medium. Light slows as it passes
through certain substances, you see. Only in a vacuum does it maintain
full speed."

"And you have a vacuum in your test-torus?"

"Yes. Not perfect, of course, but quite good. Never before has Cherenkov
radiation been observed in this hard a vacuum. It appears that our
sphere had exceeded the velocity of light in a vacuum--the fastest
theoretical velocity possible--or so we once thought."

"I'm no physicist. But if what you say is true--"

"Precisely. We may have found the means to conquer space itself."

Indeed they had. From this discovery the § system dated, and in the
course of the next century it replaced the conventional calendar
entirely. Just as Newtonian physics had become a special case of
relativistic physics, relativistic physics became a special case of §.
All were valid--in their terms. Since the details of the breakthrough
were shrouded in secrecy, legends grew up to fill the vacuum--

("Vacuum!" Arlo chortled. "That's funny!")

--naming a "Professor Feetle" as the serendipitous inventor of §. Large
models of the logarithmic § accelerator were constructed and placed in
space ships. Within the field of the sphere, space and time were
normal--but the sphere traveled through galactic and intergalactic space
at velocities that made light seem virtually stationary. The universe
was available to man--in hours. The species Human was the fourth--and
last--of the galactic sentients to achieve §.

The first substantial Human interstellar colonization commenced in §20.
Since time and power were no longer limitations, only the costs of
construction, organization, and selection of personnel governed
emigration. Thus the nova-like expansion of the Human demesnes. Within a
century the volume was as extensive as was reasonably possible without
infringement of the concerns of the other galactic empires. Only
intensifying settlement within that volume remained, utilizing less and
less ideal planets. §50 to §100 were popularly regarded as the golden
years of colonization, during which the best available planets were
discovered and settled. In §71 the heaven planet of Idyllia; in §79 the
garden world of Hvee.

One entrepreneur of special note was Jonathan Reginald Point, §41-154.
Not only was he a top-notch stellar scout, he was alert to the private
potentials of his discoveries. In §75 he discovered an ideal star--and
made a fortune by selling it to a private group. This was of course
against Human law, but he had a lawyer back on Earth who was
equivalently industrious and unscrupulous; the deed was shrewdly
finessed. He named the star after himself, Point, and the planets after
units of type: so many "points" to the inch. Thus the planets of that
system were designated Excelsior, Diamond, Pearl, Nonpareil, Minion,
Brevier, Bourgeois, and Elite--the names corresponding to their
positions in orbit, counting outward (the closest two being unusable and
unnamed), and also to points. Excelsior was 3 point, Diamond 4 point,
and the best one, Minion, seventh and 7 point.

The group that settled Minion was working on genetics: a secret, largely
illicit project. It was their notion to achieve wealth by breeding the
most beautiful, intelligent, and acquiescent of Human females in the
galaxy, for sale to rich potentates as houri or hetaerae. They would be
semi-telepathic, to respond better to their masters' hidden desires, and
would remain lovely and faithful as long as their masters survived,
having no object in life except to please them. The physical model used
was the most beautiful woman of the day: a green-eyed, red-haired,
ideally proportioned creature obviously built by nature for love. A
thousand clones were made, virtually identical, and these were closely
inbred to perfect the refinements.

But the substantial modifications resulted in one spectacularly
unfortunate side effect: emotional reversal, or the appearance of it.
The hetaerae's actual feelings were similar to those of normal Human
women--but the telepathy, like a photographic negative, reversed it.
Thus the market for such women was extremely limited, with the chief
appeal being to incorrigible sadists. This gave the brand a bad name in
the trade. Soon Planet Minion was closed off, and later proscribed and
forgotten. The inhabitants were left to fend for themselves, deprived of
both the controls and the advantages of civilized technology. They
survived by adapting to their established nature: completely incestuous,
sadistic monogamy. A horrified, fascinated mythology grew up about them:
the fatal romance of the minionette.

(Arlo called another halt. "The minionettes--they are people like us!
They don't intend any evil--they're just the way they are!"

("They are the enemy," Chthon replied, in thought and voice. "That
emotional inversion subverts the myxo, abates our power. Unchecked, they
will destroy us."

("But they could destroy you anyway--by blasting apart the planet from
space!")

("No." And Chthon explained this, too:)

The first really formidable problem the Humans encountered in space was
what they termed the chill. It decimated their populations, unamenable
to any treatment. Yet this was coincidental, for the chill was merely
the side effect of a signal message. When the chill reached Chthon--not
directly, but in the form of Coquina, who had contracted it--Chthon
recognized it as the handiwork of its kind: mineral sentience. Others
like Chthon, in other galaxies, had succeeded in generating this
impulse, to alert their own kind.

Given the hint, Chthon set about doing its part. It generated a band of
radiation that prevented chemical or nuclear explosions. This did not
inhibit the § ships--but they were far too costly to use as simple shot
against a planet. This prevented the forces of Life from attacking
Chthon with modern technology. Lasers and blasters could be used, but
these had very little effect on solid rock, and so became less
efficacious than simple hand weapons. Meanwhile Chthon was preparing a
modified chill radiation that would expand at light-speed to force the
compounding of all life-related forms of fluorine with oxygen, wiping
out all life in its presence. Both fluorine and oxygen were ubiquitous
in life, and those few organisms that did not require oxygen could
hardly escape its effect since it was common in both air and water. This
destruction would take time, for the galaxy was large, but within a
hundred thousand years the sterility would be complete. Chthon would
have restored this region of the universe to the purity of its origin
and would be ready to join the fellowship of the mineral intellects of
the other galaxies.

The killchill would actually be a modification of the chill. It could
not be initiated until triggered by the arrival of the chill at Chthon
in §426, since the extragalactic entities were more advanced in
radiation technology than Chthon. The code for its magnification into
completely killing intensity was buried within the chill wave itself,
and Chthon could not anticipate that secret. So it prepared its basic
circuits and waited for the formula.

But somehow the forces of Life, perhaps alerted by Benjamin, had
fathomed this threat, and mounted an invasion of the caverns just before
the chill wave arrived. This caught Chthon by surprise; never before had
life-forms come voluntarily to the caverns. Deprived of most power
weapons, the invaders had adapted other hand instruments--and sent as
shock troops the subspecies most resistant to Chthon's internal weapon.
Thus the army of minionettes, who perceived the myxo siege as the utmost
delight. It was a savage, sophisticated campaign, with an advance agent
whose mission was to subvert the human element of Chthon's defense.

"Vex!" Arlo exclaimed, aware now how well she had succeeded.

A disturbance developed as he spoke that name. "What's happening?" he
demanded, seeking the return tunnel.

An encounter between Chthon's minion and Life's, Chthon explained
mentally.

Arlo grasped the references immediately. "Bedside and Vex! She must have
tuned in on me when I thought of her, and come--" For he still loved his
minionette, desiring her beyond all else. If she should return to him--

What she offers is not for you, Chthon warned.

"I'll judge for myself!" And Arlo wrenched himself back to his physical
body. With great effort, he cracked open his eyes.

Bedside and Vex were fighting, literally, physically. Bedside had a
scalpel in one hand, its point orienting steadily on the girl, but he
did not attack. Vex seemed not to watch the blade, but she stalked him
carefully, never laying herself open for a thrust.

Vex made a feint to her right, then suddenly whirled left, grabbing the
knife-wrist with her left hand while her right came across to catch
under his right shoulder. Her knees bent as she continued her turn, and
she heaved the man up and over her shoulder.

Arlo recognized the maneuver. It was one of the throws his father knew,
part of the spaceman's judo, which skill derived from older martial arts
of Earth. No doubt there existed a volume somewhere, similar to LOE, but
instead of covering the Literature of Old Earth, this would be COA:
Combat of Old Earth. If it were as rich as LOE, it would be a
devastating text!

For a moment he saw Bedside flipping over her shoulder, his feet flying
up as his body came down face-up on the cavern floor. A bruising
landing! But Arlo's anticipation deceived him, for Bedside did not take
the fall. Instead he jerked to his left, stepping forward, his right
elbow looping over her head--and Vex was left straining at nothing.

Instantly she attacked again, and he whirled to face her, the knife on
guard. Her attempted throw had been very pretty--but it was as if he had
expected it, so readily had he foiled it. Perhaps Chthon had read her
intent and guided the doctor's response. No--Chthon could not enter the
mind of a minionette! Bedside, though he talked rationally, was actually
largely directed by Chthon. Surely Vex had been well trained in combat,
and had accepted Arlo's first blow, back at their first meeting, merely
to instill in him that initial guilt and remorse that had so undermined
him. But her antagonist was not a normal man. Bedside was more and less
than human, and under Chthon's directive he could accomplish things that
the man alone could not.

Yet Bedside, however directed, did not seem to be trying to kill her.
Arlo realized that the key lay not with Vex but with him, Arlo: because
of the contract he had made with Chthon. No direct attack on the
minionette. The man was merely balking her; Vex was doing the attacking.

Why? She had gone to Aton, her father, in the minionette fashion. Or
would, eventually, inevitably. Why should she come here to Arlo, however
much he might long for her? Not to kill him, certainly; his hvee still
rested in her hair, glowing brightly blue, distinct from all other
plants. Had she changed her mind, renounced the compelling call of her
ancestry, returned to her brother? Or had Aton rejected her, absolutely?
It hardly mattered, so long as she did return!

Vex moved toward Arlo. Bedside blocked her way with the scalpel,
warningly. That was his mistake. She knocked the arm out, then caught
the wrist and shoved him back with a twisting motion. Bedside scuttled
back and to the side, regaining his balance--but she shoved him into the
cavern wall, half stunning him before Chthon could guide his defense.
Because she had reacted to his thrust, instead of initiating a planned
attack, Chthon had been unable to anticipate her. She had reflexes like
those of a salamander: a dangerous opponent, especially when mindless.

Vex clubbed Bedside on the wrist, jarring loose the blade. Then she
jammed her fingers into his neck, interrupting the supply of blood to
his brain. Even Chthon could not reanimate him immediately--and seconds
were all she needed to win through to Arlo.

"Arlo, beloved--I know you can hear me," she said.

Her telepathy informed her he was conscious, of course. He didn't move.
He could see her also, but deemed it inexpedient to let her know if he
didn't have to. She had fought her way to him; what was her intent?

"I've been thinking," she said, kneeling beside him so that her breasts
were almost above him. "You know my mother--your grandmother Malice--is
dead. I am destined to take her place, in the minion fashion. It isn't
that I don't love you--it's that I can't go against my nature. Arlo,
believe me, I didn't know my father was still alive..."

Arlo waited. She certainly hadn't offered him much of an inducement to
respond; she had only confirmed what Chthon had warned. Nothing for him
here.

"I came to subvert you, as you know. But they did not tell me who you
were, that you were my father's son. I thought you were a stranger until
you talked of Malice. And even then, though I had met Aton, I did not
realize that he was the Aton Five, whom I thought dead. Maybe I didn't
want to know. I accepted you as my brother without following the obvious
reasoning through, perhaps because it was obvious that Coquina, your
mother, was no minionette. Until Bedside forced it on me. On Minion
there is never a brother and sister; our minds simply do not work that
way. So I erred and made you a promise I could not keep; therein is my
crime."

He could accept that much. Aton had legally died when he was sent to
Chthon--and the minionette only birthed one child at a time. Aton's
connection with two minionettes and a human woman was extraordinary, in
Minion terms. There would naturally be much resistance to these
concepts, to one raised on Minion. And it would not be easy to change
one's concept of a man legally dead to actually alive, unless a specific
issue were made of it.

There were tears on her face, evidence that Vex was suffering in exactly
the way a normal girl would. She was not receiving his emotion, which
was deadened at the moment; she was experiencing her own, and it did her
credit. "But I know this hurts you, Arlo, and though I am what I am, I
would not hurt you voluntarily, because you were my betrothed..."

Were...

"But we have forgotten that another person will be hurt, too. I don't
want to hurt anybody--not that way. Minionettes have feelings just like
yours--you're quarter-minion so you know that's true--only the telepathy
inverts them. Your mother Coquina would be left out, and she has nothing
because she can't even leave her cave. She needs to be considered; it
isn't right to take Aton away and leave her nothing. She's not a
minionette, not part of the scheme."

So Vex had a human conscience, too! Would she renounce her minion
heritage? She was right about Coquina; the shell did not deserve this
treatment!

"So I've worked out a compromise," Vex said, "and I wanted you to know.
There is no need for anyone to suffer further."

Doc Bedside stood up, but did not interfere. What point? Arlo loved Vex;
if she were his, Chthon could retreat into its rock and be forgotten--if
that were the price of it. If she were really his. It would hurt him to
renounce Chthon--but that very hurt would attract her more strongly to
him.

Minion logic and custom differed from normal human, but the logic of the
situation forced a common answer. Two could not steal their happiness at
the expense of two others.

Arlo gathered his forces, preparing to step out of his trance the moment
she said the word.

"When I go with Aton," Vex said brightly, "you go with your mother
Coquina. That will establish two legitimate genetic ladders, and no one
will be excluded."

Interlog: âˆž
-----------------

Arlo retreated to the world of LOE, the garden of his mind. He shied
away from the Oedipus/Electra mythologies, seeking something less
painful, yet applicable. A framework for his situation, buried in the
massed Human wisdom of the book.

      Yggdrasil                                     Sentience
        Great World Tree                  Galactic Habitats 
          Whose roots extend        Heaven/Purgatory/Hell
            Into three realms    Idyllia/Prison/Caverns
              The Gods                    Aesir--Vanir
                The Giants                  Zombies
                  The Dead                 Chthon
            History of Aton Five's mergence with Chthon
                        Shape of a Hexagon
                          Garnet-faceted
                    Crafted by mineral intellect
             History of Arlo's divergence from Chthon
                           Shape of a Y
                Antennae marking bifurcate futures:
             Victory of Chthon         Victory of Life
                   Center marking the decision.
                                 âˆž

And found himself in Norseland.

Aesir--his dead brother. In the Norse mythos, the Aesir were gods who
resided in Asgard, the great walled city that was the divine residence.
Chief among these gods was Odin, he of the single eye, maker of golden
rings.

Arlo paused, feeling a shock of recognition. He knew that figure! It was
his father Aton.

Odin possessed an eight-legged horse named Sleipnir. Sleipnir had come
about when the friend/enemy god Loki took the form of a mare to distract
the remarkable stallion of a giant--and had subsequently birthed
Sleipnir. As Bedside had fashioned Aton's steed, by merging with the
caterpillar. So Loki was--Doc Bedside. How well it fit!

Odin had two wives. The first was Freyja, a Valkyrie or warrior maiden,
in one of her aspects. Malice the Minionette!

With climbing excitement, Arlo explored the other parallels available.
Odin's second wife was Frigga, the mother of his two sons--though he
seemed to have had other children on a less legitimate basis (Morning
Haze)--and a somewhat less extravagant female than Freyja. This was
Coquina, of course.

And the first legitimate son was--Balder. Balder was beautiful. But as
Balder grew older, he became disturbed by nightmares. These gave him a
premonition of impending doom and colored his whole outlook, making him
melancholy.

Alarmed, Odin made a trek to the world of the dead to inquire about his
son's prospects. He rode his eight-legged steed (Arlo paused: an
anachronism here--but time was fluid and the parallels inexact) along
the rough and dangerous road, crossing the bridge that spanned the river
marking the boundary of the underworld.

Everywhere he saw preparations being made for a great celebration. When
he inquired, he was told that the Underworld was making ready to welcome
Balder. He inquired further about the manner of his son's death, but
could learn no more.

But Frigga was determined to save her son from his fate. She set out to
obtain a pledge from all things of the world that none would harm
Balder. All promised--except one she overlooked, a sprig of mistletoe.

Now Balder seemed safe. The other gods made a game of throwing a great
variety of things at him, knowing that none would hurt him. But Loki
fashioned a dart from the mistletoe and got a blind god to throw that.
It struck and killed Balder.

So that was how Bedside had killed Aesir!

Frigga sent an emissary to Hel, the goddess of the Underworld, to plead
for the return of Balder. "All nature mourns for him," he said.

Hel told the emissary that if not even one thing did not weep for
Balder, then she would have to release him. So they made a survey-and
Loki changed himself into the likeness of an old woman and refused to
weep. And so Balder was lost.

This was the signal of the beginning of the end, for the gods had been
unable to preserve their most cherished one. It portended the extinction
of the gods at Ragnarok, the final battle between Good and Evil.

(Again Arlo paused: In the old Norse framework, the entire pantheon of
gods, giants and dead had been "good" in that it was the established way
of belief. All of it had fallen--to Christianity. In that sense,
Christianity was the Evil that had triumphed--yet had the Christians
seen it that way? How could any person really know Good from Evil?)

But the gods had discovered what Loki had done, and they punished him
severely by binding him in a deep cave under dripping poison. He
remained in that torture until Ragnarok.

Arlo worked it out. Benjamin's revenge had confined Bedside to the
caverns. Chthon had put him into the caterpillar. He had paid for his
crime both intellectually and physically!

Odin's second son by Frigga was Thor, red-bearded god of thunder. That
could only be--Arlo himself! And Thor's wife was Sif, of the golden
hair--considered in some versions to be another aspect of Freyja, Odin's
first wife. In short--Vex, another minionette, closely related to
Malice.

Bedside had cut Vex's hair, just as Loki cut Sif's. The parallels fell
into place so neatly; he should have perceived them long ago!

Yet how did this help him to solve his problem with Vex? By whatever
name, he loved her, though she was his sister. Though? His minion blood
compelled the truth: because she was his sister! Sif might be an aspect
of Freyja, and the gods might tolerate father-daughter marriage--but
Arlo wanted Vex for himself.

