Robot Adept

Chapter 4 Fleta

The world shimmered, and she felt an ineffable change. Then things steadied, and she found herself still in Mach’s embrace.

But it was different. She looked up at him—and his face had changed. It was similar to its normal configuration, but somehow less flexible. His arms, also, were somehow less yielding.

She glanced to the side, and discovered that they were in a chamber. What had happened to the field?

“The exchange has been accomplished,” he said. “We had better disengage.”

He still sounded like Mach! But this was definitely not the same body. Now she noticed that their clothes were gone, too, “Where be we?” she asked.

“In an office maintained by a Citizen, he informed me. Citizen Tan, I think.” Then he drew away from her, surprised. “But you already know that, Agape.”

She was startled. “I be Fleta!”

His startlement mirrored her own. Then he laughed. “Don’t tease me like that, Agape! I love her.”

“Tease thee? I tease thee not! What magic hast thou wrought, Bane, to conjure us so swiftly here?”

He gazed at her, evidently sorting things out. Then he spoke slowly and carefully. “This is the frame of Proton. I am Mach, a self-willed humanoid robot. Are you telling me you are not Agape, but Fleta of Phaze?”

“Aye, I be Fleta of Phaze,” she repeated. “If this truly be Proton-frame, and thou truly be Mach, then must I ha’ traveled here with thee. Be that possible?”

Again he considered. Then he touched his bare chest, and a door opened in it, showing odd wires and objects. “I am the robot, as you can see; this is my own body, not Bane’s.” He closed the door, and his chest looked normal again. “Let me question you briefly. Who was the last person we met, on the way to the exchange?”

“Phoebe,” she said promptly. “The harpy whose hair thou didst ruin, and she takes it as elegance. But she be decent, especially for her kind. I have her feather in my pocket—” But her hand found no pocket, for she had lost her cloak.

“And then we made love,” he said.

“Nay, we followed the delf till the glow was brightest, and only kissed, and then—”

“Then, as I sang the spell of exchange—”

“I spake thee the triple Thee, as thou didst do when—”

He stepped into her and crushed her in his embrace. “You are my love!” he said. “I tested you, but no other person could have known—”

“This really be thy rovot form?” she asked uncertainly.

“It really is. But let me prove myself to you, so that you know you can trust me. I came for you in a canoe I fashioned to float in air, with Suchevane, the most dazzling of vampires, and saved you from your suicide. Then the Translucent Adept appeared, and offered us sanctuary, and the splash of truth supported him, so I agreed—”

She put a finger against his lips. “It be enough, Mach; I know thee now. Methinks in my desire to stay with thee, I worked a bit of magic of mine own, and came with thee to thy frame.”

“A double exchange!” he said, awed. “You are in Agape’s body.”

She looked down at herself. “Aye, this nor looks nor feels like mine! Let me see whe’er I can revert to natural state.” She tried to shift to her unicorn form, but nothing happened. “It happens not.”

“You cannot change that way, here,” Mach said. “Magic doesn’t work in Proton. The laws of science are enforced; mass must remain constant. When Agape changes, she does so slowly, melting from one shape to another.”

“Melting?” Fleta asked, repelled.

He smiled. “I suspect Agape finds your method of changing form awkward, too!” Then he made a soundless whistle. “And she must be there, with Bane! Experiencing magic for the first time!”

“In my body?” Fleta asked, disturbed.

“I’m sure she’ll try to treat it as well as you treat hers,” he said with a smile.

She relaxed. “Mayhap ‘tis fair. But this body—I want to be locked not in human form fore’er! How does it work?”

“I can’t tell you directly, because I have had no experience in it, or in any living body other than Bane’s. She just melted and reformed. Here, maybe we can do it small-scale first, so you can discover the technique.” He took her left hand. “Concentrate on this, and try to turn it into a hoof.”

She tried. Her instant change did not exist, but gradually the outlines of her fingers softened. Then they sagged into each other, and melted together. Then they assumed the form of a hoof, and the nails expanded and fused to make it hard.

She looked at the rest of her. “I be girlform—w’ one hoof!” she said, amazed.

“So you can do it,” he said warmly. “But for now, I think it is best to maintain your human form. I gather from what Bane thought to me that we are two serfs serving in this office, and the Citizen does not know our identities. We had best keep it that way, for if Citizen Tan is the same as the Tan Adept, we could be in serious trouble!”

“The Tan Adept,” she repeated, chagrined. “He o’ the Evil Eye.”

“The evil eye? That’s his magic?”

“Aye.”

“Exactly how does that work?”

“We know not, save that it makes others do his will.”

“I think we are lucky that magic is inoperative here; the Tan Adept cannot affect us that way. Still, we should take no avoidable risks. I had better drill you in office procedures—which I fear will make little sense to you, at first.”