He turned to his friend. "You were right. The minionette had nothing for
me. What do you offer?"

Chthon showed him. The power of the mineral intellect flowed into his
being, and he was able to control the animals of the cave: to make them
stop, turn, march--at his will, not theirs. He could perceive through
their senses, individually or multiply. He could station them on three
sides of a stalagmite and see that pillar in the round, holographically.
Much better than his human eye! The entire caverns became open to his
comprehension, without physical travel on his part. Godlike power,
indeed!

The minionettes were still advancing. Their minds were opaque; they had
not submitted to the myxo inducement and were not part of Chthon's
demesnes. They were a brutal, alien intrusion, cutting into the heart of
the living caverns, killing the eyes and ears and noses of Chthon.

"If I were running this war..." Arlo murmured.

Run it, Chthon replied. For this you were cultivated.

So that was it! Chthon was not competent to combat the massed minionette
attack and needed a general. Chthon had foreseen the potential need for
the generalship of a human mind to ward off such an invasion by human
beings--at least until the killchill deadline had passed.

"But then I, too, will die!" Arlo cried, realizing.

No. Even as I spare your mother the chill, I spare you the killchill.

"Spare my family, too!" Arlo bargained.

We spare all life within this planet, Chthon assured him. All other life
shall be extirpated.

Arlo hesitated. What did he care about life outside the caverns? His
world was here. "Fair enough."

He concentrated. He summoned the most mobile creatures of the caverns:
the large chippers, flying chimeras, small salamanders, and others. The
caterpillars, potwhales, and dragons were limited largely to their
private habitats; they could be useful, but not as mobile troops. He
moved his creatures into the labyrinth surrounding the most forward
column of minionettes. Then he sent them charging, in a many-sectioned
wave, striking, biting, shoving.

The minionettes, attacked from all sides, fought bravely. But they were
overwhelmed. The poison of the salamanders did the most damage, for they
infiltrated undetected during the distraction provided by the larger
beasts. Arlo didn't even have to direct them once they spied the prey;
they attacked savagely, for it was their nature. And--the minionettes,
enjoying the sheer hate of the salamanders' little minds, tended not to
protect themselves well from the bites, though the poison had the same
effect on them as on normal Human flesh.

"Organization and attack," Arlo said to Chthon. "Pick your site, gather
your forces--and victory is certain. Don't wait for them to strike!
They've never faced organized animals before and don't really believe it
is possible. Wipe out every member of an attacked party, and it will be
some time before they catch on. With luck, we'll get enough so they can
no longer muster effective missions."

Then something else claimed his attention. He focused--and found he was
in the mind of Doc Bedside. This was intriguing; the man was only
half-controlled, but he responded quickly to suggestions, and the human
brain and experience was phenomenally more complex than the animal. If
this were what half a human mind offered, how much better a full one!

And Arlo himself was that full mind. Raised, like the animals of the
caverns, right here in the bosom of Chthon, so that communication was
possible without the intercession of the myxo. Possible, but not
assured; the human mind had to be amenable. Not a zombie, but a partner,
drawing on Chthon's immense resources, contributing his own. The ideal
collaboration!

He did not try to control Bedside. He merely drew from the mad doctor's
senses. These at the moment were orienting on Vex; that was what had
attracted Arlo's attention. He was surprised to learn that Bedside found
Vex physically attractive--but what male wouldn't? The two were
nevertheless enemies.

"Let me through, zombie, or I'll ram your head through a wall!" Vex
snapped. "I want to talk to Arlo again."

"Talk to me," Bedside said. "Arlo is in conference with Chthon, and
shall not be disturbed again."

She charged him. Now Arlo assumed control. He caught her lifted arm, put
one foot against hers, shifted his weight to bring her off-balance, and
spun her by him and on down. She stumbled but recovered, facing him,
panting--and Bedside's perception was as responsive to the heave of her
perfect breasts as Arlo was. "So you want to fight!" she snarled. Even
twisted by genuine rage, her face was a lovely thing.

"I am Arlo," Arlo said through Bedside's mouth. The words were somewhat
slurred, because it was the first try, but he knew it would not take
long to adjust.

She stared at him, shocked, and despite the opacity of her mind he felt
the fringe of her emotion: pleasant acceptance. That actually would be
irritated incredulity, if the reversal held for her broadcasting as well
as for her reception. But mixed emotion was difficult to interpret
anyway. "Why so you are! How--?"

"What did you have to say to me?"

Now she faltered. "Could I talk to you, personally? I don't like him
listening." She meant Bedside.

"All the caverns are listening," Arlo said, with moderate but
intentional cruelty.

"But he enjoys it too much."

Accurate assessment! Bedside would have been happy to have Arlo make
love to her, using Bedside's body. That would have created a complex of
emotions like that of Morning Haze, Misery, and the dying Xest. Arlo
sent Bedside away.

Vex approached his body. Now he animated it, as he had Bedside's,
without actually reentering it. His mind was with Chthon; only his
perception and control extended to the physical mechanism. Chthon was
correct: the Arlo brain, sane, competent and compatible, was the finest
instrument available in all the caverns. With that tool, Chthon could
win the war with the minionettes. But he merely listened, not responding
overtly.

Vex knelt beside him, as she had before. "I tried to compromise, Arlo,
to make it right for you. But you wouldn't have it that way. I was
thinking Minion, not Human, and I'm sorry. But it is time for complete
candor between us. Your folks wanted you to have a human girl so you
would not grow up alone, without the chance for love. Bedside said he'd
arrange it, with Chthon's consent. But your Uncle Benjamin outmaneuvered
us all and substituted me. None of you knew I was a minionette until too
late. Chthon was first to realize, but you balked it from killing me.
Then Chthon reversed the ploy by bringing me together with Aton. So it
has been some tough infighting, with you and I both pawns.

"But I do love you, Arlo. On Minion, you would have killed your father
to possess me, and it would have been all right. Aton killed his father,
really, to possess my mother. But you don't have enough minion blood.
Well, I have a mission to perform, and that has to override my nature.
Because without that mission, there will be nothing, nothing at
all--except Chthon. No love, no life, no nature. So I have to assume
that my father is dead, and that you are the senior surviving Five.
Because we do need you, Arlo. You know the caves better than any sane
man--and no man from the galaxy can resist the myxo. The minionettes
must ultimately follow a man; it is the way we are constituted. Without
the animation of a strong man, one with minion blood, our effort must
weaken and fail, as it is doing already. You will have to prove
yourself--but I believe in you, and not merely because I love you. I
know you can do it.

"You have won, Arlo. I will be your bride, faithful to you. Only come
back to us and command the forces of Life."

She waited, but he did not respond. "I won't even tease you, Arlo," she
added. "Your love is my pain, but I am quarter-human. I can take it
without dying. Do what you will with me; feel what you will. I will
never bear a son to replace you, if that is your preference. Anything--"

It will not work, Chthon warned. You do not want a broken woman. Torture
is not your way.

All I want is her, Arlo responded. I will accept her offer without
implementing it. It is enough that she came to me.

But I offer you so much more, Chthon said. Why give up all this for the
sake of one girl you cannot be happy with?

Chthon was right and Chthon was reasonable, and Chthon was making no
threats. Chthon was his friend, even in this adversity. But Arlo was
already sitting up, taking Vex into his arms.

Chapter V: Thor
---------------

The tide of battle had turned. The cavern creatures were now organized
and on the attack, cutting off and surrounding segments of the
minionette army and annihilating them by living-sea charges. Arlo
recognized the strategy, for he had developed it himself. No doubt
Chthon was now using Bedside's mind to organize the individual actions.
Bedside would not be as creative--but Chthon had so many expendable
animals that it could soon wipe out the entire forces of Life. All that
had been needed was that one spark of creative thought that Arlo had
provided.

No wonder Chthon had let him go without a fight. Arlo had already
provided Chthon with the key to victory.

According to the mythology of LOE, the forces of Good were to suffer
defeat at Ragnarok. Setting aside the question of which side represented
Good and which Evil--for Arlo was not certain himself whether Life could
seriously be equated with Good--there remained substantial doubt. No
matter what, the gods would not prevail; it was the end of the system.
What use, then, to struggle?

"Chthon's winning," Arlo told Vex as he surveyed the situation. "The
farther our troops penetrate the caverns, the more difficult it becomes
for us. Our supply lines get longer, and we encounter more controlled
animals. It's the Hard Trek all over again. We can't sustain our present
rate of losses. We'll be wiped out."

"We are well aware of that," she said. "The moment you went to Chthon,
we started suffering disasters. We have contingents from the four major
sentients of the galaxy, but we can't coordinate them properly. That's
why we knew we had to have you back. You are the key to victory--either
way."

"I doubt it. I have already given Chthon what it needed: organization of
the monsters. I can't unorganize them, now that I'm on the other side.
And--it is written in LOE that the gods will be defeated at Ragnarok."

"Nonsense!" she flashed, and he noticed with pleasure that her reactions
on the intellectual plane were completely human by his definition. A
minionette without telepathy would be like any other woman, only more
beautiful. "Don't you see, Chthon fed you that whole Norse mythos,
knowing that if you accepted all the other neat little parallels--Aesir,
the Norns, even that damned eight-footed horse, yet!--if you swallowed
all that, you'd have to accept that version of Ragnarok, too. You're the
key; if you believe we'll lose, then we'll lose, no matter which side
you think you're fighting on. Why do you think Chthon let you go so
easily? Because you're really fighting on its side--so long as you
believe!"

"I don't know," Arlo temporized, shaken by her logic. The cute,
difficult child he had rescued had grown a mind as thorough as her body!
"There are so many monsters that no matter what I might think, the
battle still would--"

"You have to believe in the victory of Life!" she cried. "Your framework
is reversed, like my emotions--but intellectually we both must overcome
our handicaps. And we can! You have to lead us in the fight. You're
Thor, ruler of the gods!"

Arlo chuckled. "See? Even you believe in the Norse parallels."

"I do not! It was just a figure of--"

"You're awfully pretty when you're mad."

She swung about, showing her teeth in no smile. "Are you going to get
yourself a cart drawn by two billy goats, then, to be like Thor? And put
on gloves and a girdle and--"

But Arlo kissed her. "It's the minion way," he said. "The madder you
get, the more I love you. Let's make love."

"The hell!"

He raised his forefinger to her nose. "You have a short memory."

She paused, and gradually the blaze died. "Is that what it's like--from
your side?"

"Yes, actually. Didn't you know? You always had to make me angry before
you waxed affectionate. Turn-about--"

"I guess I knew. I didn't feel. If you know what I mean."

"Serves you right." He drew her to him, and she acquiesced without
resistance, as she had to.

"Wouldn't it be nice," she murmured sadly, "if we could reverse the
telepathy. I mean, turn it about so that we both perceived love the
same. So we'd be in positive phase--mad together, loving together."

"The whole history of Planet Minion would have been different," he said,
proceeding with his lovemaking. Though it was what he had wanted,
somehow this unilateral action lacked the fire of their prior
experiences. One word to Vex, and she would turn on exactly the right
amount of passion--but that was not what he wanted, either. "Minionettes
would not have been proof against Chthon's myxo..."

"But Aton wouldn't have been sent to Chthon, and this battle never would
have started."

"And you never would have been born--or me," he said, completing his
act.

Vex cried out in anguish as he climaxed. For a moment he thought he had
killed her, as Aton had killed Malice. In an agony of remorse, he leaned
over her--and now she smiled. "I told you I could survive. I'm
quarter-human, you know." Then she fainted.

She had survived--but he was hardly reassured. She was so beautiful, and
under that lush female exterior remained so much of the impish child
that distinguished her from all the other minionettes in his estimation.
That child had captivated him completely. Yet she was not truly his, any
more than if she were chained to the wall like a slave for his
convenience. Had she loved him as he loved her, she surely would have
died. But--she had wanted it this way, for whatever reason, and the hvee
was bright.

He put that line of thought aside and tackled his other problem. He had
to reorganize the forces of Life, to turn the battle about. That was
what he was being paid for. Vex was right: this might be Ragnarok--but
the actual alignment of Good and Evil was uncertain and the outcome
could not be predetermined. He needed to review the troops, study new
options, develop new strategy.

Chthon could see every portion of the caverns simultaneously. Wherever
there were animals... and Chthon could send its animals anywhere.
Unless--

Unless a portion of the caverns were completely cleared of animals. That
would deprive Chthon of its perceptions, and allow the minionettes to
make surprise attacks--from that opaque region.

But how could every living creature be eliminated, even the tiny flying
insectoids? And how could he deceive Chthon about his intentions, even
though he could keep the cavern entity out of his mind? Better to let
Chthon think he was still acting in predictable ways, until he could
diverge with complete surprise.

He left Vex, only attuning himself to her aura so as to be assured no
harm came to her. This was a power he retained after his experience with
Chthon: he could not control the animals of the caverns, but his natural
fragment of minion emotional telepathy had been enhanced. Just as he had
shown Chthon the key to effective action against the minionettes, Chthon
had shown him the key to a more controlled mental power. He ran to the
cave where Aton worked, heating and working the precious metals into
rings over a powerful gas jet.

"I have to get around the caverns faster," Arlo said. "And I need a good
weapon. Could I borrow Sleipnir?"

Aton considered. He had a patch of glassy rock over his eye, shielding
it from the rebound of the intense flame, and wore heavy gloves on his
hands. He hardly looked like an artisan--but he was. His rings were very
finely crafted. "Son, we're part of this battle too. Our truce with
Chthon can't last much longer. Get Coquina out of the caverns, and I'll
ride Sleipnir myself in the service of Life's army. You can't control
him as I can."

"How can Mother leave the caverns?" Arlo asked. "The chill would kill
her!" But it was true: the hostage state of his mother had to be abated,
for Chthon could kill her as readily as the chill could.

"Not if they set up heated facilities on the surface and monitored her
telepathically. It might not work, but we can't depend on Chthon
anymore."

"That's right." But Arlo was uneasy. Why hadn't Chthon already acted
against Aton and Coquina?

Considering his mother, he realized why: if anything happened to
Coquina, Aton would be immediately free of any emotional restraint. He
would be open to the lure of the minionette: his daughter Vex. That
would be too much to resist, and Arlo would lose her despite her
concession to him. Then he would have no choice but to return to Chthon.
But--the elimination of Coquina for such a reason would alienate Arlo
from Chthon irrevocably. He would never cooperate with the killer of his
mother--or with the one who set in motion the chain of events that cost
him his fiancée.

"No," Arlo said. "Mother stays here. Chthon will not harm her. But if we
moved her from the caverns, and then she died, Chthon would gain."
Because then her death would not have been of Chthon's doing, and Arlo
would know it.

Aton looked at him, eyes narrowed, and Arlo was reminded forcefully that
his father was half-minion. How much telepathy did he have? "What about
Vex?" Aton asked.

That was more complicated. If Vex died, Arlo would lose his main reason
for rejoining Life. But again, if she died as a result of Chthon's
action, Arlo would be doubly determined to wipe out Chthon. While she
lived, that prospect for interaction between her and Aton
remained--which could dis-unify Life's forces and send Arlo back to the
cavern god. Chthon was gambling with events, perhaps knowing that there
was more than an even chance for success this way even though the
physical battle might be lost. The war was being waged on many levels.
"She is also safe," Arlo said.

"But you and I are not?" Aton inquired.

Another complex question. If Aton took up arms against Chthon, and died,
could Arlo blame the cavern entity? Yet that would eliminate any
prospect of an Aton/Vex liaison. So probably Aton was safe too. As for
Arlo himself--Chthon would not kill him so long as there was any chance
of converting him. But if there were no chance and Arlo's activities
threatened Chthon's own existence, then there would be no choice: Chthon
would act against Arlo. And if Arlo died, Aton, Coquina, and Vex would
become expendable. "We are less safe than the women," Arlo said, "but
Chthon will not move directly against us, at first."

"So you need transportation of your own," Aton said, returning to the
original subject.

"Two goats and a cart," Arlo agreed, half in jest.

"The problem with animals is that they are subject to Chthon's control,"
Aton said. "We can make a wagon--but the animals would haul it only
where Chthon directed. Actually, no wheeled vehicle would serve very
well here--"

"No, of course not!" Arlo agreed ruefully. There went another prop in
the mythology. Too bad, because the notion had its appeal, and he did
want to follow the forms of the Norse example as much as possible, to
reassure Chthon about his supposedly patterned thinking.

"Maybe a sledge," Aton said. "Something that slides over the
irregularities."

Good idea! Aton still had an excellent mind, and of course he was
basically smarter than Arlo, as Odin was smarter than Thor. Still--"It
would take a strong animal to haul that."

"Or a pair of them. But control--"

"How do you control Sleipnir?"

"I'm. not sure. I think the caterpillar phase destroyed so much of his
mind that there isn't enough left for Chthon to take over. But then, I'm
not sure Chthon has ever tried."

"Maybe if we freed a couple of caterpillar segments from a new
caterpillar--"

"Worth a try," Aton said. He put aside his ring and doffed his
protective lens.

Arlo was surprised and gratified at his father's acquiescence. He
realized belatedly that one of the horrors of the Vex situation was that
it was forcing an antagonism between Arlo and Aton--an antagonism
neither wanted. How much better to work together!

Aton had tried to do right by his son, providing a human girl from
outside. He had not known that a minionette would be substituted--or who
that minionette would be. How could he? He had not known he had a
daughter! In this devious transaction, the morality of the leadership of
Life was thrown into question. Perhaps Life was the side of Evil,
destined to be victorious. Did he want that? Yet whichever side he chose
became the side of Evil if it won. The mythological parallel could not
be accepted; yet it pervaded the struggle.