“They make no sense to me already,” she admitted.

“The first thing to do is conceal your Phaze mode of speech. That would give you away in the first few seconds. Can you speak as I do, if you try?”

She giggled. “I can try. But thou dost—you do speak so funny, mayhap—I may burst out laughing.”

“It isn’t funny for Proton. Look, Fleta, this may be a matter of life and death.” He paused, reconsidering. “I had better call you Agape, too, so I don’t give you away.”

“At times you are idiotic,” she said carefully.

“What?”

“Are we not in hiding? Call me Agape, and Tan will know instantly I be his prey.”

He knocked his head with the heel of his hand. “There must be a gear loose in my circuitry! You’re right! We surely have artificial names!”

“Yes,” she said, in her measured way, resisting the urge to say “Aye.”

“Can we find out those names?”

“Have to.” He went out to the desk in an adjacent chamber. “There have to be records.” He activated the desk screen and spoke to it: “List authorized office personnel.”

Words came on:

PROPRIETOR: CITIZEN TAN EMPLOYEES: TANIA—SUPERVISOR—HUMAN AGEE—DESK GIRL—ANDROID MAC—MENIAL—HUMANOID ROBOT

“There it is,” he said. “You are Agee, and I am Mac. Evidently they set us up with names as close to our own as feasible, so we would identify more readily.” He smiled. “Your name means ‘One who flees’; that seems appropriate in the circumstance.”

But she was staring at the screen. “I am glad Bane taught me to read your language,” she said, with the same measured care. “This magic slate is fascinating. But—”

“It’s called a screen,” he said. “You simply tell it what you want, and read its answers. It is simple enough for an idiot to operate, because most androids are idiots. When you encounter something you don’t understand, you should just smile and look blank, and it will be dismissed as android incompetence.”

“That, too,” she agreed. “But—Mac—what of Tania?”

“If she comes to the office, you just do whatever she tells you to do. Androids must always obey humans, outside of the experimental community. Evidently she doesn’t bother to come in much; this office must still be on standby status. We’re just caretakers.”

“Tania,” she said carefully, “is the Tan Adept’s daughter. Stile was minded to marry Bane to her, but feared she would dominate him with her evil eye.”

Mach stared at her. “And this is parallel!” he exclaimed. “Of course she has access to this office! If she comes in, we’re in trouble!”

“That were my thought,” she said.

He addressed the screen again. “Status of Tania.”

The screen answered: TANIA—SISTER OF CURRENT CITIZEN TAN, DAUGHTER OF FORMER CITIZEN TAN, RETIRED. EMPLOYED BY HER BROTHER AS RANKING SERF. DESIGNATED AS HEIR TO TAN CITIZENSHIP.

“That’s her, all right,” he said. “Her brother inherited the Citizenship, so she is the next in line, should he retire or die. That was evidently fixed by their father. She will be very like a Citizen, in all but legality.” He glanced up. “Bane was going to marry her?”

“They want an heir to the Blue Demesnes,” she said. “Tan wanted a suitable match, too. She is about four years older, but is pretty if you like that type.”

Mach glanced at the picture of Tania the screen showed. The average man would like that type.

“And if they married, the Blue Demesnes would have its heir, and the Adverse Adepts would have a permanent hold on Stile,” Mach said. “I can see why Bane balked!”

She smiled. “He never saw her. He refused to get close to her, because of the evil eye.”

“Smart person, my other self. Let’s just hope she doesn’t show up here.”

Mach drilled her on office etiquette. He evidently hoped that there would be no calls to this office soon, but at least she was minimally prepared.

She saw him looking at her. His body and features were different, as were her own, but she knew that look. “Dost thou wish to make love, thy way?” she asked quietly.

He sighed. “I do. But it occurs to me that though it may be known that Bane and I have exchanged back, it may not be known that you and Agape exchanged also. Therefore it would seem that I am with the wrong female, and if I wish to be consistent, I will not make love to her.”

“But who will know?” she asked.

“That’s the irony: perhaps no one. But just as you must adopt the speech of this frame to conceal your identity, I think I must adopt a loyalty to an inapplicable principle, to further conceal your identity. We shall have enough trouble hiding from the Contrary Citizens, without adding to it this way.”

“But be they not the analogues o’ the Adverse Adepts, whom we have joined?” she asked.

“Yes. But we are now standing in for Bane and Agape, who have not joined them. The truce is a compromise that leaves us in the Adepts’ hands, and Bane and Agape in Citizen Blue’s hands. I’m trusting Bane not to interfere with that situation in Phaze, and I shall not interfere with it in Proton. I think that is the equitable course.”

“It all be too complicated for me,” she said. Then, reverting to the local dialect: “I need some rest.”

“Rest,” he agreed. “I don’t need it, in this body.”

“For my mind, not my body,” she clarified. “I deal not—I don’t deal in alien frames every morning.”

“I will see what else I can learn of our situation.”

“What will you do?”

“I will activate a circuit within myself to ensure that no electronic device can spy on me without alerting me, and another to give me access to a secret connection via the phone.”

“This must I—” She broke off and tried again. “I must see this.”

Soon he had it. “This is Mach,” he said to the screen, and gave a code sequence that identified him. “What is my status?”

“Citizens are canvassing the city,” a self-willed machine replied. “They seek the alien woman, not you. They have narrowed it down to this sector, and will close in on you within three days.”

“What is the contingency plan?”

“We have a chute with meshed valves, for liquid wastes; the alien must melt and flow down that, and we shall convey her to the Tourney, which commences in six days.”

“The Tourney? She is not qualified for that!”

“She must enter and lose. She will then be required to depart the planet, without interference.”

“Now I understand,” he said. “The Contrary Citizens cannot hire a Tourney loser, and cannot prevent that loser from departing the planet unless there is a question of a crime to settle. Any such charge against Agape would put her under the authority of the courts, which also would protect her from them. This is a practically foolproof way to get her safely offplanet and back to Planet Moeba, where the Citizens have no power. All that is necessary is to keep you hidden until the Tourney begins, and qualify you for it; thereafter you will be safe. Obviously Citizen Blue, my father, has taken a hand and acted effectively to save Agape and his own position.”

“What is the Tourney?” Fleta asked, confused.

“An annual tournament whose first prize is Citizenship. It is run by the Game Computer, by the rules of the Game. It is very popular with serfs, though all losers are deported.”

“Like the Unilympics?” she asked.

“The what?”

“A big contest for status. Each species has its own: the Werelympics, the Vamplympics, the Elflympics—”

“Maybe so.” He frowned. “But the Citizens are liable to locate you in two days. That leaves a gap of three. Also, you are unqualified for the Tourney. Theoretically you would have those three days to qualify; if you fail, or if the Citizens capture you in that period, all will be lost.”

She realized that Agape, with her lively intellect and special powers of adaptation, might have found a way to qualify. Fleta, in Agape’s body, would hardly have a chance. This unexpected exchange of the two females could prove to be extremely costly!

Still, now they knew the challenge: get her through to the Tourney, and get her qualified. If they accomplished that, she would be shipped to the completely alien Planet Moeba.

And what would she do there? She had only vague knowledge of Proton, and none of Moeba. Even success was disaster!

Mach pondered, and told her that he would have to modify the plan in one detail. He would have to get Fleta exchanged back to Phaze before she was exiled to Moeba. That meant he had to locate Bane, and intercept him, and catch him in the company of Agape, and bring Fleta in for another exchange. He was sure, the girls could not exchange unless the effort was made in the company of the boys. It seemed an almost impossible act of juggling, considering the pursuit by the Contrary Citizens and the demands of the Tourney, but somehow he had to manage it. Because however he might be constrained to act personally, Fleta was the creature he loved, and he could not allow her to suffer exile to a completely alien world, with no prospect of return to her homeland.

“Aye,” she whispered, loving his determination though she hated the threat that hung over her.

“I have accepted sanctuary with the Adverse Adepts, in Phaze, for the sake of our love. If I had no other way, I would seek similar sanctuary with the Contrary Citizens. But integrity requires that I make every other effort first, before giving the Citizens the complete victory they seek.”

“Aye,” she agreed again. Now at last she could relax.

Except for another problem: food. This was morning, and her body was hungry. Fleta had no idea how to operate the food dispenser, and no idea how to make Agape’s body eat. Mach could operate the food machine, but when she took food into her mouth, she discovered that she had no mechanism for swallowing; indeed, she had no throat. The body possessed a bellows mechanism for the inhalation and exhalation of air, for which the amoebic body had a need similar to that of the human body. Thus her chest rose and fell naturally, and she could speak normally. But that was all; she had no internal digestive system.

“She dissolves herself and covers the food,” Mach explained somewhat lamely. “When she’s done, she reforms her head and face.”

“Yuck,” Fleta said.

“Maybe you could dissolve the inside of your mouth, so you could digest a bite of food there, and then reform tongue and teeth afterward.”

“If I can’t see it, I doubt I can get it right,” she said. “I had better stick to what I have.”

“Maybe your feet, then. Dissolve them over the food, where no one else can see, and take your time.”

She tried that. He brought a bowl of mush, and she sat at the desk and put her feet on the mush. Soon they melted into shapelessness, and spread over the mush. Her flesh seemed to know what to do; she felt the effort of digestion and assimilation, and then the vigor of new energy traveling through her body. It was working!