In this venture, simple as it seemed, of fashioning suitable
transportation, father and son were not only doing battle against
Chthon. They were opposing the baleful influence of Minion--whose blood,
deriving from the common source of Malice, joined them both to Vex. A
difficult human equation--yet perhaps it could be solved.

Aton fetched his huge double-bitted ax and handed it to Arlo. "Rite of
passage," he said.

Arlo accepted it. He did not know the literal meaning of the phrase but
understood that if he were to exercise leadership, this was the tool
with which to prove it. His father was giving him every chance to be the
man he had to be. He had half-feared jealousy or competition from Aton,
but saw now that his father cared primarily for the welfare of Life and
the success of his son. That was wonderful support!

They moved out. And--Vex appeared. "Where?" she asked.

"Caterpillar hunting," Arlo said shortly. This was one thing he didn't
want her involved in, and not merely because of the danger.

"I'm in this fight, too," she said. "I can help."

Arlo couldn't argue with that. Actually, he could have summoned a
minionette squad, knowing they would obey him now, but feared it would
alert Chthon. He presumed that the sheer multiplicity of information
coming in from all over the caverns would keep Chthon occupied, so that
the cavern god would not pay attention to what Arlo was doing so long as
it seemed innocuous or in keeping with the Norse framework. Ragnarok was
no simple operation! And since Chthon could not enter his mind unless he
permitted it, there was no giveaway there. Aton and Vex were similarly
secure; Chthon would have to observe them from the eyes of the animals
in the region. This would look like a meat-hunting expedition.

Vex swung up on Sleipnir, riding the middle hump of the three rear
sections, between Arlo and Aton. Aton guided her, of course, so that the
animal would not object; perfectly legitimate attention. Did their eyes
meet momentarily? Arlo wasn't sure. She was as lovely from the rear as
from the front, with a slender waist, generously expanding hips, and
perfectly proportioned thighs. He had so recently had the use of that
body, but already he wanted it again. Whoever had selected the original
model for the minionette had certainly known his business! Of course,
all the minionettes were alike, except for Vex's short hair and faintly
human characteristics; that hair would eventually attain its full length
and glory. But that didn't take away from the perfection of his own
minionette.

If she were really his own...

Why couldn't he take one of the other minionettes? Someone like Torment,
the one he had met when he first learned of the invasion. Torment would
be willing, he was sure, and she was every bit as pretty. Of course, she
was old enough to be his grandmother--but that made no difference,
really. She was not his grandmother.

It didn't work, even in his imagination. Only Vex was directly related
to him. He had tried to suppress the minion element in himself, but
could not; the fact that she was his sister did make a difference. It
attracted him to her much more strongly, as though his emotion were
sharpened by the cutting edge of his human guilt. He had been over this
before in his mind and found no release.

Then what about the relation between Aton and Vex that fitted the minion
pattern even more closely? And why was he dwelling on this now? Vex was
his for the duration; she had agreed, and it was not the minion way to
deceive.

Yet even as his eyes were on her back, her eyes were on Aton's back.
What was she really seeing?

Sleipnir entered the treadway of the largest neighboring caterpillar.
There seemed to be no limit to the expansive properties of these
creatures; this one was hundreds of segments long, but always hungry for
more. Perhaps it was because its vast bulk required a continual input of
organic material. At any rate, the chances were good that it would have
several large and recent segments not yet withered into formlessness.

Now they had two approaches: either trace it down or summon it to them.
Both had their problems. The caterpillar could be many miles away,
resting in some narrow tube so that they would be unable to approach it
from the side. But if they summoned it, the creature would be on the
offensive, fully alert and dangerous. Their chances of hacking off
segments without becoming segments would diminish.

"I'll summon it," Vex said. "You two wait in ambush at a crossing."

The obvious solution! But Arlo was not pleased. This was his project,
and he should be the one to make decisions. He didn't mind deferring to
his father, but Vex bothered him. If she started organizing things, she
could soon choose which man she wanted to work with....

No, he had no cause for ire. She had chosen to exclude herself. And this
dangerous venture might solve their problem another way: if any one of
them were killed, there would be no trio.

Arlo reacted to that thought with horror. He loved his father, he loved
Vex, he loved his own life. He didn't want any of them to die! And if a
personal decision were finally made, the rather delicate existing truce
with Chthon would be broken, and the real trouble would start.

Vex trotted down the caterpillar path toward the potwhale pool. Arlo and
Aton moved in the opposite direction, seeking the best intersection.
They were silent now, so as not to alert the prey.

"This ax," Arlo asked once they got settled. He spoke in a low voice,
hoping the sound would be carried downwind. "Where did it come from?"

Aton was silent for a moment before answering. "The leader of the
prisoners had it," he said at last. "His name was Bossman. I killed him
when he fell to the myxo, so the ax was mine."

Arlo rubbed his fingers along his growing red beard. He wanted to know
more, but knew the futility of pushing his father. Arlo was now larger
and stronger than Aton, but knew that he lacked the intellect of the
older man. Arlo would gladly have exchanged some of his muscle for some
of that knowledge!

Vex began her commotion, far down the passage. She jumped into the pool
with a piercing cry and made a splendid splash. The sound carried
beautifully along the tunnel: obviously the caterpillar's trap was
acoustically designed.

Arlo put his ear to the stone. Sure enough, the faint beat of marching
feet had started. The caterpillar could not afford to be slow, lest the
prey blunder out of the trap or fall instead to the potwhale. Arlo mused
briefly on that: what did caterpillar and potwhale think of each other?
Were they friends, or did each long to be rid of the other? Did they
hold dialogues: "Here, won't you share this morsel?" "No, thanks; age
before beauty." Arlo suppressed a smile. Caterpillar and potwhale were
two of the oldest, ugliest monsters in the caverns.

The segmented monster moved with surprising rapidity. The marching beat
accelerated to a run, all feet on a side striking the stone
simultaneously. The creature could move very quietly when it chose--but
now that the prey was apparently trying to escape, speed was of the
essence. One thing about the caterpillar: its segments might lose their
heads and forelimbs, but their legs were always strong!

Now that the thing was plunging down the monster-trail, Arlo had serious
misgivings. He and Aton were safe; the caterpillar would not leave its
path, and could not catch them if it did. But Vex--she was in the
pool-circle. Suppose they failed to separate the segments, and she were
caught?

There was only one answer: they had to sever the rear segments so that
the caterpillar had no stabbing tail. In due course it would regenerate
the spear-tail, but meanwhile would be no threat.

The thunder of massed feet became loud. Arlo restrained an urge to flee.
Always before, Chthon had rendered the monster quiescent; this was the
first time Arlo had had to deal with a caterpillar alone. He stood with
the great ax raised, ready to strike as the creature's latter section
came into range.

And the forepart arrived. The head was huge, with enormous faceted eyes
and antennae like foot-long fingers. Above the eyes were bone eyebrows:
the retracted spurs of a protective grille, that the creature could
lower at will over its face. But most awful of all, it had no mouth.

For an instant, one vast eye fixed on Arlo; then it passed on. Arlo
stood as the juggernaut rushed by, transfixed by mental horror analogous
to the physical horror of the thing's tail. Those facets, each
reflecting his own image slightly distorted, as though his essence were
being imprinted on the caterpillar's brain, so many views of a
prospective segment....

Meanwhile the segments shot past like the cars of an LOE freight train,
making the green glow of the walls beyond blink on and off at a dizzying
rate.

"Strike!" Aton cried.

But Arlo could not move. He had been mesmerized by the terror of that
single yet multiple glance of the caterpillar's eye. He tried to stir
himself, to bring down the ax, but his muscles would not respond.

"Now!" Aton cried again, nudging him.

Arlo tried again--and failed again. The ax did not swing, it fell--and
the last hurtling segment of the caterpillar caught the blade and
wrenched it out of his hands.

Arlo was left disarmed as the beat of feet faded. There was a great lump
in his throat, and his eyes were tearing. Suddenly he felt much less
like a man, and not at all like a god.

Obviously he was not the one to lead the forces of Life. Aton was the
one. Intelligence, experience, and courage counted for so much more than
youthful enthusiasm!

Then Aton showed his wisdom, as perhaps Odin had in some similar
situation, one or two thousand years before. He did not rant or condemn
or even ignore. "I froze too, the first time," he said calmly. "Now pick
up the ax and get moving; we'll have to tackle it at the pool before it
gets Vex." And he started down the path at a run.

Arlo's stasis snapped. He swooped up the ax and charged after his
father. Sleipnir, who had been grazing on glow, followed.

The pool was close, within a mile in the old human measure. But the
cavern predator had moved with such velocity that they had no chance to
catch up before it got there. They would have done better to remount
Sleipnir. Another mistake--and there was no room in this confined
passage to board the steed now, as they would have had to leap over its
head.

But the caterpillar had to slow at the pool entrance, for there it
worked in competitive coordination with the potwhale. The larger
segments barely squeezed through the aperture. That was another aspect
of the trap: the caterpillar's body blocked the opening so neatly that
there was no chance for the prey to squeeze by it and escape. Arlo
wondered briefly how the creature widened the passages when it needed
to; he had never seen a caterpillar cutting rock, but surely it had some
method. Maybe the head was able to chip away at it.

Arlo and Aton drew up short. They dared not approach the massive spike
of the tail! They would have to wait for it to clear the aperture.

Slowly, it did so. Arlo held his axe before him and edged through--only
to discover a new obstacle.

The caterpillar's track circled the pool. Its head was designed to
frighten the prey (and now Arlo appreciated how well it did so!),
driving it around the circle toward the tail. Then the tail shot out to
impale the prey, incorporating it as another walking segment of the
creature. So the tail had crossed the aperture on its way back around
the pool. The segments near the tail were now passing the entrance,
still sealing it off.

"Damn!" Arlo swore explosively, finding satisfaction in the LOE
expletive. "I can't get through!"

Aton looked at him. "Do you want to?"

"Vex is in there!"

"Strike, then."

Arlo gaped. He had missed the obvious. He could hardly help Vex from
inside the pool; the caterpillar and potwhale dominated that arena
completely. It was necessary to attack from the side--and here they were
in the ideal position!

"It is no shame to be confused, the first time," Aton said. "Remember:
there is always another way--perhaps a better one. Always look for it."

Valuable lessons! Arlo realized that there was more to assuming
leadership than giving directions or deciding broad policy. He had to
use his mind--and be ready to accept the advice of those whose minds
were better than his.

He braced himself, waited until the slender waist between two segments
of the caterpillar passed the opening, and struck. His blow was not as
hard as he wanted because he did not have clearance for a full swing.

To his amazement, the ax cut cleanly through the cord, separating the
segments. Success! Apparently the caterpillar, so tough in other
respects, was not constructed to withstand cutting from the side at the
joins.

But the inertia of the creature was such that it continued to move. In a
moment, the way was blocked by a new segment.

"All right," Arlo said. And he severed that one too.

After three more cuts, the caterpillar reversed its direction, and the
aperture was finally clear.

The two men entered the pool room. This was a high-domed chamber similar
to the one Arlo had watched the minionettes engage, but larger. It was
completely round and filled with water almost to the rim of the
caterpillar ledge. There was just room for a man to walk, and none to
pass. At the moment the head and front of the creature were advancing
one way; the separated tail, supported by ten segments, was going the
other. Between them, the three individual segments stood, lacking
direction.

Vex stood directly across the pool. She could not go far either way
because the head was traveling slowly toward her, while the tail was
closing the gap from the other side. There was, it seemed, enough of the
body included with the tail segment to coordinate the whole, even though
contact with the head had been lost. The feet marched rhythmically: ten
up, ten down.

"Swim across?" Arlo called.

Vex shook her head. She pointed.

Already the monstrous black mass of the potwhale was surfacing. This was
no trifle such as he had poked in potholes as wide as the span of his
hand; this was a full-grown jelly thing over a hundred feet in diameter.
In the center was the circular mouth, big enough to take in a man, and
the ropy, long tongue.

The potwhale belched. A cloud of yellow vapor spread out, suffusing the
dome with its appalling stench. Water rushed into the hole, draining the
last of the slick skin-surface.

The tongue cast about, blindly seeking prey. Arlo knew that it would
find Vex quickly enough if she tried to cross the face of this creature.
But the tail segment of the caterpillar had almost closed the gap. In a
moment she would have to choose between dooms--as did every animal who
foolishly entered here.

"I'm going across," Arlo said. "I'll cut off the tongue."

Aton held up his hand warningly. "Is that the only choice?"

Arlo forced himself to pause and think, difficult as that was in this
pressing circumstance. And a better way opened up. "We can distract it
with caterpillar segments!" he cried. "Any we don't need ourselves. That
will stop both menaces."

Aton nodded. "Push a couple in, then move on to the tail. Cut off the
very last segment, and the tail will fall. Less risk."

Arlo started around the circle. The nearest segment was too far gone; it
lacked any sign of a head, so that it would not be able to respond to
directives. He wedged himself in between it and the wall, lifted his
knee, and shoved. It toppled into the shallow water covering the fringe
of the whale.

The tongue slapped toward it. The whale felt the weight, and was
orienting on the morsel; it didn't care that it was part of the
caterpillar-accomplice. Arlo's attempted passage across that surface
would have been perilous indeed!

He went to the next separate segment and pitched it off. And the third;
none were any good for his purpose. Then he came to the unified tail
assembly.

Now he had a problem. He couldn't get by it, and it was too massive to
lever into the pool entire. Also, there were several very nice segments
in it--rock chippers with heads and forelegs that should be serviceable.
He wanted to save these.

Meanwhile, the whole unit continued to move, cornering Vex. In a moment
the stab-tail would be in range of her.

Arlo jumped down. With three morsels between him and the tongue, he
should be safe--for a while.

His feet shot out from under. The potwhale's skin was spongy and
slippery, offering no firm footing despite its bulk, and it undulated
under his weight. But there was not enough water to swim in. Arlo
thrashed about, making no forward progress.

"Another way!" Aton cried.

"Another way!" Arlo echoed. He lifted the ax with difficulty, about to
chop it into the slick black flesh beneath, carving a foothold. But
again he paused: surely the pain would attract the potwhale's immediate
attention, and the erupting blood would make the foothold less secure
than ever! What else offered?

He reached up and grabbed the foot of the nearest caterpillar segment.
Now he had purchase. He clamped the ax between his knees and hauled
himself from one leg to the next, hand over hand. He had found another
way!

When he got to the terrible tail, projecting half the length of a man,
he paused yet again. He had no leverage to chop at it! But at any moment
it would shoot out, for Vex was now within its range. The last thing he
wanted was to see her impaled.

He saw the tail shortening. That meant it was about to spring. Arlo
grabbed the end foot with his left hand and swung the ax with his right.
The blow was weak, the armor of the tail hard; the blade bounced off,
almost cutting his own left arm. He could not stop it that way.

The tail shuddered. It was starting to make its thrust! Arlo dropped the
ax and grabbed the rod with both hands as it elongated. At the same
time, he heard a splash.

The rod shot out, its diameter decreasing as its length increased. Arlo
hung on, bracing both feet against the wall and pulling. He succeeded:
the tail was angled out over the water, missing its mark.

Only there was now no target. Vex had jumped off the ledge. "Let go!"
she cried.

Arlo looked at his hands--and realized what was happening. The tail was
geared to spear through the prey, then to incorporate the new entity
into the scheme of the caterpillar by injecting some kind of pacifying
chemical. Its surface was now slick with goo--and Arlo's hands were
numb. "I can't!" he cried.

Vex grabbed him and got her body under his arms. She shoved off hard
from the wall, carrying him with her. She was amazingly strong--but of
course that was a property of the minionette, to be able to take
sadistic punishment. His hands tore free, and he saw how the surface of
the tail had opened little pores in its elongated state. No doubt that
fluid was much more effective when set into a massive wound, such as the
puncture of a complete entity. His skin and callus protected him
somewhat, but not enough. The effect was spreading.

Arlo fell and could not move. The caterpillar poison had entered his
system, paralyzing him. He could see, hear, and feel--but that was all.

"Oh, no!" Vex cried.

She set him down face-up on the blubbery back of the potwhale and
splashed his hands in the water. But there was little water here, and it
was already too late for washing to have much effect. She gave it up and
handed herself along the caterpillar segment in the fashion Arlo had.
"Aton!" she screamed.

And Arlo realized how convenient it would be for her simply to leave him
and take up with his father. She didn't have to do anything; she had
tried to save him and had failed. What more could be asked? If he died,
he could not return to aid Chthon's campaign, so her mission would be
complete in that sense. Soon she would generate her own son from the
loins of her father to carry on the tradition....

The tongue had brought in the third segment morsel. Now it was casting
for Arlo. Still he could not move. Vex had reached the other end of the
tail assembly and Aton was helping her back up to the ledge. He knew
this as much with his mind as with his eye; perhaps he was picking up
images from the eyes of the other people. Vex had taken up the ax Arlo
had dropped; fortunately it had not slipped down between the potwhale
and the rock and on to the bottom of the pool. The two of them walked
away.

Walked away...

Arlo fought, but the caterpillar venom held him immobile. Millions of
years of evolution had gone into the perfection of this serum, and it
was adequate to its task--even for the alien life-form Arlo was. Only on
order from the caterpillar brain could he move--and then only his feet,
synchronized with the caterpillar metronome. And there were no signals
because there was no connection.

How had Bedside fought off this drug, to become a man--albeit a mad
one--again?

The tongue slapped across one of his legs, curled about it, tugged. Arlo
slid across the blubber toward the potwhale's mouth.

Another way...?

The ten-segment segment--it had been marching and functioning, though it
had no caterpillar brain! Bedside's brain had also been able to control
a small unit. So portions of a caterpillar could function! If the
lead-segment handled it correctly...