When the mush was gone, she concentrated on reforming her feet, shaping them back into humanoid extremities. She had a fair idea how to do this, because of her practice in learning the human form as a unicorn. In due course her feet had been restored, and it was even possible to walk on them again. It seemed that Agape’s body had a design for bones and flesh, or the equivalent, and this was what she was drawing on.

That problem had been solved. Now she should be able to function. She sat at the desk and began her day’s work.

They were fortunate: no one came to the office that day, and there were no calls. Mach was able to brief her on many further details, so that she was beginning to feel halfway competent. It was true: an idiot—or a unicorn—could fill this position. She also developed better facility in eating, and learned how to eliminate by forming a ball of wastes inside, then softening her flesh to let it pass outside at the appropriate time and location.

But the effort had wearied her. By day’s end, she was eager to sleep.

She lay down to sleep. But as soon as she relaxed, she started to melt. Alarmed, she reformed herself and approached Mach. “I’m melting! I can’t sleep—I might dissolve away!”

He smiled reassuringly. “That’s why there is no camera coverage in that chamber; the machines saw to it that Bane and Agape were sent to an office that did not yet have full equipment. Agape is an amoeba; her natural form is a blob of protoplasm. Only when she is awake can she maintain humanoid form. Do not be concerned; you can reform when you wake.”

“But I be not sure I can find this exact shape again!” she wailed.

“I think the body has memory devices that enable it to return to prior forms, just as you have them for your unicorn forms. I will inform you of any deviance.”

“But what if I melt into the bed?”

“I don’t believe that will happen. Your surface retains its skin, which contains the fluids. Also, I suspect that the amoeboid form does not relinquish consciousness completely; it probably shores up its surface at need, to prevent seepage. Human beings perform similarly in sleep, not falling off beds and not releasing urine during sleep. Maintenance circuitry.”

Moderately reassured, she returned to the bed and let herself dissolve. Sure enough, she neither flowed off the bed nor released fluids into it as she slept. She woke after a few hours, refreshed.

Next day the worst happened: Tania stopped by the office. She was a buxom woman of about twenty-one, her somewhat plain face enhanced by an artful framing of luxurious hair. She was technically a serf, so was naked, but she carried herself as if clothed.

Mach stood absolutely still, a machine out of action, in an alcove in the wall. Fleta was at the desk, where she belonged; it was her duty to handle whatever tasks were required, such as providing information about the location of her employer, Citizen Tan. Fleta was of course aware of Tania’s identity; the woman had given it for admission to the office, and she matched her picture.

Tania eyed Fleta. Her eyes possessed a peculiar intensity; obviously in Phaze that would manifest as the evil eye. “Any news?” she asked curtly.

“No, Tania,” Fleta said, as Mach had told her.

The woman eyed her. Her eyes were the color of her hair and nails: tan. “Android, you will address me as Tan.”

“Yes, Tan,” Fleta said obediently. Mach had warned her that this woman might be imperious, and that though she could not, be addressed as “sir” she probably wished she could be. She knew from her own knowledge of Adepts in Phaze that the utmost caution was in order.

“Stand, android,” Tania snapped. “Come in front of the desk where I can see you.”

Fleta stood and went around to the front. Serfs were not supposed to answer Citizens unless an answer was called for, and Tania was to be treated like a Citizen.

“Turn around.”

Fleta turned, while the woman’s eyes probed her body. “You aren’t very intelligent,” Tania remarked.

Fleta was tempted to reply that most animals weren’t, but stifled it. Mach had explained that she was passing for an android, and that few androids approached the human level of mental performance.

“What is the nature of ultimate reality?” Tania asked.

Fleta stared at her, needing no effort to feign confusion. She smiled and looked blank in the approved manner. “Should I ask the screen, Tan?” she asked at last.

“Don’t bother, android.” Tania glanced around the office. “Robot, come forth,” she commanded.

Mach stepped out from his alcove, silently. She eyed him as she had Fleta.

“Have you kept this office clean?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Did you hear me tell the android to call me Tan?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

Mach didn’t answer. Fleta had to suppress a giggle; he was playing dumb. Tania had not asked a comprehensible question, so he hadn’t answered.

“Address me as Tan,” she said coldly. “Is that a functional penis?”

“In what manner, Tan?”

“Sexual.”

“Yes, Tan.”

“What’s it doing on a menial?”

“Whatever my employer directs, Tan.”

“Android,” Tania snapped without turning. “Put in for a replacement menial robot. This one’s too smart.”

Oops, trouble! If they replaced Mach, how would she get by? But she had no choice. She returned to the desk, sat, and addressed the screen. “Requisition replacement menial rovot for Citizen Tan, this office,” she said, perversely pleased that she had managed the strange formula without hesitation.