I am a caterpillar, Arlo thought. I am marching home....

And his legs began to move. He was a single-segment caterpillar.

I am running home!

Faster, as his legs caught the beat his mind provided. They were not
responsive directly to his brain any more than his penis was, but like
it they were influenced by visions his mind conjured. The brain was
smart, the legs stupid; they could be fooled.

The potwhale's tongue clasped his leg tightly, hauling him up the rise
surrounding the mouth regardless of his running motions. He smelled the
rank intestinal gas that steamed up from that orifice, heard the
grindings deep inside.

My feet are impeded; they must fight to maintain the cadence....

His feet kicked wildly. His free foot smacked into the tongue, battering
it against the captive foot. Again, harder.

And the tongue, hurt, slackened. The foot slid out of the loop. Arlo
rolled down the incline, away from the mouth, feet still working. He
turned over, his face rubbing across the black surface, and turned
again, helplessly. And saw the forepart of the caterpillar.

Aton and Vex were astride it, one near the head, the other near the
severed end. "One...two...three...heave!" Aton called, and they both
shoved hard against the wall, just as the outer row of legs was coming
down. Off-balanced, the caterpillar teetered.

"Heave!" And slowly the entire length of it toppled off the ledge, into
the pool. The massed legs churned up a froth.

The splash was loud. The entire potwhale tilted with the added weight.
Huge as the creature was, Arlo realized that it had to be shallow, flat
like a leaf instead of round like a stone. Not nearly as massive as it
appeared. A surprised honk emerged from the mouth. Then the orifice
closed and the tongue sucked in.

Water poured over the rim. The monster was submerging!

Arlo, unable to swim because of the venom, knew he had exchanged one
form of death for another. Instead of being eaten, he would drown. Even
Chthon could not save him now--and Chthon did not have reason to.

Then strong hands gripped his arms. Aton and Vex swam for the rim,
hauling him between them.

They had saved him.

The venom of the caterpillar was powerful. Arlo fought his way to
consciousness, oppressed by suffocating heat--but still he was unable to
move voluntarily. Not even his feet, now. Or his eyes.

But he could feel, and he could hear. Someone was stroking his brow. It
was the gentle, cool touch of his mother, Coquina: cool because of her
malady the chill. He was in her hot cave, and she was taking care of
him, as she had when he had been a child. He was relieved; he felt safe
here, and it was good to have her attention, and to have her know that
she was needed. She had given up everything for the sake of his father
Aton--and now she was losing Aton himself.

Footsteps approached, halting at the entrance, where Arlo knew a curtain
of woven cave-vines contained the heat necessary to Coquina's survival.
"Come in, Vex," Coquina said.

Arlo's mind reacted, though his body could not. What was the minionette
doing here? In the nature of things, the two women should be enemies!

There was the rustle of vines being parted, a slight stir of warm air,
and Vex stepped in.

"Put on some clothing," Coquina said, a bit sharply.

After another rustling pause while Vex donned one of Coquina's
dresses--a tight fit, Arlo was sure!--she spoke. "I brought fruit from
Arlo's garden. Is he better yet?"

"Not yet. But thank you very much for the fruit." Coquina was being very
polite, very formal. "I know the trip to the garden is dangerous for
you, alone."

"Aton went with me." Arlo felt his mother's hand on his forehead freeze,
almost literally: it seemed to become deathly cold. Small wonder!

Then Coquina stood. "There is no need to tell me this."

"Please--I must tell you. I--here." Evidently Vex was holding out
something. Arlo struggled to regain that ambience of perception he had
had, to see things through their eyes. What was the object?

There was a brief silence. Then: "He--gave you the hvee?"

Arlo knew exactly what his mother was feeling: he felt the same. If Aton
had given Vex the hvee, all was over for Coquina--and for Arlo.

"He--sent it," Vex said quietly. "As--a gift for you. Please take it."

What? The hvee could not be transferred like this!

Coquina accepted it. "It does not wilt. How is this possible?"

"Aton loves you," Vex said. "We did nothing in the gardens. He picked
this flower; it oriented on him. See, it does not match my blue one from
Arlo. You love him--"

"But how could you carry it?"

"How can anyone carry the hvee? I love him, too."

Wrong, Arlo thought. The hvee loved its master, and loved the one who
loved its master, but could not be transferred between common lovers. It
was strictly series, not parallel. For when more than one woman loved a
given man, there was rivalry, and that destroyed love--and the hvee. So
something was wrong here. The hvee should be wilting--and wasn't.

Coquina moved away from Arlo and went to Vex. Oh, no! Arlo thought. They
can't fight... not my mother and my sister, my two closest loves!

"Aton has shown me something I did not know," Coquina said gently.
"Come, child--sit by me. I shall not hold you long." And her voice was
oddly soft.

"I am confused," Vex said. "There is strange and terrible emotion here,
and I don't know whether it emanates from you or Arlo, or from both."

"My son is conscious?" Coquina asked.

Of course Vex would know. She was telepathic. Arlo could have few
secrets from her!

Vex must have nodded affirmatively, for Coquina continued: "It is best
that he know this too."

"You know what I am!" Vex cried with sudden vehemence. "You know how it
must end! How can you speak to me?"

Now Arlo felt her emotion, in large part a blissful experience, in small
part a black abyss. It was his own telepathy at work, coming at last,
becoming stronger because of the urgency stemming from the incapacity of
his normal senses. Three-quarters human, that picked up Vex's negative
emotion as positive; one-quarter minion, that received it as it was. He
really was a mixture of types. Yet this duality was giving him a breadth
of comprehension he could not have had otherwise, as though it required
two views to fathom any given feeling. Chthon could see physical objects
from many views, but had no inkling of this mental holography.

"I knew your mother," Coquina said. "She was a fine woman--Aton's first
love. I was never jealous of her."

"I did not know my father still lived!" Vex said in agony. "He was
listed as dead because he went to Chthon prison. I met Aton and did not
recognize him because of that belief. When Arlo told me his grandmother
was Malice--"

"Peace, child! I know you did not know. When you fled from me at our
first meeting, I knew you had to be a minionette--and I recognized in
your aspect your likely lineage. I remembered how clever Uncle Benjamin
Five was, and I comprehend some of that man's motives. There was that of
Aton in you--"

"I never intended to betray Arlo! See--I still wear his hvee, and it
lives. I have sworn--"

"I know, Vex. I understand. Let me explain about the hvee."

Why was Coquina suddenly so calm? Arlo could pick up her emotion now,
separating it from Vex's; it was mainly positive, only partly
negative--which meant that it was all positive in origin, owing to his
own partial reversal of reception. She was not pretending; she was
confident and relieved.

"I know what normals go through to love a minionette, now," Vex said. "I
never wanted to hurt anyone, but I can't be false to my nature. Had Aton
been dead, as I thought--"

Now a ripple of horror, inspired by the mere suggestion of Aton dead.
Coquina's love was a miraculous thing; Arlo had never before glimpsed
its depth. "When Aton was a child of seven," Coquina said, "the
minionette Malice, his mother and yours, visited him and gave him the
hvee. Even then, he loved her. Many years later, he gave that hvee to
me, forgetting its origin. I did not know it was hers--but the hvee
never forgets, and because I loved him, it survived. Even when Malice
died, the hvee lived--because it could not interpret what had happened.
The hvee is not intelligent. But when I returned it to Aton, it knew his
love for Malice was over--because she was dead and he knew she was dead
and that it was really hers--and so it died."

Vex had to work this out. "You knew Malice was dead--but not that you
wore her hvee--so it lived?"

"Yes. The hvee loved me, because I loved Aton, who loved its true
mistress. There must always be a chain, and it cannot see beyond one
link at a time. Intellectual knowledge of one person about the end of
that chain does not affect the hvee; it has to get close enough to
comprehend its own, purely emotional way. Any break in that chain can
kill it, if the break is adjacent."

"But the hvee I just brought there is no chain--"

"There is a chain. This is what Aton has shown us. The hvee does not
distinguish between types of love; convention has relegated it to
romance, but it is quite possible for a father to give it to his son, or
to his grandchild--so long as true love exists. Sometimes close friends
of the same sex exchange the hvee; this does not imply anything
untoward."

Arlo had not known this either. Where there was love--any love--the hvee
could live. It didn't have to be sexual.

"But I could only carry Aton's hvee--" Vex said falteringly. "I knew it
was not intended for me--" She paused, confused. "I bear Arlo's hvee!"

"Yes. That much is true. You love Aton--and you also love Arlo. Both are
close kin to you; as a minionette, you must love them, so that you can
love either--as events require. It is possible to love two; the hvee
proves it."

"Yet now you hold the hvee--"

"I shall give it to my son," Coquina said. She put it in Arlo's hair,
and her love was an almost tangible thing to his new awareness. "See--it
does not wilt."

"Because he loves you," Vex said. "And I know he loves me too. But how
can it have passed between you and me, unless--" She halted, amazed.
"Unless you love me!"

"You are very like your mother," Coquina said. "And very like Aton. Much
of what I love in him is really his reflection of his mother--whom I
also loved. I never had a daughter--"

"But I am a minionette!"

"Minionettes are also human beings."

"Yet Arlo--Aton--"

"We are coming into Ragnarok. If Chthon loses, I die, for I depend on
Chthon. If Chthon wins, we may all die, for the cavern entity will have
no further need of us. I rather think my son will die, too, in this
awful combat. If Aton survives, it will be fitting that he return to
Minion. I know you will take care of him when that time comes, and I
would not have it otherwise. He was born to love the minionette."

There was a long silence, but Arlo felt the gradually shifting and
strengthening emotions of the minionette. Then: "If you love me, why
don't I feel the pain?"

"You are partly normal, child. Not all your emotions are reversed."

"I never had a mother...."

"This is the sad thing about being a minionette. You are forced to
orient exclusively on the opposite sex, in a sexual way, so that you
never know the joys of true family existence. In this manner the pattern
is constantly reinforced."

"I think I have a mother now."

"Yes..."

Arlo's store of energy was exhausted. He sank back into
unconsciousness--but it was a better state than he had been in before.

"We have to do something about those hands," Aton said. "The skin's
gone. They'll be weeks healing."

Arlo looked up at him. They were in the home-cave. Down in the tunnel
was Coquina's section, too stiflingly hot for normal comfort. Here it
was pleasant. Evidently he had been shuffled back once the initial
crisis passed. "Why did you save me?"

Aton exchanged glances with Vex. Arlo saw and felt the futile longing
that passed between them. Neither intended to yield, but both felt the
magnetic pull. Arlo hoped they would not realize how well he could read
their emotions, now.

"We need you," Vex said. "We did not save you from Chthon only to yield
you to the potwhale."

That was a fair answer. All three of them knew the situation: no need to
rehearse it. Arlo looked down at his hands. "Gloves, maybe. They don't
hurt--in fact, I can hardly feel my fingers...."

"You took a dose of caterpillar compulsion," Aton said. "It will be slow
to wear off. But we have to protect the skin, and we don't have proper
bandages."

"So we did get gloves," Vex finished. "From the minionettes." She spoke
as though she were not one herself, and it was no artificial
distinction. "Here."

Gloves? They were giant metal weave gauntlets! Each finger was
articulated by a construction of sliding, overlapping scales, so that it
could be moved and bent freely without being crushed. Inside was webbing
and padding, fastening the whole in place gently yet firmly. Very
firmly. From the outside the gloves were crushproof; they could sustain
hammer-blows without denting. But from the inside they were amazingly
comfortable, feather-light despite their gross mass.

"Engineers' handwear," Aton explained. "I used a similar set on space
ships, where temperature and pressure could vary widely across deadly
extremes, but precise adjustments had to be made. You can thread a
needle or handle red-hot iron--" he broke off.

"I know what a needle is," Arlo said, smiling. "A sliver of metal used
in the manufacture of apparel. Coquina has one." He looked at his hands.
The gloves seemed to fit like living flesh. His skin was numb, but
somehow the gloves transmitted the sensation of pressure to his interior
receptors, making it seem as though the metal itself could feel.

Experimentally, he tapped the stone floor. There was no pain. He struck
it, still receiving sensation without discomfort. He stood up, feeling
weak and dizzy, and smacked his fist hard into the wall. It crushed the
glow-lichen and chipped a fragment of stone away, but the shock to his
hand and arm was minimal.

"Thor's gloves..." he murmured.

"We saved the best caterpillar segments, and made a sledge," At on said.
"I think it will serve."

The two of them must have liked working together! But what could Arlo
say? They had done it for him, and done well.

"Meanwhile, what is Chthon doing?" Arlo inquired.

"Winning the war," Vex said succinctly. "If we don't get organized soon,
it will be too late."

"I'll see about it," Arlo said.

"Be careful," Aton cautioned. "Chthon gives few warnings."

"Your eye!" Arlo cried, suddenly realizing. "A warning?"

"How did you lose it?" Vex inquired.

Aton seemed reluctant, but answered. "I was questing for better metals,
back when I first started making rings. I needed accessible gold in an
almost pure state, that I could remove with no more than hammer and
chisel, and that's hard to find. I explored down past tunnels lined with
ice and snow and found a closed-off region, an artificial dead end, a
blocked passage deep below the normal run. I knew somehow that a
fundamental secret of Chthon was concealed behind that barrier, and I
wanted to master it. I started to pound through the partition--and the
chimera came. I tried to fight it, but the thing moved so quickly... it
plucked out my eye and left. It could readily have killed me, but Chthon
sent it away. That was my warning: stay clear of the forbidden secrets
of Chthon. So I gained knowledge of my limits and never trespassed
again. And in a few days a chipper opened a rich vein of gold near my
home-cave, and I knew Chthon had given me this in lieu of the knowledge
I had sought."

"Odin went down to the base of the great World Tree Yggdrasil," Arlo
said, remembering as from a dream. "There he found the Spring of Mimir,
whose water gave inspiration and knowledge of things to come. And for a
drink from that spring, Odin gave up his eye."

"Lovely," Vex said. To her, of course, it was.

They showed him the goat-cart. The two chippers were huge and well
preserved, their forelimbs intact so that they could run on all fours.
The sledge was fashioned of flexible wooden poles from the surface,
cushioned by woven fibers. The front part of it was supported by the
chippers, so that it did not touch the ground; it tilted down at an
angle that made obstruction almost impossible. A vine-bound stalactite
seat had been fixed on the rear, with strong handholds. It resembled a
throne.

Arlo mounted it and took the reins. "The goats are not really broken in
yet," Aton warned. "Once they start, they tend not to stop, so take it
easy. You have to work with them yourself, so that they will orient on
you."

"Sure," said Arlo. He was feeling better already. He gave the reins a
good twitch.

The two chippers launched themselves down the tunnel. Aton and Vex dived
out of the way, lest they be trampled. The cavern walls shot past at an
alarming rate. "Hold! Hold!" Arlo cried, but they only went faster. They
had not yet learned the meaning or discipline of such a command, and
they were powerful.

The sledge bumped across irregularities in the floor. Then the chippers
hurdled a narrow river channel--and so did the sledge. It felt like
flying. At first the experience was terrifying, but soon Arlo realized
that the chippers were surefooted; they would not crash into any walls
or leap off any cliffs.

Fine. Let them exert their energies. Arlo found that he could steer
them, when he needed to, by jerking to one side or the other on the
reins, because there were bits hooked into the corners of their mouths
behind their teeth, and pressure there was painful. He felt that pain
himself, through their limited minds. He directed them toward the wind
caverns where the minionettes were camped.

The journey that would have taken hours on foot was much shorter by
sledge. Furthermore, he arrived fresher than he had been at the start,
for the limited activity restored his body. He concentrated on the
chippers' minds, strengthening his telepathic connection, acquainting
them with himself as though he were the lead segment of their
caterpillar. In a sense he was. His minion, Chthon, and caterpillar
experiences all contributed to his mental authority. The chippers,
tiring at last, were willing to accede to his demands. Since the mental
directives turned out to be easiest and most effective, he finally
removed the bits, leaving the reins as no more than a suggestion. No one
but he would be able to control these fine animals!

Torment met him at the camp. She and the other minionettes knew without
being physically informed that she was to be his liaison. "We heard you
had some trouble."

"Bit of fun with a caterpillar. I'm better now. I understand you have
trouble yourself."

"We have lost one-third of our troops," she said. "We can replace them,
but we cannot expend them at this rate indefinitely. The population of
Minion is limited, and minionettes are hard to replace."

"Come on here with me," he said. "I want to survey the caverns."

She joined him on the sledge, stepping daintily. There was that in her
appearance and manner that still set her apart from Vex, showing her to
be a mature full-blooded minionette instead of a nascent one. These were
appealing refinements. "Your animals are beautifully tired," she
remarked.

He leaned over his chair and kissed her, savoring her aspect so like
that of Vex, yet so enticingly distinct. Torment gasped and fell back,
barely retaining her perch on the sledge. "Are you trying to kill me?"
It was no rhetorical or humorous question; she had been cruelly
stricken.

"I want the goats tired," he said. "I am breaking them in."

"If I seemed condescending, I will not be so again," Torment said.

She had gotten the message. He wanted the minionettes broken in, too. He
could not punish them in anger, but he could kiss them into oblivion.
"Chthon's creatures are now organized, under common command," he
explained. "We can overcome them only if we have superior organization.
Can you link with each other telepathically?"

"To a certain extent. The death of one of our own pains us all; there is
no reversal among ourselves. So we tend to suppress it."

"I'd guess there is reversal between yourselves," Arlo said. "Double
reversal--that cancels out. You broadcast reversed, and you receive
reversed."

She nodded. "You seem to be getting more intelligent."

"I have had a great deal of experience in the past few days, and I am
learning about telepathy. I want you to enhance your own telepathy, not
suppress it. The minionettes must be unified." He glanced around the
stark wind tunnels. "Now first I want to establish a secure base of
operations."

"We have sentries posted at all--"

He gave her a loving look, enhanced by a jolt of positive emotion. She
quailed. "What do you have in mind?"

"Every living thing in the caverns is an agent of Chthon, except the
human beings," he said. "Not just the caterpillars and chippers--the
salamanders and pseudoflies too. You'll just have to clear a section of
every living thing; only then can we plan strategy in secret."

She nodded, and the motion sent ripples of color through her hair. It
occurred to him that here in the green glow of the caverns the
minionette's hair should not appear fire-red--yet it did. The image
probably was formed in his brain as much as in his eye: another minor
marvel of telepathy. "We could do that in the old prison region," she
said. "There are very few access points there. We have retained a few of
the original prisoners as menials; should they be removed also?"

He sent a mental blast of ire at her to indicate his pleasure, and she
smiled. "You do have a certain way about you," she murmured.

In hours they had sealed off the upper caverns and hunted down every
creature--human and animal--there. "Now we are secure," Arlo said. "Now
bring down the Vanir."

"Vanir?" Torment asked, perplexed.

"The galactic allies," he explained. "In Norse mythology, the Vanir were
originally lesser deities who warred with the arrogant Aesir. But the
fray was even, and at length the Aesir made peace and admitted the Vanir
to Asgard on an equal basis. The goddess Freyja, first wife of Odin, was
of the Vanir; she was a Valkyrie. With new gods like Thor being born of
these Aesir/Vanir unions, the distinction became indistinct."

"Valkyrie... minionette," Torment murmured, "Fighting maidens, conveyors
of the dead to Valhalla. Very nice."

"But some elements of the Vanir were the civilized nonhuman galactic
species: the Lfa, EeoO, and Xests." Then he reviewed the properties of
the three galactic allies. "I learned this from Chthon. Is my
information correct?"

"Yes. Chthon seems to know a good deal."

"Are they subject to the myxo?"

"We have assumed so. It is difficult to--"

"To work with aliens," he finished for her. "They have their own ways
and needs and leaders." He paused. They had now drawn up to the main
camp again, and the other minionettes gathered about, listening. "Well,
they now have some notion of the stakes. If we lose this battle of the
caverns, the entire galaxy will follow. I have seen it in a vision of
the future. It will take thousands of years for all life in the galaxy
to be exterminated, but it will be inevitable, with no hope of redress.

"Tell the Vanir I am assuming the leadership of the forces of Life
because only I know how to oppose Chthon successfully, and that they
will take their directives from me. I want their contingents down here
in the secure caverns within twelve hours. Until that time, there will
be no forays beyond the perimeter." He looked around, smiling. "I will
make love to any woman who violates this directive."

He concentrated on their lush figures, picturing Vex, making his penis
rise so that all would know he was not bluffing, though of course he
was. It was an effective threat; the minionettes drew back with a common
expression of pain at the prospect of his specific enjoyment. Any of
them would happily have submitted to rape by him, but not love.

"Meanwhile, we shall prepare several secret exits to the main caverns,"
Arlo continued. "We can put out the fire in one of the torch tunnels--I
presume you can get fire extinguishers and heat suits--and lower a party
that way, through the back tunnels. We shall also require a series of
long, narrow wells through the floor. We'll need drilling equipment. Get
it here in three hours."

They did not question him. The minionettes scattered.

Arlo turned his chippers loose to graze, then lay down for a nap. He
knew he would be foolish to overtax himself before the real battle
began; he was not yet fully recovered.

He dreamed of Valhalla, the hall of Asgard where the gods feasted. Thor
was there, celebrating with his father Odin, chief of the gods, and so
was Frigga, and golden-haired Sif and all the lesser gods.

Then Loki appeared. "Come make merry with us," Odin invited him. But
Loki demurred.

"Why should I carouse with one who cuckolds his stupid son? Do you think
I don't know the secrets of all you hypocrites?"

Arlo woke, sweating. What were Aton and Vex doing at this moment? They
were now outside his telepathic range.

A signal caught his eye. He looked--and found a Xest standing beside
Torment. It was exactly as in his vision, standing on eight spindly
legs, with a globular body somewhat larger than a man's hand. It was
bright orange; perhaps his vision had told him that, but in the flesh it
surprised him. Almost immediately he realized that this was a stress
color: gravity here was much beyond Xest normal, and it had to make a
constant effort to adapt. Etiquette required that he not dwell on this.

"Apologies for waking you," the minionette said. "I am speaking for the
Xest, who is telepathic like us, only more so. I merely translate its
signals."

Arlo found he could read much of the creature's mind directly, but
elected not to advertise that fact. He did not know the galactic sign
language at all well, never having had opportunity to practice it with
galactics, so the translation was helpful. And he realized that
something important was up. "Continue."

"Antipathetic pressures are on your mind."

"They sure are!" Arlo agreed. "This is Ragnarok, the battle of all
time."

Torment spoke again as the Xest signaled. "Bedside--Loki--Chthon--these
entered your mind while your guard was down. To spread dissent--"

Arlo's eyes narrowed. "You mean my dream was not my own?"

"That is correct. It was projected from the enemy."

Arlo nodded. He knew his father and sister were not betraying him; both
were persons of integrity, however difficult that might be at times, and
he had seen into their minds. The antagonist he faced was Doc Bedside,
now organizing Chthon's power. Obviously Bedside wanted him out of the
Life camp and back in his home-cave in a hurry. Why?

"Representatives from the other Vanir have arrived," Torment said.

"Bring them in." The Chthon matter would have to wait.

One Lfa and one EeoO entered. The first looked like a pile of fractured
rubble with sticks protruding randomly. The second resembled a
translucent pool of water that somehow needed no basin. It was a
delicate blue throughout.

The Lfa came right to the point. Torment translated its peremptory
signals. "We govern half the galaxy. Humans govern a tenth. We do not
accept your proffered leadership."

Arlo smiled in such a way that the minionette had to smile with him.
"Have you been able to abate the nonexplosion wave?"

The Lfa shifted its bricks uncomfortably. "Not yet," Torment said.

"Can you abate it within fourteen Earth-days from this moment?"

"These things take time."

"Time is gone," Arlo said. "This is Ragnarok. If we do not conquer
Chthon within our deadline, the original chill-wave will intersect this
planet, enabling Chthon to initiate the fluorine-oxygen compounder wave,
to be known as the killchill, that will destroy all life in the galaxy
beyond this planet--and perhaps here too, for the mineral intellect will
have no further need of local life. It regards us as fetid slime, a
pestilence on the sacred matter of the galaxy. Not even a microbe will
live after the killchill passes; Life will be eternally extinct.

"You will not be able to counteract that wave because you will no longer
exist. I am the only one who can find his way into the secret heart of
Chthon's caverns to destroy the broadcast mechanism--and to do that it
will be necessary to destroy Chthon itself, for Chthon is the mechanism.
Are you ready to gamble that you can penetrate that key region, or learn
to nullify the nonexplosion field so that you can blast apart this
planet--in time?"

Now the EeoO signaled. How it signaled Arlo could not tell, but Torment
translated: "Your campaign is useless."

Arlo faced it. His gaze passed through its serene interior. Amazing how
this thing could function without visible organs, nerves, or bones!
"Why?"

"Chthon is aware of it. Chthon-controlled life permeates this cavern."

"I have the assurance of the minionettes that this is not so," Arlo
said. "Our dialogue should be private."

The EeoO quivered, and Torment's mouth dropped open. "The glow!" she
exclaimed.

Arlo clapped his hand to his forehead. That was a mistake, because the
gauntlet he wore gave his skull a mighty crack. "The glow!" Of course
the EeoO was right. The green glow covered every wall; its light was
essential to their vision. And it was an organic substance. If they
burned it off, they would be dependent on artificial light. That would
complicate the campaign phenomenally. In any combat, the Chthon forces
would have only to eliminate the lights to assume a decisive advantage.
And they were already winning.

No, perhaps not. If the forces of Life depended on the glow, so did the
living forces of Chthon. Perhaps in the dark the fight would be even.
But that still wasn't good enough.

"And the cavern entity knows your mind," Torment continued translating
from the EeoO's jiggles. "You have been closer to it than any sane
sapient living entity. Your leadership means that it is dealing with a
known intelligence. That is why it does not act against you, only
seeking to guide you subtly. It prefers your influence to that of some
unanalyzed form of life."

"Such as the Lfa?" Arlo inquired dryly.

He needed no translation to pick up the two creatures' agreement. Yet he
was sure it would mean disaster if he yielded his leadership to them. He
had to convince them to accept him.

How? His father was clever; Aton could have debated these balky aliens
and made them look ridiculous. Arlo lacked that educational background,
that ready wit, that minion-prompted sarcasm. And his motive was
suspect, for Chthon obviously did want him in power. Was he really his
own man, or was he forwarding Chthon's cause?

No matter. Alien domination of this campaign meant certain loss. He had
to do it. Maybe he wasn't Aton--but he had an idea how Aton would have
gone about it. There were little tricks of approach. Perhaps they would
not work for Arlo, but he had to give it his best try.

His mind reached out--and it was as though it linked with that of his
father. Illusion it might be, but suddenly his confidence grew.

Try them on the time scale, son.

"How long did it take the Lfa to colonize half the galaxy?" Arlo asked.

"Approximately half a million years," Torment answered.

"We Humans colonized our tenth in three hundred years," Arlo said. "That
is approximately three thousand times your rate--and we were limited
only by the fact that nothing was left to colonize. Does that suggest
anything to you?"

"An impetuous velocity," came the reply.

It's trying to get cute. Nail it. Make it give your answer.

"What type of entity would you assign to supervise the conquest of a
difficult planet--in fourteen days?"

"I must take time to consider," the Lfa signaled.

One down. Don't let the other get away!

Arlo turned to the EeoO. "Have I made my point?"

"You must answer the question of Chthon's knowledge of your mind," the
EeoO replied.

This is a sharper entity. Appeal to its intellect.

"It should be obvious that if Chthon knows my mind best, the converse is
true. I know Chthon best." Arlo leaned forward persuasively, though he
had no certainty that the gesture meant anything to the galactics. "This
is like a chess game--Torment, translate that analogy into terms they
understand; surely they have similar exercises--wherein all pieces and
all moves are conducted in the sight of both players. There can be no
secrets. The more powerful, original, more reliable player
wins--usually."

"Your expertise is questionable," one of the creatures signaled; Arlo
was not certain which, since Lfa, EeoO and Xest were all moving now. But
it was a good score to a vulnerable area, for Arlo had already muffed
the green glow-matter.

What would Aton do? Counterattack!

"Would you substitute your expertise? Would any of you go into the
depths of Chthon blindly to tackle a planetary sentience in its home
territory? Your chances may seem less than even, with me--but they will
be virtually nothing with you. At least I have some notion of the rules
of the game."

And the three entities were without signals.

Nail it down!

"All right," Arlo said briskly, as though they had formally accepted his
position. "We can't operate in complete secrecy--but unless Chthon can
read my mind, it doesn't know exactly what use I mean to make of your
contingents. If my strategy is original and sound, Chthon will not be
able to counter it. I may ask you to do some seemingly foolish things.
Do not challenge me on them; they may be foolish--so as to conceal my
real intent. Only by keeping Chthon ignorant of the details of my
campaign can I hope to prevail. Now I want you to bring down the drills
and firefighting equipment and proceed as I outlined to the minionettes
before."

The Lfa and EeoO made motions very like a human shrug, and departed.
Watching them move was an experience: one seemed to tumble over itself
like debris down a slope, while the other slid gracefully along its
pastel-hued base.

"You're lucky they aren't telepathic," Torment murmured. "If they had
read the doubt in your mind--"

"Remind me never to try to bluff a Xest," Arlo said.

"And get kissed again? Remind yourself!"

He smiled, making her wince. "In fact, I'd better level with our Xest
representative right now."

"No need," she said. "The Xest understands. The Xest feels you are the
most qualified leader for the endeavor."

"I'm getting to like the Xest," he said. Then he thought of something
else. "The Xest--they use the Taphid, don't they?"

"Yes. They import it--"

"Have them bring a good supply down here. We may need the Taphid when we
lose."

"When we--?"

"How would you like an affectionate hug?"

She departed without further word. The Xest projected a benign
sentiment, and followed her.

Soon the equipment arrived. "What's this?" Arlo inquired, picking up a
Xest artifact. "It looks like a hammer."

"It is a power mallet," Torment translated.

"The Xests' limbs are not as strong as those of many other creatures,
especially on high-gravity surfaces. So Xest force is amplified by means
of specialized tools. With this mallet one Xest can pound apart solid
rock without personal fatigue."

"Could I use it?"

"It should be feasible. Merely hold it firmly and depress the stud in
the handle. It vibrates at sonic frequency."

Arlo tried it. He put it to the wall and touched the stud with the thumb
of his gauntlet. The stone powdered out beneath the point of contact.

"Very nice," Arlo said. "Do you have a larger model?"

The Xest produced a version whose head was the size of Arlo's two fists.
Arlo tried it, and watched the thing blast a head-sized hole in the wall
with one strike. Evidently that did not count as an explosion, or
Chthon's repressive field would have interfered. But it was powerful!
"Thor's Hammer," he said.

"Now Chthon undoubtedly knows what we have been doing," Arlo told
Torment. "So we'll proceed according to schedule. Meanwhile, I'll finish
my nap." He lay down on the rock.

Torment looked at him silently.

"Hold my hand," he told her. "Put me to sleep." Perchance to dream...

She knelt and took his hand. Arlo gave his turmoil and apprehension free
rein, knowing that it came through to her like sweet music. He was
leading the forces of life into disaster--and he had no counterplan.
What was he to do?

Torment smoothed his forehead with her cool hand. "You darling boy," she
murmured.

After a time he slept.

"He hasn't returned," Vex said. "Life has lost, as was fated at
Ragnarok. Coquina is confined to her cave. What remains for us, in these
few hours remaining?"

"Love," Aton said. "As it was fated to be." He took her into his arms.

Arlo wrenched himself awake. "I'm going home!"

Torment restrained him. "Don't make decisions now; you're crazed by a
dream-projection."

"Go sit on a stalagmite--a sharp one," Arlo snapped. He sent a mental
summons to his two goat segments.

"This is of course in poor taste to suggest," Torment said carefully.
"But is she worth it? We need you here, as the battle begins. We have
women very like your minionette to console you, and far more
experienced."

"I'm aware of that. You come with me. Bring one member of each Vanir
species--no, make that four EeoO, one of each sex. Relinquish command of
the Life campaign to the Lfa leader."

"The Lfa!" Now she was alarmed. "There will be no imagination!
Completely predictable procedure, child's play for Chthon to counter!"

"If you aren't coming, I'll go alone!"

She ran after him. "Arlo, you're lovely like this! I can hardly refrain
from embracing you. But can't you see--Chthon put that dream into your
mind! I was with you, I felt it--the same signal the Xest picked up
before! When you sleep, your guard goes down--"

"If I had a way to hurt you, I'd do it!" Arlo told her wrathfully. "But
it's impossible right now." That damned inversion--his rage, her bliss.
"So you just shut up and fetch the Vanir."

"Stop and think!" she cried. "Chthon wants you out of here and back at
your home-cave. You're playing into its scheme."

Arlo came up to his chippers, who had stopped grazing and were ambling
toward the sledge. "Unseal the main exit."

"No."

He backhanded her across the face in fury. Torment accepted the blow
unhurt, unable to repress her smile of pure animal pleasure despite her
need to convince him intellectually. "We won't let you walk into
Chthon's trap."

Arlo hitched the sledge, cursing as he struggled with the unfamiliar and
crude fastenings. He finally got it right and started off. When he got
to the sealed exit he dismounted, took his great hammer in his gloves,
and pounded a gaping hole through the mortar.

By the time he finished, Torment had returned with a Xest, a large Lfa,
and four EeoO units: translucent blue, green, yellow, and pink. "If you
insist on this disaster, we're your bodyguard," Torment said, and they
all piled onto the sledge.

"Suit yourselves." He snapped the reins, though his real command was
mental: the bits were gone. The two chippers, recharged by their rest,
took off. The sledge was heavy with the weight of the group, so that the
fibers of it sagged, but the chippers were so powerful it seemed to make
little difference. They careened through the passages at a dizzying
rate.

As they moved, Arlo spoke into Torment's ear. "I doubt Chthon can hear
us talk right now, or read your signals, and we'll know if there's any
myxo siege against any of our little group. I believe you all understand
that it is not madness but doom I have brought you into."

Torment didn't bother to translate. "We know," she agreed grimly.

"Small as we are, we are the real invasion spearhead. The main attack,
back at the sealed cavern, is only a decoy, a diversion."

"Yes." But she looked surprised.

"By seeming to fall into Chthon's trap, we lull it into complacency. But
we shall soon be ambushed. We shall have to elude that trap just before
it snaps, seemingly by accident. Now let me talk to the EeoO."

Torment signaled to the four translucent entities.

"Soon we shall pass a series of dry holes," Arlo said. "They are ancient
gas vents, long since inactive. The vents are narrow, and they twist
through the rock, so that no solid living thing of any size can pass
through them. But a liquid might--and the holes drain into a common
chamber in the heart of the planet. It is very near Chthon's
wave-generating circuitry."

Torment signaled, then gave their reply. "We comprehend."

The sledge came to the vents. "I can't stop the chippers without giving
it away," Arlo said. "The EeoO will have to jump."