“Requisition entered,” the screen replied. “Allow forty-eight hours for delivery.”

Tania was already on the way out. In a moment they were alone again.

Mach said nothing. He simply marched back to his alcove and resumed his inert stance. By that signal Fleta knew that it was not safe to talk. He knew when they could be overheard; she depended on his judgment.

She had passed Tania’s inspection, but Mach had not! What an irony! Then she had to stifle another giggle: irony for a metal man! But she was not happy.

But as she pondered the matter further, she realized that the Contrary Citizens were closing in, and so there would be trouble within two days anyway. This might make no difference. They would have to get away from here before Mach’s replacement came.

She finished out the day, answering the occasional incoming calls in the routine manner: Yes, this was Citizen Tan’s office. No, the Citizen was not available at the moment. Yes, she would enter a message for the Citizen, and he would return the call if he wished to. When she was hungry, she ordered Mach to fetch her food from the food machine. As an android she ranked the robot, and naturally used every bit of what little authority she possessed. This nicely concealed the fact that she still had no idea how to use the food machine. Mach had set that up, too. She wished she could hug him. Instead she set some food on the desk, and took a careful bite, so as to seem to be eating normally; the rest she put on the floor, so she could melt her feet over it.

Proton was a dreary frame! No wonder Mach liked Phaze better!

In the evening, when the office officially shut down for the shift, Mach came out. He checked to be sure they were not being spied on, then opened his arms. She hurled herself gratefully into them. “Methinks the boredom be the worstest torture o’ all!” she whispered.

“You did well,” he murmured. “I only hope Tania didn’t notice your one slip.”

She felt a chill. “Slip?”

“You referred to me as a ‘rovot.’ The screen has an interpretation circuit, so passed it through because of the context; you were merely echoing her command, which it had heard. But if she noticed—”

“Ro-bot,” she said. “Ro-bot, ro-bot. I can say it if I try. But is that an error Agee would make?”

“No. Since there should be no suspicion that you are here, instead of Agee, and that is not typical of her speech, it should pass unnoticed. Actually, you passed the real test: Tania knew that if you had any emotional attachment to me, you would have had trouble putting through that requisition. You showed no hesitation.”

“I dared not hesitate,” she said. “But oh, Mach—”

“This may have been a routine verification,” he said. “But the Citizens are looking for us, and we were assigned within the key period. It could have been a preliminary to the pounce.”

“The pounce?”

“If you were looking desperately for a person, and suspected that that person was already in your power, would you alert that person?”

“Nay.”

“The threat to replace me could even be a diversion. They want me with them, not away from them. But you are the real target; if they have you, they have me. You must be the one to escape. I must show you how to incapacitate a human being, and how to melt and reform.”

They worked on it. He pointed out the vulnerable places on the human body, male and female: the spots that could be pressured to bring pain or unconsciousness or death. “If I give the word, you do that to whoever bars your way,” he Said. “Then get to this waste chute and melt into it as fast as you can.”

They drilled on melting, until she could do it with fair swiftness. She practiced moving in the melted state: flowing like goo across the floor, then reforming into something that could climb. “The self-willed machines will help you at the other end, but you have to get through that screen yourself,” he said. “Remember: wait for my signal, then act without question when I give it. Have no concern about me; I am not threatened. Trust the machines. Their forms vary widely, but they are with me. I am a self-willed machine.”

“Aye,” she agreed, frightened.

Next day Citizen Tan himself stopped by, in the voluminous tan cloak or robe that identified him as a Citizen: a member of the only class privileged to wear clothing in Proton. He was the same age as his sister—they were twins—and similar of feature, especially in the eyes. Their tan irises and intensity were eerie. Fleta was afraid of him. Did he suspect her nature, either as Agape or as Fleta? If so, they were lost!

The Citizen asked a number of routine questions. He seemed gentler than his sister, but there was a sureness about his manner that continued to strike alarm in her. What was he up to?

Then, abruptly, she found out. He reached out to catch and squeeze one of her breasts. “Android, I like your look,” he said. “Enter the sleeping chamber with me.”

She followed him into the chamber where the bed was.

“Lie supine, spread your legs,” he said, as he opened his robe. Then, to Mach in the other room: “Robot! Come here and take my robe.”

Mach entered the room and took the robe. He stepped back, watching the proceedings, showing no expression.

Serfs had no rights with respect to Citizens; she had known that as a bit of otherframe folklore all her life. Just as animals had none with respect to Adepts. Power made the only law. But how could she tolerate this? He was going to use her sexually!

If she protested, she would give herself away. If she did not, what would Mach—or Bane—do?

But Mach had told her to wait for his signal before acting. She had to rely on his judgment. She lay down on her back and spread her legs.