The E, e, o, and O entities jumped, bouncing up like balls to get free
of the moving sledge. They landed, rebounded, and rolled across the rock
behind. They would soon liquefy, dissolve into pools, and seep through
the vents until they merged in the deeper caverns Chthon thought were
secure. But Arlo had learned more than Chthon had told him, during their
interaction; he knew many of the secret secrets.

Mindless in their melted state, the E's and O's should broadcast few
telltales of sentience. With luck, the new little EeoO emerging from the
generative pool would be able to disrupt Chthon's circuits before the
mineral entity caught on.

"Now the Lfa," Arlo said. "Can you disassociate, then reform as two or
more subentities in some unobserved cavern?"

"Yes," Torment translated. "It is not normal procedure, but in
emergency--"

"We shall soon pass the major gas crevasse of the planet," Arlo said.
"The gas from this section funnels through to the fires near the prison
region. If you can ignite the crevasse itself, Chthon's thermal ecology
will be disrupted. The animals will panic, perhaps throwing off Chthon's
control, and the mineral intellect's own circuits will suffer."

"I shall make the attempt," the Lfa signaled.

"Here," Arlo said. And the Lfa tumbled off, breaking up into scattered
parts of junk as it struck the stone.

"Now the Xest. We are approaching the probable site of ambush. We shall
try to avoid it narrowly, distracting Chthon so that the activity of the
EeoO and Lfa is not noted. You brought the Taphid?"

"Yes," the Xest signaled. It was now almost blindingly orange.

"Thaw it in a hurry. Even Chthon will require some time to establish
control over hungry Turlingian Aphids, and meanwhile they will provide
excellent distraction for us. We shall drop them in the path of our
pursuers."

"But then we cannot--"

"Have no concern. In this situation, your personal debt limit is off.
You may--and may have to!--replicate as copiously as possible. I presume
your fragments reform into sentient entities rapidly?"

"Virtually instantaneously. That is why we require the Taphid, for it
acts rapidly without separating any individuals. One is loath to
dispense with it. Are you sure--?"

"What is the debt limit for saving the existence of all life in the
galaxy?"

"That is not our mode of appraisal," the Xest replied. And Torment added
on her own: "Their whole philosophy is to restrict the spread of life,
so that their resources will not be squandered."

"So that the restricted population can live comfortably," Arlo said.
"But there have to be some survivors. Wouldn't the debt you incur by
unrestricted fissioning be theirs to expunge? Wouldn't they be ready to
assume that debt, as the price of life itself?"

"You make it wonderfully clear," the Xest responded.

Had he--or was the creature merely being polite to a savage? Well, he
had its acquiescence, and that sufficed. "Our shock troops have already
been launched. It is the job of those of us who remain to make as
impressive a distraction as possible. Chthon must believe that we are
the shock troops. It will watch us most closely, uncertain whether I
have been fooled by the dreams. That uncertainty is our asset."

"A return to your home-cave would not distract Chthon," Torment said.
Arlo was not clear whether she spoke for the Xest or for herself.
"Better that we make a direct attack that can not be ignored."

"Yes," Arlo said. "Since I had not planned on that, it is good." He
realized that this probably meant he would not see Vex or his parents
again. But this was war, and he had a job to do. "There are regions of
the caverns I have been barred from. So has my father. He spoke of a
blocked passage beyond ice caverns... With these gloves and this hammer
I can break through. That should really alarm Chthon--and we'll have one
hell of a fight."

"That is our purpose."

"I sense the ambush, between us and my home-cave. It is the wolf-thing."

"From your mental image, it is not a thing we can readily conquer,"
Torment said for the Xest. "Best to avoid it."

"My inclination is to bash it on the skull with the Hammer," Arlo said.
"Therefore, in the interests of unpredictability, I shall not. Like
cowards, we shall flee it."

Torment put her hand on his arm. "Your sentiment becomes you."

"No doubt!" he said, half-angry. He guided the sledge down the tunnels
he knew, fearing and enjoying their forbidden nature. One was an almost
vertical ice shaft, where the moving air was forced down into an opening
funnel where it expanded and cooled rapidly. This was not the river of
ice where he and Vex had played, but an entirely separate region. The
walls and ceilings became coated with crystals, patterns of faceted ice,
and the floor was a narrow glacier.

"We shall never thaw the Taphid here," the Xest complained.

"Just wait," Arlo said. Soon they debouched into a veritable
snowstorm--then, suddenly, into a warm side tunnel and a dead end. The
chippers had to stop.

"I christen this the Cave of Odin's Eye," Arlo said with a flourish.
"Only recently did I learn its significance, though I have been here
before." He got out, hefting his hammer. "You're both telepathic. If
Chthon-creatures come--and it's likely they will--warn me."

"There is a creature beyond that wall," Torment. "I feel it: large, very
large, loving. The Xest says it is the most powerful animal in the
planet, and semi-telepathic. Unsafe to approach."

"Now I am even more curious," Arlo said. He had picked up the same
emanations. "This must be one of Chthon's secret weapons."

"It may destroy us."

"Our first line of defense is the Taphid."

"Still too cold," Torment translated for the Xest. "It takes time for
the grubs to thaw. And once they do--"

"I know. I've seen them operate."

Torment lifted an eyebrow. "You have been to space?"

"In a vision. I have seen the future--when Chthon wins. I mean to see
that that future never comes to pass." He clenched a fist, not in
violence but in concentration, noting how the scales of the glove slid
smoothly by each other no matter how tightly compressed. "We'll wait on
the Taphid, then. Torment, stand guard with the chippers. We don't know
what we'll find, other than large and dangerous. But no doubt an
excellent distraction."

The Xest came to stand beside him. Arlo bashed the wall with the
hammer--and it powdered out beautifully. In moments he had broken open a
hole large enough for them to step through conveniently.

They entered a round tunnel, fifty feet in diameter. There was a rank
odor, as of the dung-region of a dragon's lair. Arlo had an uncanny
sensation of familiarity.

"Let's fish for it," Arlo said. "I'd like to see this thing."

He formed a mental picture of a huge fat chipper stumbling about
uncertainly: ideal prey for a large predator. Suddenly the picture
intensified, so that the chipper became almost tangible. The Xest was
adding to his picture!

Somewhere, a hugeness took note. The telepathic monster of this tunnel
perceived the image, and there was a hunger. Arlo felt the massive
motion begin.

It frightened him. The presence was too large, too menacing. Yet it was
a weapon of Chthon, and he had to understand it, learn its weaknesses,
so that the forces of Life could eliminate it. And he wanted to make a
really formidable distraction, to hold Chthon's attention. So he waited,
projecting the fat chipper image as augmented by the Xest, making it so
bumbling and fat and real that his own mouth watered.

The rock began to vibrate. Abruptly Arlo realized: this was a huge
maze-dragon, dwarfing the one he had encountered while carrying Vex. Its
network of passages--how far did they extend?

He saw a pattern of threads extending through and around a globe, and
realized that the Xest had put this picture in his mind. The Xest's
telepathy was superior to that of the minionette; it could make direct
informational perceptions and projections. And the picture told
him--that the dragon's maze encircled the very planet.

What a monster! It had to be killed, for it alone could consume the
entire army of minionettes. Being telepathic, it would be able to locate
every sentient entity in the caverns--if it were loosed in them. And
Chthon had provided Arlo no hint of this before; it was a weapon held in
reserve.

Yet why should he be surprised? Chthon could make the unique hvee grow,
crossbreed and mutate successfully here in the caverns; the simple
increase in size of an already formidable breed of monster was well
within the mineral intellect's power.

Of course the creature would not be able to squeeze through the majority
of tunnels--but still, it was too terrible a threat to ignore.

Would his hammer kill it? Could he strike hard enough, in a vital spot?
Surely the monster had a brain somewhere, and if that were crushed...

The chipper-prey wavered. The Xest was getting tired. Its telepathy was
superior, but could not be maintained long. Arlo, on the other hand,
could continue the effort indefinitely.

A new picture came to his mind: an elaborate belt, or girdle, radiating
power.

Thor's belt of strength! The Xest was telling Arlo he had it. Yet he did
not. What did this mean?

But as the Xest projected new, fleeting images, Arlo understood. It was
the caterpillar venom! Not a poison, but a channelizer, to make newly
incorporated segments durable enough so as not to be a liability to the
whole. The stuff had affected his system, giving it that special
reinforcement intended to make him an indefatigable marcher. But now it
made him stronger in other ways, extending his mental endurance. He did,
indeed, possess the belt of strength, the last of Thor's gifts.

Now the rock shook so violently that Arlo had difficulty keeping his
feet. He braced himself on the scant ledge formed by the intersection of
the feeder-tunnel with the main one, lifted the hammer, and waited. The
dragon couldn't possibly brake in time; it would shoot right by the
first pass.

There had to be many prey-animals here to feed such bulk. Yet the
entrance was blocked. How did they get through? Probably they didn't;
Chthon had arranged to close off this section only recently, within the
past couple of decades, and had trapped a sufficient pyramid of lesser
animals to serve. At least until Ragnarok.

Did the monster know that the moment the war between Death and Life was
over, the monster itself would be expendable?

Fool! Arlo fired at it.

Now the dragon hove in sight, far down the endless passage. Its huge
eyes glowed, spearing out their light to augment the lichen glow. Like a
mighty LOE express, it steamed down upon them, traveling so fast that
the air compressed ahead of it, making Arlo's ears crackle.

LOE express, he thought fleetingly. " 'There isn't a train I wouldn't
take, No matter where it's going.' " That long-defunct female poet
wouldn't take this train!

Arlo held his position. His gaze seemed to meet the awful stare of the
dragon. He drew upon his reserves, physical and mental, knowing that he
would have only one chance. He braced so hard it was as though his feet
were crushing down through the rock to embed themselves in the heart of
the planet. If he could strike it cleanly--

The bait-image vanished. The onrushing monster faltered, no longer able
to orient on its prey. The eye-beams switched back and forth, trying to
pick up what the mind had lost. In a moment that questing light would
bathe Arlo and the Xest, exposing them, dooming them without chance of
resistance. Only by passing on course, intent on something else, could
the dragon be vulnerable to Arlo's surprise blow. On guard, it would
come teeth-first.

The Xest, frightened, had erased the chipper-picture.

Arlo tumbled back, getting out of sight as the blast of the dragon's
frustrated passage pushed air out of the hole they had made. Furious at
his companion's act of cowardice, Arlo swung his hammer at the Xest with
all his force.

The blow scored. The Xest shattered explosively. Its eight legs flew out
in all directions; its body puffed apart as if it were no more than an
inflated bladder, punctured.

As the dragon disappeared down the tunnel, suction jerked Arlo after it.
He reached out instinctively and clutched an outcropping of stone. The
air howled through the gap in the wall behind him, carrying the
fragments of the Xest like so many dried leaves.

Now there was remorse. "I'm sorry!" Arlo cried into the gale. But of
course it was too late.

A piece of Xest banged into his back and dropped down. Arlo swept it
up--and lo, it was already forming into a miniature Xest. He held it to
his face--and its little telepathic image entered his mind.

It was a picture of thousands of Xests overrunning the caverns, looking
for Chthon's secrets, unstoppable because they were so small, so alien
to the cavern entity's experience. Some even clung to the dragon,
hitching a ride right around the planet. But mixed with the image was a
burgeoning concern. Debt!

"Don't worry," Arlo said to it. "Do your job. Harass Chthon. If there is
any life-debt, the responsibility is mine. It shall be so recorded." He
paused, unsatisfied. He had guilt of his own to expiate somehow. "If we
win, I will give you a hvee. If it lives, I will know you have forgiven
me for my crime against you--against all you thousand Xests. The debt is
mine."

With a projection of gratitude, the little Xest moved on.

Arlo made his way back to the chippers and cart as the wind abated.
Torment waited, as directed. "So you have relived mythology again," she
said.

"Oh?" Arlo glanced at her, surprised.

"Did you not know that Thor and the giant Hymir went fishing?" she
asked. Then, seeing that he did not, she continued: "Thor put the head
of an ox on his hook, and it was the great Midgard serpent itself that
took the bait. But as Thor drew it up and met the monster's gaze, Hymir
in terror cut the line, letting the serpent escape. Thor in rage smashed
the giant with his hammer, but the damage had been done."

The Midgard serpent--the creature so big its coils encircled the world
under the ocean! Indeed he had relived the myth, though he had not read
that particular story. And now the world-snake knew its enemy and would
be alert.

In Ragnarok, Arlo knew, Thor had in the end fallen prey to that monster.
Had he only been able to kill it in the first encounter...

"So stay away from it!" Torment cried. "I think our diversionary ploy
has been successful. Life is going to win!"

"Not by re-enacting Norse myth," Arlo said.

"We have copied that enough. Now we can diverge and wipe out Chthon."

"I hope so," Arlo said, thinking of Vex. Life might win--but would he
survive to hold her again?

They moved out, the chippers eager to leave these depths.

Then Arlo felt a sharp pain in his foot. He reached down--and his glove
brought up a salamander.

He had been bitten by the caverns' most poisonous creature.

"Arlo!" Torment cried. Then she saw the salamander. Her horror was like
the breath of new love to his mind. "Oh, no!"

"The wind must have sucked it in," Arlo said bemused by the knowledge
that he was finished.

She grabbed him, drawing her knife. "I'll have to cut, draw out the
venom--"

But it was too late. Arlo fell into her arms, unconscious.

Mythology was not to be re-enacted, after all. Not in this detail.

Chapter VI: Life
----------------

Two men sat in the passenger lounge of the FTL ship. They watched the
simulated stellar view.

"Shall we celebrate my birthday with wine?" the old man inquired,
showing his bottle. "Today I am one hundred and eight years old."

"By all means, Benjamin--if your health permits."

"Hell with my health, Morning Haze! What use is life without pleasure?"

"In that case, let's make it a party," the minion said. "Let's bring in
my brother and the minionettes and really celebrate!"

"And our Xest pilot too," Benjamin added. "Actually, it has been just
about thirty-four years since we won Ragnarok, and the Xests deserve
full credit."

Morning Haze departed while Benjamin poured out the fine old wine. In a
moment the minion returned with the others: the Xest, Misery, Vex, and
Arlo.

The Xest wore a fine blue-green glowing hvee, symbol of its decades-long
friendship with Arlo.

The two minionettes were like twin sisters in the prime of youth,
stunningly beautiful--yet one was sixty Earth-years old, the other
perhaps a century more. The men, in contrast, showed their ages. Morning
Haze was fifty-eight and Arlo fifty; both evinced the waning of the
powers of their youth.

"How grand it is," Benjamin said, passing out the drinks, "to have my
nephew's three children with me on this occasion! I am only sorry Aton
himself could not be here."

"That is unkind," the Xest signaled.

"Oh, I am sorry," Benjamin said. "In my age I forget. You, Morning Haze,
would be constrained to kill your father in the minion fashion, were he
present, so that your wife/mother Misery would not go to him. And you,
Arlo, would also have to kill him, so that your sister Vex would not go
to him. And you two minionettes would have to kill each other to possess
him. While all the time Aton loves only his legitimate wife Coquina, who
will not leave the caverns though the technology now exists to abate her
chill. So this separation represents the only solution; the elements of
our wider family, like oxygen and fluorine, must not be allowed to
combine." Benjamin sighed. "Forgive me if I seem insensitive; I have
never had any great sympathy for the minion code, though I value each
and every one of you as though you were my own. So let us be happy
together, for the duration of this little family reunion, and--" He
paused. "Where is Afar?"

"I am here," a young man said from the doorway. He was tall and
powerful, with a piercing glance and a touch of cruelty about the set of
his mouth.

"Ah, you so strongly resemble your grandfather!" Benjamin said. "My
nephew Aton--he had that look in his youth."

"The look of madness," Morning Haze said without rancor.

"Yes, isn't my son lovely," Vex agreed.

Arlo's lips twitched. "Lovely!" he said with heavy irony.

"I suspect my father has outlived his humor," Afar said. "Yet that can
be remedied."

Vex smiled at Afar. "So sweet," she said.

Arlo's muscles bunched, but he said nothing.

"This is what I don't like about Minion," Benjamin said. "Why must it be
incestuous, with Oedipus and Electra pursuing each other so
determinedly, son killing father down the generations? If only you
married outside your line, as you are now free to do, owing to the
lifting of the planetary proscription, none of this would be necessary!"

"It is the Minion way," Misery said. "We would not have it otherwise."

"Even though you know it was all the result of a private concubine plot,
a scheme to reap illicit fortunes by catering to wealthy and
unscrupulous potentates?"

"The scheme failed. We endure."

"Yet your husband killed your only son," Benjamin reminded her.

"So that I could possess her longer," Morning Haze said proudly. "The
impetuous lad grew overconfident and attacked before his time. I did not
initiate the action, for that is not the way. I merely--"

"Merely led him on by feigning early loss of vigor?" Benjamin suggested.

"I was more intelligent than he," Morning Haze agreed obliquely. I
inherit that from my Human ancestry."

Benjamin sighed. "To disparage such a compliment would be to wrong my
brother Aurelius, and the Families of Five carry more honor than that.
Yet I could wish that the intellect of Five could have found a more
gentle expression."

"I shall give Misery another son in due course. Perhaps he will inherit
more of that Five intellect, and time his action correctly."

"You see," Vex said brightly. "Soon my son will kill my husband--or be
killed by him. In either case, I will have a good man."

"Chthon!" Arlo swore. "I wish I'd married a normal woman!" He glanced at
Afar, who made an elaborate shrug. Arlo, despite his age, remained an
extremely powerful man, not one that even a young minion would lightly
provoke to mayhem. "Or at least a more amenable minionette, like
Torment. She was normal, at the end."