It was another irony, she thought, that the sexual act as human beings performed it had no inherent meaning for either her or Agape. She normally would indulge in it only when in heat, for the sole purpose of breeding; only her association with Mach had educated her to the joys of sex as an act of entertainment or of love. Agape, with her completely alien body, would neither breed nor entertain herself in this manner; she surely did it only to please Bane. But now it was a matter of principle: this act should be done only with the one she loved. That, too, was the human way.

Naked, Tan sat beside her, running his hands along her body and up between her legs. “If you like it, I will make you a household serf,” he said. “Your body has a certain distinction from that of other androids. I am not sure exactly what it is. That is what intrigues me about you. Would you like to be a household serf?” This was a direct question, and required an answer.

“No, sir,” she said.

A tan eyebrow elevated in supposed surprise. “Why not? It is an exceptionally easy life, for an android.”

“I am not that kind of android.”

Now his gaze became so intense that she was sure; he had penetrated her disguise. “Exactly what kind of android are you, Agee?”

She had no answer she could give to that without giving herself away, so she did not answer.

“Well, let’s give you more experience on which to base your attitude,” Citizen Tan said. He climbed onto the bed, on hands and knees, his body above hers. “Now you will, regardless of whatever personal reactions you may or may not have, smile and emulate delight as I proceed.” He lowered himself.

Mach stepped forward, starting to speak. He froze.

“Ah yes, the robot,” Citizen Tan said. “Tried to act on its own, and got zapped by the shorting field I just turned on. So it’s self-willed, and quite possibly the one we seek.” He glanced down at Fleta. “But are you the female we seek? If so, this will be a special pleasure for me. I have never before indulged with an alien creature.” He resumed his positioning, about to proceed with the act.

Fleta decided that Mach must have been about to give the signal, before the field enchanted his body. That meant it was time for her to act.

She melted the flesh of her central region. In fact, she had started to do this before consciously making her decision, for the process was well along now. The Citizen’s probing member encountered only mush.

Then that mush rose up and gripped adjacent and very vulnerable flesh.

Tan opened his mouth to scream, as that grip closed. But Fleta slapped a hand across his mouth, and melted it to cover the lower part of his face. “An thou dost say anything, Adept, then will I squeeze, hard,” she whispered, and gave him a small sample. This was a pretty good body, for special effects!

Tan’s eyes glazed with pain. Fleta continued to melt. “Lie down, roll over,” she said.

He dropped on her and rolled over, carrying her around so that she was now on top of him. As she melted, her flesh spread across and around him. Only her head remained humanoid. “Turn off thy magic field.”

When he hesitated, she began to squeeze again.

“I’m free,” Mach said. “We’re off-camera here, but those in the front chamber remain operational, and you must pass through that. Form into his robe and make him take you there.”

She obeyed without question, knowing that only he understood the nature of the magic that surrounded them. She spoke once more to the Citizen: “I will become thy robe. Carry me to the waste chute and dump me there. Else will I squeeze. An thou do it right, thou willst be free o’ me. An thou balk, then will I kill thee, caring naught for my fate thereafter, for it be anyway sealed. Dost understand?”

The Citizen nodded. Then she melted her head, and spread herself over Tan’s body, and changed her color, becoming tan. She was getting good at this!

“Longer, with folds,” Mach murmured.

She thinned herself and lengthened herself, until she matched the length of his original robe. Then, as the man sat up, she flowed around to fill in the back. But she never released her constriction around his generative parts. Her freedom and life were at stake, and this was the other self of an Adept; she knew she could afford no error at all.

Tan walked to the other room. Fleta could no longer see or hear, because she had melted her eyeballs and ears, but she could feel the orientation and motion of his body, and she knew that Mach was following, a nominally servile robot, actually making sure nothing went wrong. She had to trust that the Citizen dumped her correctly.

Tan reached down and lifted the hem of her substance. She let herself be lifted, like flexible material. She finally had to relinquish control of his nether anatomy, but she tightened her closure around his neck so that he could feel it. She could still hurt him, and he knew it.

She was being stuffed into the hopper; she could feel its cool metal. She melted, letting her substance flow down inside it. She had a head start, because of the form she had assumed; the melting was swift. When all of her was in the chute except the neck circlet and one “sleeve,” she released the neck but tightened about the arm, sliding down to encircle and grip the fingers, bracing them apart. She could break them if she chose. This body was completely malleable, but when it formed bonelike sections, they were strong enough to exert considerable force.

Finally there was nothing left of the connection except the hand. All the rest of her was a liquid string. She had already negotiated the mesh; it was no trouble in her present state. She let go the hand and slid down and away.