"Perhaps she died because you made her normal," Misery suggested with a
smile both pleasant and cruel. "A minionette in that state would be like
a hunting dog without fangs."

"Too bad you did not retain your godly powers after Ragnarok," Vex said.
"You could have defanged me. Then I could have died of beautiful
sorrow."

"Damn your sarcasm!" Arlo cried, his rage making her smile brilliantly.
"I thought killing was done when we vanquished the mineral intellect."

"Not so," the Xest signaled. "Throughout the galaxy the species of Life
are warring. Human fights Lfa over some trumped-up charge of planet
rustling; EeoO fights Xest over the price of the Taphid, which happens
to originate on an EeoO planet. The resources of whole stellar systems
are being wastefully depleted. Once the sentience of Chthon was
destroyed, no one seemed to care about mineral values. Even among one's
own kind, the Taphid is often neglected."

"This is regrettable," Benjamin said politely.

"It's a mess, all right," Arlo said. He emptied his glass, looked
around--and intercepted the look Vex and Afar were exchanging. His hand
clenched into a fist. He no longer wore the gloves of power or carried
the hammer; Thor had died at Ragnarok. Pity Arlo had lived!

"One also regrets it," the Xest signaled. "How much better it would have
been to have made some compromise with the cavern entity. When one and
one's myriad debt-brothers fought in the caverns, we thought we were
Good vanquishing Evil. Now it seems we were at least partially
mistaken."

"So it seems," Arlo agreed. "There was much that was worthwhile in
Chthon. The mineral intellect was my friend, before Ragnarok; I cannot
claim it was evil." He turned from the Xest, feeling the remorse of
genocide. Chthon had never been alive--yet they had killed it, and that
had been a galactic crime.

His eyes lifted--and saw Vex in the arms of Afar.

The wrath that had been building for twenty years was catalyzed. Arlo
put his great scarred hands about a small auxiliary computer unit,
lifted it, and with mad strength ripped it from its moorings. He hurled
it at the couple.

The minionette, warned by her telepathy, drew back. The man was not so
quick. The heavy unit smashed into his body.

"Brother!" Morning Haze cried. "What have you done?"

Arlo looked--and saw that the two had not been embracing, just
conversing. And that the man had not been his son Afar, but his
granduncle Benjamin. How could he have mistaken them? The two men were
entirely dissimilar!

Morning Haze kneeled beside the old man. "He is dead. Any shock could
have killed him, in his condition--and this was no minor strike. What
did you suppose you were doing, Brother, throwing that thing at our
patriarch?"

"Brother, I thought it was my son," Arlo said, chagrined.

"With Misery?" Morning Haze inquired, drawing his knife.

On top of everything else, Arlo had mistaken the minionette! His
obsession with the ugly heritage of Minion had made him see what he
feared, and precipitated a quarrel he abhorred. "Brother, in my
confusion I have wronged you. I proffer apology. My quarrel is not with
you or your minionette, but with my own--"

Now Afar crossed the room. "So my father has outlived his time!" Afar
said. "By his own admission, it was I he sought to kill. Therefore he
has violated the Minion code, and I may kill him without equality of
weapons." His hand moved, and he brought out a blaster.

"This must be abated!" the Xest signaled desperately, its multiple legs
moving in a confusing pattern as it ran between them. "A
misunderstanding--"

Afar fired. His blast was directed at Arlo, but the Xest was now in the
line of fire. The flame bathed it, destroying it utterly, without trace
of debt. What was not vaporized had been cooked. The fringe of the blast
washed over Arlo, singeing his hair and momentarily blinding him, but
his limited telepathy told him where Afar stood.

"Now the battle has been joined," Arlo said grimly. He kicked the
dripping, gooey hulk of the Xest at his son at the same time as Morning
Haze, mistaking his intent, charged toward him.

The two minionettes watched the bloody struggle with twin smiles of pure
rapture.

Chapter VII: Phthor
-------------------

Arlo woke sweating with revulsion and horror. The vision of Life's
ascendancy was as bleak as that of Chthon's. Each victory meant awful
death for those closest to him, in that microcosm reflecting the carnage
of the macrocosm.

Had this vision been sent by Chthon? Arlo doubted it; the elements of it
rang too true. His future life with Vex would be like that, and in the
end he would indeed have to kill his only son or be killed by him, in
the minion way. This was what loving her entailed, and they both knew
it. He could not escape that destiny by deserting Aton and Coquina and
leaving the caverns forever; his fate was inherent in his love for the
minionette.

"Thank God you made it," Torment said. "I may have destroyed your foot,
but I got most of the venom out. You're tough, and I think the
caterpillar poison countered the salamander poison somewhat--but that
was close."

"You're beautiful," Arlo said, kissing her.

"So are your dreams," she said. "I'd like to know their literal
content...."

That she had turned normal and died. That had passed through his mind as
he kissed her, which was why the kiss had not hurt her. "The essence is
this: we cannot afford Ragnarok. Our victory is as bad as Chthon's. No
matter who wins, Evil prevails. Compromise is essential."

"It's a bit late for that," she said. "The forces have joined in combat
all over the planet."

"The war must be stopped. It shall be stopped."

Torment smiled, appreciating his angry determination. "How?"

"My mother Coquina is confined in her hot cave, on pain of death. She
really has no way to compete with the minionette."

"No normal woman does," Torment agreed with a hint of pride. "But what
relevance--?"

"For a moment I thought they would fight. If one killed the other, the
problem... would not really be solved. Coquina did not fight, though she
knows how. Instead she--compromised. And gained more than she might have
lost."

"Compromise comes hard to a minionette."

"Chthon thought to use me--as did you," Arlo said. "I have assets
derived from Life and Death. Now I have need to invoke them, for our
galaxy depends on it."

"Perhaps you had better rest. You are weak from the salamander toxin and
the blood I had to squeeze from you to get it out."

Arlo looked down at his foot. Now it hurt, and the toes felt numb. She
had bound some cloth about it, taken from some hidden part of her
uniform.

In fact, she had handled the matter very rapidly and competently. Vex
would not have been so apt. There was a difference between individual
minionettes, and Torment was worthwhile.

They rounded a turn--and before them was the chimera. Both of them
recognized it instantly, though neither had ever seen it before.
Birdlike and malignant, it faced them, hovering in place.

The chippers stopped, afraid. "Oh-oh," Torment said. "Can't outmaneuver
that. But maybe I can block it off until you get your gloves on it--"

"No use," Arlo said. "Look behind."

"I don't need to. I can feel it. Another chimera."

"And more in the adjoining passages. We are trapped."

She glanced at the box containing the Xest's Taphid supply. "I
wonder--?"

"Still not thawed," Arlo said. "And if it were, we'd be the first eaten.
So no net gain."

Torment turned to him. "I think I would have loved you anyway. Any
minionette would." Then she drew her knife. "If we stand back to back,
we may kill one or two before they finish us. I'll take out the first
with my blowgun; I have a spare one for you, in case you misplaced the
one I gave you before. Try to protect your eyes; they'll go for that
first."

"You, yes; me, no," he said, remembering something Aton once had
mentioned about the delicacies the chimera preferred. It was not
reassuring.

Arlo knew it was no use. The chimera fed on more than eyeballs and
gonads, and it could strike at the speed of sound. Knives, blowguns or
even blasters would be of little avail against this covey.

Yet he had a mission. He concentrated, reaching out--and a soundless
implosion occurred somewhere within his head and body. Diverse but
unimaginably powerful elements were thrust together like the mechanisms
of a nuclear device, and as they merged there was a qualitative change.

"What happened?" Torment cried, alarmed and dazed by the emotional
turbulence surrounding the metamorphosis.

"Enough pressure can convert black carbon into diamond," Arlo said.

The chimeras launched themselves. From each available direction they
shot like projectiles at the target. Arlo felt them in his mind just
before he saw them move. Death...

Death!

The chimeras dropped to the cavern floor.

"They're dead--all of them," Torment said in wonder. "I can feel it. An
instant of incredible bliss... something wiped them out!"

Arlo relaxed. "Twice I have fallen prey to animal toxins--but survived.
It was not because I was lucky, but because I have special resources. I
am part human, part minion, part Chthon. Life has shown me its
secrets--and so has Death. From each I draw power--and together they
are--Phthor."

"I will take you back to your cave," Torment said, as though he were
babbling. "Your emotion is so twisted I cannot interpret it. You need
time to rest, to recover--and we'd better get out of here before
whatever finished those birds orients on us."

Arlo concentrated. Again in his mind and being he fused the diverse
elements of his makeup, his genetics, his knowledge, and his emotion.
The essences of the oxygen of life and the fluorine of death, precisely
merged, figuratively. Consciously he repeated what had been involuntary
a moment before.

The pieces fitted together, forced by the need he saw--the need to stop
Ragnarok, to unify the essences of Life and Death, to prevent the twin
horrors of victory by either faction. He stood at the crux of the great
Y, so much more than the spread of the World Tree Yggdrasil. Here the
futures diverged, and now he understood the message of the mythological
Ragnarok. No matter which side won, Evil triumphed--because the battle
itself was suspect.

They must not be permitted to diverge. One horn of it could not exist
apart from the other, by definition. The horns had to be unified,
integrated, fashioned into the I-course of a single, successful future.

Awareness came, like that of Chthon. He perceived the caverns through
the senses of the creatures within them--but not limited to the animals.
He was receiving from the minionettes, the Xests, the Lfa, and the EeoO:
all the life of both sides.

First the near ones: the moving passages as seen through the four eyes
of the two great chipper-goats, the odors of rock and glow they fed on,
the feel of stone and ice under their feet, unpleasantly cold. The air
currents as perceived by the antennae of tiny, flying frost-gnats
disturbed by the sledge. The taste of stone and water as perceived by
the glow-lichen. And the uncertainty and concern of the minionette
Torment: she had to safeguard this man, for he was the unifying focus of
Life's effort. Did that responsibility extend to his difficult personal
situation? Should she attempt to remove his love from his sister,
thereby alleviating his inherent quarrel with his father? Or was she
rationalizing, yielding to the overwhelming temptation this complex and
forceful young male presented?

"A son I bore by you would immediately reestablish the minion triangle,"
Arlo told her. "If I really want to be free, I must marry a normal
girl--as my father did."

Torment stared at him, embarrassed. "You can read my mind--literally!"

"With semi-telepathy so common in the galaxy, is it surprising that true
telepathy should at last emerge?" Arlo inquired. "Let me show you
something else."

He concentrated on her. Torment screamed, clutching her head: a short,
sharp cry of dismay from the root of her being. "You have--gutted me!"
she gasped, clinging to the chair of the sledge.

"No." Arlo drew her to him, close, and kissed her again. This time he
savored her exquisite body, her unparalleled beauty, her respectable
personality. For the moment, he loved her without bitterness.

She melted, every bit a woman. Her hair took on a sheen of almost living
flame. Then she drew back, startled.

"What was that?" she demanded.

Arlo merely looked at her.

"It was--unchanged love," she said, shaking her head incredulously.
"There was no reversal!"

"You are now normal," Arlo agreed. "That telepathic emotion reversal
could have been corrected generations ago, had the developers of Planet
Minion researched more thoroughly. It is time the minionette merged into
the human mainstream."

Now she was horrified. "Our whole way of life--"

"Will change. But there is more," Arlo said. He concentrated again.
Torment lifted one hand to her mouth and bit her finger. "I can control
your body," Arlo said through her mouth. "I could will you dead--as I
did those chimerae."

He let her go, and she collapsed weakly against the chair. "That is
Chthon-power, after the myxo--"

"I can do it without the myxo," Arlo said. "My way is more efficient
because it is natural, whole."

"What are you?" she demanded, suspecting some ruse by the cavern entity.
If Arlo had been taken over--

"I am not the enemy," Arlo said, smiling reassuringly. "There is no
enemy--except this foolish strife. I am Phthor--the integration of the
powers of Life and Death." He paused, beginning to reach his awareness
out through the planet, finding his range magnified well beyond what it
had been during the fishing for the dragon: beyond his own prior power
and that of the Xest. "Perhaps, when this is over, I will marry you, and
your children will be normal and telepathic. Now--I must stop Ragnarok."

"This power is new to you," she warned. "If you try too much, too
soon--"

"There is no choice. This is Ragnarok." Win or lose, he would forfeit
his special powers when this was over; the second vision had informed
him of that. But on the personal level, he had already done what was
fated: normalized Torment. Could he change fate enough to prevent her
death? If not, his agony with Vex would come to pass....

Indecision was not a minionette failing. "Then we'd better hole up
somewhere safe," Torment said briskly. "I'll stand guard while
you--reach out. If Chthon doesn't know about this yet, Chthon will find
out very soon. Then your life will be in more danger than ever before."

"You are assuming that I am opposed to Chthon."

Torment's knife whipped around--and stopped as his mind clamped down on
hers.

"I'm on the side of sanity," Arlo said, letting her go. "I don't mean to
destroy Chthon. Chthon is not evil--it is merely a different way. We
have to work out a compromise for mutual survival. Each side has things
the other side needs. Life has mobility, technology, reproductive
capacity--the ability to change the physical aspect of the galaxy, and
to adapt itself to what can not be changed. Chthon has--proportion."

She shook her head dubiously.

"Unchecked, Life will destroy itself and the galaxy," Arlo continued.
"Like thawed Taphids, consuming its very future for the sake of its
immediate appetite. The Taphids perish after they feed, for there is
nothing left. Some control needs to be exercised. Chthon is that
control. Together, in harmony, the two will make of this realm a
paradise--for both."

"I don't understand it," Torment said. "But I defer to your judgment."
She put away her knife, and took the reins. "You go about your business;
I'll find a cubbyhole." Then, as an afterthought, revealing her private
concern: "My children will be normal?" She was not wholly pleased.

Arlo yielded the management of the material concern to her. Obey her, he
projected to the dull minds of the chippers, and implanted brief
directives about the motions of the reins so that they would know how.

He had already sent his awareness out through the caverns. Now he
intensified it. He felt the stone itself, and its trillions of fissures
and bypaths and metallic threads, and the little chthonic currents
traversing these, and the larger network--that sum total that was Chthon
itself.

As his perception spread, he assimilated the circuitry that constituted
the cavern entity, and knew where Chthon's secrets were. The EeoO were
pooled near the antiexplosion wave generator, ready to re-emerge as
separate juvenile entities and attack by secreting corrosive acids
around the key circuits. But a huge sucker-creature was making its way
toward that region, Chthon's counter to the threat. It would imbibe and
digest the entire pool before the EeoO could complete its reproductive
cycle--if it got there in time.

The Lfa had reassembled and was making its way to the great gas
crevasse. Soon it would set about igniting that chasm. Chthon was not
yet aware of it, so had taken no counter step. The multiple Xests were
scurrying in and around the huge nether tunnel, distracting Chthon with
their activity. Arlo reminded himself: he must remember to give his
friend-fragment the hvee!

Farther out, the minionettes had emerged from their enclave and, under
Lfa command, were systematically clearing the caverns of
Chthon-possessed life. They were spraying glow-destroying acid on the
walls, making the region opaque to Chthon's perception. They had
unbreakable electric lamps for their own use.

Aton, Vex, and Coquina had united in the fashion of a normal human
family and were barricading their warm cave. Outside it the giant
wolf-like creature prowled, seeking some way to enter. It was the same
one who had almost killed Vex before and lain in ambush for Arlo's party
hardly an hour ago. He remembered: Fenris the Wolf was Odin's mortal
enemy. That wolf would kill Odin at Ragnarok.

Chthon was still following the script.

On the surface of the planet, known as pretty Idyllia, another
confrontation was occurring. Old Doc Bedside had emerged from the depths
to seek out older Benjamin Five, and Benjamin had come forth to meet him
in single combat. The two, according to Arlo's first vision of the
future, were mortal enemies. In mythological terms they were Loki and
the white god Heimdall, possessor of the great Horn of Ragnarok. Both
would die.

All through the planet, the battle was being joined. There would be
intolerable mayhem, if he did not stop it now.

But could he stop an entire planet?

Arlo extended himself, drawing on his newly integrated abilities. He
had, he realized, tapped into the same reservoir of power that the §
drive used, the binding force of the universe. The problem was to
translate it into usable energy, to control it and channel it and focus
it as required. § was there, virtually infinite, but his being was a
very small aperture for its expression.

He closed about Benjamin and Bedside, freezing them in place; he halted
the huge wolf at the home-cave; he stopped the Lfa near the gas
crevasse. He started on the minionette army, but it was too much to
compass all at once, and the girls weren't doing much real harm, so he
let them go.

Now he reached out for Chthon. Through the rock he quested, searching
for his friend. Chthon! Chthon!

I am here, friend. Just like that, complete communication!

We are in Ragnarok, from which none will survive. The battle must cease.

Life must be exterminated, Chthon replied. It contaminates the galaxy.
Only when this region is clean can we associate with our
companion-intellects in the universe.

It meant the other mineral sentiences inhabiting other galaxies. Life is
sentience, too. Arlo argued. One sentience may not destroy another.
Sentience in any form is sacred.

No. Only mineral sentience.

And why should he have thought that Chthon would be amenable to Life's
logic? If we do battle, you may be destroyed. We must compromise.

There can be no compromise with Life. And Chthon's utter loathing of the
Life-slime came through like a blast of heat.

This is not reasonable! Arlo protested.

It is not reasonable, Chthon agreed. It is absolute.

"Arlo!" Torment cried. "The Midgard Serpent comes!"

Arlo refocused his attention. She was right; the super-monster was
chewing its way through the rock, breaking open a new passage--straight
for Arlo's cubby. There was no question about its objective; he saw in
its mind that it knew him as the enemy fisherman who had teased it with
the vision of food and attacked it with the myriad of annoying Xestlets.

In fact, it had been informed of him long ago. Once it had been an
innocuous, if gigantic creature, running about its maze, feeding on the
animals it trapped. Then Doc Bedside had touched its mind, instilling in
it an abiding hatred for all things human, especially those with minion
blood. It was not intelligent, but it had strong telepathy; it could
tell the difference between human and minion. In this manner, Bedside's
mad brain had fashioned its malevolence. The doctor had done the same
thing with the cavern wolf. The children of Loki, truly!

Arlo oriented on it, but the monstrous serpent resisted. Its mind was
somehow insulated, perhaps by the sheer mass of itself, and required
more than token suppression. Arlo concentrated, bringing it to a
halt--and lost control of the rest of the battle. His tiny human brain
simply could not handle sufficient energy for everything at once.

Benjamin Five held a scythe, Doc Bedside a scalpel. Benjamin's weapon
was much larger, but clumsy in this context. He normally used it for
clearing the weeds from a potential hvee bed, setting up for crop
rotation. Bedside was extremely swift and accurate with his little
implement, and he could throw it if he chose. But he was aware that if
his throw missed or failed to score vitally, he would then have little
defense against the scythe.

The two men were mortal enemies. Bedside had taken Benjamin's nephew
Aton into the netherworld, and killed Aton's son Aesir. Benjamin had
"sounded the Horn" summoning the minionette army for the invasion of the
underworld. Now they would settle the score as it had to be settled:
individually. The hate of each for the other required this ultimate
satisfaction.

Cautiously they circled each other, each looking for an opening. The
beautiful flowers of vacationland Idyllia surrounded them: Benjamin
unconsciously stepped around them so as to injure none, while Bedside
consciously trod them into the dirt. This was no sports match; this was
sheer hate.

The wolf pawed at the rocks barricading Coquina's cave. The thing's
metal-hard claws caught the edge of the stone and sent it scooting down
the passage. Now a gap was open. The wolf jammed its gross snout
through, but its head was too big to fit.

Aton stood on one side, raising the double-bitted ax. Vex stood on the
other, holding one of the stalactite spears. He would go for the nose,
she the eyes, while Coquina remained as bait in the back of the cave.
Just before they struck, Aton and Vex glanced at each other, to
coordinate their attack. But it became another lingering look of
longing, in the presence of Coquina, for which both were ashamed.

It would be well, Arlo thought dispassionately, if Vex died. Painful as
that would be, it would resolve the problem her life presented. Better
to mourn for her than to die for her.

The Lfa reached the gas crevasse, well toward the bottom. It lifted an
appendage, concentrated, and developed an electric potential between
spread antennae. A fat spark jumped. The massed gas caught, sending a
flash across the chasm, illuminating the void blindingly, showing the
sheer cliffs above and below. But the gas was too cold, too rare; in a
moment it extinguished.

The Lfa raised its appendage again. If the first ignition did not take,
the second would. Or the third. Each flash would warm the pit until the
fire could be sustained. Then--inferno!

The EeoO pool was shifting and flexing, almost ready to shape into its
new entities. But the sucker-creature had reached that pool. It lowered
its proboscis and began to draw.

Arlo wrenched his power back to the diverse locales of battle. He froze
men, monsters, and Vanir in place lest Ragnarok pass the point of no
return. And the dragon, loosed, advanced. With teeth and claws and sheer
forward momentum, it pulverized the thin partitions of stone that
separated the warren of passages. The entire region shook with its
progress, and stalactites broke off and fell in a wide radius. Its
breath was burning hot, blasting the dust and gravel out in a turbulent
cloud before it. The Midgard Serpent!

Arlo was in a quandary. The dragon was too massive and powerful to
control with just part of his mind--but if he focused his full attention
on it, Ragnarok would resume elsewhere. He had to stop both the battle
and the monster, or fail totally.

He could kill several of the smaller individuals--Bedside, the Lfa, the
pool-sucker--but that would only serve to aggravate the poisonous
animosities that had generated this schism. Peace through murder was no
peace at all! He had to suppress, not hurt, all combatants, until a
lasting compromise could be achieved.

For a moment he let the dragon be and stopped the battle. Chthon! he
cried mentally. Abate your attack! We must talk, compromise! For the
sake of the friendship we have had--

But Chthon would not answer--and that was answer enough. The cavern
entity would not bargain or even listen. Its determination was
implacable, and his friendship with it illusory. And the awful rumble of
the serpent drew closer.

In sudden fury Arlo released the rest of the caverns and directed a
devastating shock at his personal nemesis, the dragon. It halted,
momentarily stunned--and Benjamin swung at Doc Bedside, the Lfa struck
another spark, and the sucker-monster drew in a snootful of the EeoO
pool. Aton and Vex struck together at the face of the wolf. Arlo was
conscious of it all, for his awareness required only a fraction of his
power.

Bedside stepped back, letting the scythe blade pass harmlessly. Then he
lunged forward, scalpel extended. The gas crevasse lit up again, more
brightly than before, with sheets of incandescence rising almost to the
high ceiling. The EeoO gave a poolwide quiver of anguish as its
substance entered the digestive tract of the sucker. And Fenris the Wolf
sent forth such a mighty howl of aggravation that the three people in
the cave fell to the floor, hands over their ears.

Quickly Arlo clamped his control on again. That stopped the critical
encounters, though the tiny Xests still ranged and the minionettes had
flushed a surly caterpillar.

Now the Midgard Serpent resumed. Arlo could not use his mind against it
again, lest Ragnarok proceed. He would have to fight it physically.

"What are you doing?" Torment cried, seeing him heft the Hammer in his
Gloves.

"I must slay the monster," Arlo said.

"You must be protected!" she said. "I will fight Midgard!"

He kissed her once more, while his mind saw all the minionettes at once,
like multiple images of her. Yet she was distinct, for she shared this
adventure with him, and she alone was normal. She was worthy of his
love. "This is for me alone. Take the chippers and sledge, make your way
to the surface. Tell the forces of Life that Ragnarok must stop, even
though I may die."

She hesitated. "But you haven't given me my children!"

She wanted him, not the children. And he wanted her. But there was no
time. "Any man will volunteer," he said. "You are lovely--throughout."
Then he touched her with his mind, and she had to go. She jumped onto
the sledge, took the reins, and started the chippers on their way.

The wall burst apart. Stones flew into the cave, striking the chippers,
killing them. Torment was knocked from the sledge. Choking vapor filled
the cave: the foul breath of Midgard.

The monster's eye spotted Torment as she took a rolling fall. Its tongue
snapped out, bloated and gummy. It plastered itself against the woman,
adhering to her struggling body. Like a buzzing fly she was drawn into
the twenty-foot mouth. The teeth closed, crunched. Arlo felt the
momentary agony of her death.

His future with Torment was gone. Fate had not permitted this small
change.

Arlo clasped his Hammer in both hands and brought it down on the nose of
the monster, now in range because a serpent's face is smallest when its
jaws are closed. The head of the Hammer sank deep into the leathery
skin, gouging a hole. The monster let out a deafening hiss of affront,
but opened its jaws only enough to bite Torment's body into quarters for
ready swallowing.

The nose was no good: too soft. He had to strike the skull! But how
could he reach it, since only the snout was in the cave?

Now Torment had been swallowed. The jaws opened wide again, making the
mouth fill the cave. A few drops of blood fell from the teeth. The
monster snapped at Arlo, but lacked room to maneuver and missed him.
Irritated, it crashed its head against the ceiling, knocking it out and
tripling the size of the chamber as loose rock fell aside.

Now it could take a decent bite! The jaws opened so wide that the upper
teeth became a vertical wall. That wall advanced on Arlo.

Arlo backed away as far as he could--and stumbled over something. It was
the Xest's box. It overturned and the frozen mass of the Taphid slid
half out. No longer completely frozen--the ravenous creatures were
beginning to stir.

Arlo scooped up the box as the terrible jaws closed. He hurled the
Taphid mass into the maw, down the throat of the serpent. As the mouth
closed convulsively, triggered by that small mass, Arlo saw the interior
heat of it melting the remaining ice into slush.

"Let that be your reward for killing Torment!" he shouted. But his eyes
were moist, and not merely from the stinging vapor. Torment!

Now he sprinted for the cave opening. Pain shot through his sliced-up
foot where Torment had extracted the venom of the salamander. Arlo
stumbled.

The monster lurched forward in pursuit, ramming its head through the
cave exit and bursting the remaining wall and ceiling asunder. Its mind
oriented on its fleeing prey. It belched, a few wriggling Taphids
emerging with the gas. Relentlessly it followed.

How long would it take for the Taphids to consume the material within
the serpent's mighty gut and start on the serpent itself? Arlo could not
guess, for the monster was so tremendously massive, and he could not
stay around to watch.

He was not far from the world-encircling tunnel of the dragon. He ran
for it, gritting his teeth against the pain of his leg. He passed
through the opening that the monster itself had made, skidded in a
man-sized dropping, and crashed into the bottom. Now he had a clear
route--but he could never hope to outrun the creature in its own warren.
Provided the serpent remained in good health...

But he knew the caverns because of his total awareness. And he knew the
monster would be delayed, having either to turn laboriously about, or
carve its way through the rock to return to its natural path. That gave
Arlo a head start.

Is this the way Thor fights? Chthon's derisive question came.

Arlo didn't answer. The mineral entity's display of emotion only
betrayed its uncertainty. Arlo still held Ragnarok in abeyance, and
Chthon was evidently unable to resume the main fray until Arlo was
dispatched. If he could beat the dragon... and perhaps he could, if only
he could make it to the gas crevasse in time. If that gas entered this
tunnel, and then were ignited--it would not burn long, but that might be
enough to finish the monster.

The distance was short on the planetary scale, but long for a man on
foot, especially with one bad foot. Already the serpent was reorienting,
closing in on its own tunnel. There was not going to be time.

An animal, frightened by the nearby activity, had blundered into the
warren. Arlo had not seen this type before, but it had six legs and
looked fleet. He touched it with his mind and leaped upon its back. Now
he had a steed!

He had guessed correctly; this thing was fast. The wind whistled past
Arlo's ears as they raced along. Soon they came to the place where the
tunnel passed directly under the gas crevasse. Arlo dismounted, letting
the steed run on as a possible distraction. I am minion he projected
into its mind, to improve its chances as a decoy. Then he knocked at the
rock with his Hammer, again and again.

Behind him came the dragon, horribly swift. Why hadn't the Taphids
slowed it? Or had its intestinal juices digested the Taphids first? Arlo
hadn't thought of that before, and it was not reassuring. He might have
to face a full-strength monster after all.

As Arlo made a man-sized hole in the wall and climbed upward on the
rubble he was making, the serpent shot past. The sudden compression and
rarefaction of the air in its vicinity knocked him off his feet. The
decoy had worked--but that would not fool the monster long.

He opened an aperture into one of the vapor-exits of the crevasse. Arlo
pulled himself up along the smaller tunnel as the gas poured through his
vent into the main passage. The suction of the dragon's passage helped
it along.

Then pressure built up again. The dragon was returning, head-first;
evidently it had a loop for turning about near here. Air and gas
whistled back out through the crack--but enough filled the tunnel so
that the monster choked on it. Good--it could not breathe the gas! Arlo
himself was suffocating, but he drew upon his special physical strength
and hung on. He found the tunnel's merger with the bottom of the gas
crevasse.

Above him the canyon opened, dark to his eyes, permeable to his mind. It
had not maintained a fire, fortunately. Below him the dragon ground at
the rock, using its pile-driver claws to plunge into it and hook it out
in gross chunks. Its mouth was not really a rock-cutter, but more for
chewing prey. And it was losing initiative, for it had an uncomfortable
bellyache.

Arlo's perception passed through the monster's body. The Taphid had
consumed the serpent's stomach and now was working on the remaining
innards. But the vitality of the snake was such that even gutted, it
could function indefinitely. Given opportunity, it would grow a new
digestive system. Meanwhile, it was hungry--and it had already fixed on
its prey.

Arlo readied his Hammer, waiting to time his blow exactly right. The
serpent might be able to get along without its huge stomach, but it
would die without its little brain. And if that didn't work, fire
should. He needed something to use to strike a spark.

The entire floor of the crevasse below Arlo collapsed, falling into the
yawning maw of the monster. Now the gas howled through, finding a vast
new outlet. Arlo scrambled desperately, but the combination of vanishing
footing and rushing gas carried him down into the maw.

But the serpent, its perception dulled by its intestinal problems, did
not realize it actually had its prey in its mouth. It spat out the
rubble, or rather blew it out with a galelike burp of gas--and Arlo
emerged with the stones. He crashed into the side of the cave-in,
feeling bones bruise. He inhaled involuntarily--and found that the gas
was now mixed with air and dust. It would sustain him--long enough.

Something bit him. He pinched at his thigh with his left Glove and
brought up a Taphid. About to crush it, he changed his mind and flicked
it back into the maw. Every little bit helped!

He hauled himself up, gripping the Hammer with one Glove, and caught
hold of a finger-thick whisker sprouting from the monster's lip with the
other. He scrambled over the dragon's face until he stood atop its
skull--and now he struck, guided by his ambient perception of the
creature's anatomy. Right at this precise point, here--

The blow sundered the heavy mantle of bone, transmitting the cruel shock
to the tiny brain beneath. This organ was extraordinarily sensitive. The
Midgard Serpent thrashed wildly and died.

Success! Arlo leaped off its hurtling skull and ran toward the chasm
outlet. But as the monster collapsed, it exhaled a cloud of its
remaining internal vapor, digestive gas that burned Arlo's skin,
suffocating him anew, and blinded him. The Taphids had been lucky to
survive that corrosive atmosphere! Poison from vents near the teeth
mixed with this, making the cloud completely deadly. Arlo staggered a
few more steps, then collapsed.

As Thor had perished in the cloud of venom released by the dying Midgard
Serpent, he thought, feeling his mental control slipping as his body
died. An almost perfect parallel that could hardly have been scripted by
Chthon--

But that was what Chthon wanted him to believe! As long as he did, he
was doomed, as the cause of Life was doomed, and any sane compromise was
doomed. He had to seek his own destiny, not a reenactment...

Then he felt the multiple bites of the Taphids. They were swarming over
him, having been belched out with the last great spasm of the serpent.
He lacked the vision and the strength to pick them off, and in any event
they were already burrowing voraciously. What appetite! They must
reproduce in the very act of eating, to consume so ravenously!

Destiny? It was too late! As Arlo's control slipped, Bedside's blade cut
into Benjamin's body. Benjamin grabbed Bedside's two ears, flung him
about, and shoved him against the pointing blade of the fallen scythe.
Blood spurted from both men as they continued their death embrace.

Fenris the Wolf twisted his head about, orienting on his enemy by sound.
His jaws snapped sideways--and caught Aton at last. One gulp, and the
man had been swallowed as the two women screamed.

The sucker imbibed the remainder of the EeoO pool, leaving only a film
of jelly.

The Lfa generated another spark--and this time the crevasse caught and
held. Flame ballooned up to the high cross-passages, sucking in cool
air, and plunged down toward the bottom vortex where the gas leaked into
the dragon's tunnel.

Arlo felt the heat incinerating his body, killing the Taphids in the
process--and had a final realization. He had allowed himself to be
deceived by a decoy! He should have struck, not at the dragon, but at
Chthon's killchill circuitry! Then the deadline would have been
postponed, allowing him to force a compromise between Life and Death,
saving them both.

With what was left of his mind, now heating in its fragile housing of
bone, Arlo flung a blast of § energy directly at that delicate
submechanism that was Chthon's ultimate weapon. He could not destroy it
physically, but he could alter the impedances, change the flows of
current, make it into something else, neutralize it--

Chthon fought him. But Chthon, too, had been weakened. The chasm blaze
was melting adjacent circuits, shorting some, interrupting others,
interfering with the orderly process and feedback that was sentience.
The two fading minds, animate and mineral, struggled over the killchill
unit, buffeting its mechanism back and forth, while the increasing
inferno sent heat through rock and passages, changing the composition of
delicate diodes and resistance-sections.

Desperately, Arlo tried to demolish the structure before his own mind
collapsed. As desperately, Chthon sought to trigger it off, though the
guiding chill-wave had not yet arrived. As a result, it changed. It drew
into itself in a kind of short circuit all the reserve powers of Chthon,
coalescing about very special, potent substances, merging oxygen and
fluorine in an entirely new and thorough manner, not restricted to
organic material but all-inclusive, tapping violently into § without the
limiting fuse of Arlo's brain, resulting in--Phthor.

 Symbol Element  Atomic Number               Atomic Weight              

 O      Oxygen   8                           16, 17, 18                 

 F      Fluorine 9                           19                         

Sector Cyclopedia, §426

Epilogue:
---------

Phthor

Destruction

Ragnarok

First future: victory for Chthon

Cleansing the galaxy of contamination.

Second future: victory for life

Inevitably destroying its own sentience, unrestrained: the Taphid.

Third future: compromise

Failed.

Fourth future: Phthor

Otherwise known as the birth of a quasar

Most powerful explosion of a galaxy

Akin to the violence of the Creation itself.

Life and Death: all gone

Ragnarok

Destruction

Phthor.

We in the external universe observe

We note the result of victory

Or of mutual loss.

This new bright quasar shines

An example

A warning

Showing the way to the greater good

Compromise.

We record the case history

And present it here for eternity:

An example

An education.

We accede to what must be.

We: the mineral intellects of the universe.

We end our war with Life.

We renounce--Phthor.

Copyright © 1975 by Piers Anthony

ISBN: 0-425-03011-3