If the Citizen then sprang into action, she didn’t know. Mach remained in his power, but she knew that without her as hostage, they could not make him cooperate, they could only kill him, or whatever it was they did to golems. To rovots. Ro-bots! She hoped he was correct that they would not do that.

Now she was in free fall down the chute. It became a pipe, with a blast of air to carry its contents along. If it led to a furnace to burn the garbage—

Then she slurped into a tub. The moment she was all in, something moved it, carrying it elsewhere. She was being loaded into a motorized vehicle; she felt the vibrations. Then she accelerated; it was taking her very swiftly to somewhere else.

Mach had told her to trust the machines. She was trusting them, but she hoped there was no error!

The acceleration eased, but vibration continued; she was still traveling. It was hard for her to judge time while in this state, and she didn’t dare shape into another form until told to; she knew that the machines were hiding her from what was bound to be a determined search by the Contrary Citizens. She did form a masked eye, so she could perceive light and vague outlines, and a masked ear, so she could hear somewhat, in case the machines addressed her.

The tub slowed, then stopped. It lurched, evidently being loaded somewhere. Then it was still.

Was it time to emerge? How could she know? She formed a pseudopod—this body was really quite versatile, as she learned its capabilities!—so that she could peer out.

She made an eyeball on the end of the pseudopod, and peered through a vent in the top of her container. All she saw was other containers, similar to her own. She started to extend her eye farther, so as to see more.

“Unsafe,” a voice said immediately. “Wait. Hide.”

She dissolved the pseudopod and settled down. If the Citizens were tracing the possible routes of her shipment from the waste chute, it would be dangerous to manifest now. They must have her stored in a warehouse, until the search passed. She would be lost among all the sludge containers. That was good.

She had nothing to do, so explored her own parameters further. She discovered that there were patterns in her memory for a number of set forms, and that she could fairly readily modify these for specific effects. Thus she could emulate a human being, the pattern being for the form she had found herself in when she exchanged to Proton, but could also change that form so that she remained human but did not resemble the original form. She could become almost anyone, if she had a representation to copy from.

Agape was very like a unicorn, slower in her changes, and limited to a fixed mass, but more versatile within that mass. Of course Fleta preferred her own body—but here in Proton, the amoeba body might be better.

Time passed, and nothing happened. She grew bored, and then sleepy. This was actually the sleep format of this body, and this time she didn’t have to worry about melting off the bed.

She was awakened by the resumption of motion. She started to stir. “Remain quiescent,” a machine voice ordered.

She did so, but was alert. Her container was loaded onto another vehicle, which then moved a short distance and stopped. She was unloaded and wheeled to yet another chamber.

Then at last the directive came: “Form into humanoid semblance.”

She invoked the process of human body formation, which included the hardening of columns of flesh into the equivalent of bones and joints and the development of the key apparati of perception and communication, as well as the humanoid skin tones. Agape must have worked hard to develop this pattern, and had done an excellent job! Fleta never would have been able to do it, had she had to develop the pattern herself. Soon she stood as Agee, the office android.

She was in another warehouse chamber, much like the prior one, alone.

“Modify to male,” the speaker said. It was a grill set in the ceiling.

Fleta spluttered as the import registered. “Male?”

“Affirmative.”

She had never thought of such a thing! But she realized that probably the pursuing Citizens had not thought of it either. She discovered that there was a pattern for humanoid male, so she invoked it.

Her breasts shrank, until they were mere nipples set in her chest. Her hips melted and reformed, contracted. Her genital region became jelly, then drooped. It formed a penis and scrotum, neither functional, but similar externally to those of male serfs. Her shoulder-length mane shrank into briefer tonsure.

“Modify to this image,” the grill said. An image formed in the air before her, of an unfamiliar man.

She studied the details of the man, changing her configuration to match. The hair was yellow, the body slender and tall, the chest hairy, the eyes blue.

“Less buttock,” the grill said.

Oh. She worked on that region, shrinking the dual masses further.

“Follow the line to the Game Annex,” the grill said.

“But where is Mach?” she asked. “I need his advice!”

“Mach is being watched. You must qualify alone. You will be secure as long as your identity is not suspected. If you qualify for the Tourney, you will be secure until you are eliminated.”

And thereafter, if she returned directly to Moeba. Theoretically. She hoped Mach intercepted her before that happened!

She walked along the line. It led her from the warehouse and through a passage and into a concourse where other serfs walked. They were following lines too; it seemed that this was a standard way to show them where to go, as they went to the Game Annex.

She remembered the Lympics of Phaze, in which the various major species competed for honors. She had hoped to enter the Unilympics, for she was fleet of foot, and also could play her horn well. She had been working on a duet with herself, accompanied by an intricate hoof-tap pattern, that she thought could be a contender in the marching music division. But now, in Proton, in an alien culture and an alien body, none of that applied.

If she won entry to the Tourney, she would in time find herself confined to the alien planet. If she lost, she could be caught and tortured by the Contrary Citizens, to make Mach do their will. Or Bane, because they thought she was Bane’s love; they already had Mach’s cooperation, if they but knew it. What a complicated confusion!

She arrived at the Annex. Her line led to a console. A young man stood at the other side: her assigned opponent.

He reached over, extending his hand. “Hi! I’m Shock. My hair, you know.” He gave his dark mass of head hair a shake, so that it fell across his face, then nipped it back out of the way.

She took the hand, remembering how human beings clasped digits in greeting. She concentrated on the correct dialect, so as not to give her origin away. “Hi. I’m Fleta.”

Then, stunned, she realized what she had said. But the other seemed not to have noticed. “Welcome to the Leftover Ladder. I’m second from the bottom. I love the Game, but I’m no good at it, so I’m easy to beat.”

“Ladder?” she asked, still appalled by her slip.

“Oh, you new here? From another world?”

“New,” she agreed. “From another world.” Both quite true, but not the way he would take it.

Shock grinned. “Say, that’s great! I’m a Koloform myself. Well, I mean my folks came from Kolo, so it’s my blood. I was born here, but I can only stay till I’m twenty-one, next year, you know. Then I’m either a serf, or I have to go to Kolo. What’re you?”

“A unicorn,” she said.

She had done it again!

“I never heard of that planet!” he said cheerfully. “But what do I know? There’s thousands of planets. Well, c’mon, let’s play before the next pair need the console.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

Her screen had words printed:

PLAYER ONE: SHOCK OF KOLO

PLAYER TWO: FLETA OF UNI

Below was a sample grid. He had the numbers, she the letters. Mach had explained this, but still it was confusing. She had to pick something she thought would get her into a game she could win.

Her choices were A. NAKED B. TOOL C. MACHINE D. ANIMAL.

That was easy enough! The only thing she really understood was ANIMAL: being one herself. She touched D.

Shock was still making up his mind, for though her column highlighted, none of his numbered rows did. That gave her a chance to look around.

She hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings; she had just followed the line in. She saw that she was in one of a number of open chambers, each of which contained a console, and most of the consoles had players standing by them. Many folk were playing this peculiar game! But that might be because they were doing what she was supposed to do, qualifying for the Tourney. Mach had said that only the top ten in each age group, among the males and the females, would qualify. So now they were trying to get into the top tens.

She realized that that must be what the ladder was for. Shock had mentioned a ladder, that he was near the bottom of. A ladder was a thing that human folk used to climb up onto higher places. So she was trying to get on the ladder, starting near the bottom, which was the way with ladders.

But how was she to get to the top, if she had to win games against experienced players to climb each rung? The Tourney was only a few days away, and even if she could win every game, there would hardly be time for them all!

A row illuminated. Shock had finally made his choice. It was 1. PHYSICAL. The two highlights overlapped at ID.

Then the ID square expanded to fill the screen. ANIMAL-ASSISTED PHYSICAL appeared across the top, and new sets of choices appeared. This time she had the numbers, and he had the letters.

She looked at her choices: 5. SEPARATE 6. INTERACTIVE 7. COMBAT 8. COOPERATIVE. She wasn’t certain how these applied, but the safest seemed to be the first, because it seemed to mean that she could do her own thing. She touched it.

Again she had played ahead of Shock. That encouraged her, though it might be that he was making more intelligent choices. His options were E. EARTH F. FIRE G. GAS H. H2O, whatever those meant.

When he chose, it was E: EARTH—FLAT SURFACE. So that was it: Earth, as in a plain someone could run on. That was fine with her; unicorns understood running room.

The 1D5E square expanded to fill the screen, and a new, slightly smaller lattice appeared, with nine squares. Down the right side was a list of activities.

Shock whistled. “I don’t know how to do any of these things!” he exclaimed. “Well, let’s see where it goes.” The words BRONCO-BUSTING appeared in the top left box.

Fleta realized that he must have touched one of the words at the side, because it had disappeared from the side when it appeared in the square. So she touched her favorite: HORSEBACK RIDING. It wasn’t that she liked riding horses, but that she, being a related animal, understood them better than any of the others listed, and in her human form certainly could ride one of them.

He put BULLDOGGING in the third square, so she put GOAT MILKING in the fourth one. There were not many goats in Phaze, but they were easy enough to get along with.

They continued with DOG TRAINING, COW MILKING, CAMEL RIDING, BULL FIGHTING and CHICKEN SEXING. “That’s not what it sounds like,” Shock explained. “It’s telling the chicks apart, you know, male or female, so they know who’ll grow up to lay eggs. A good chicken sexer can make a pile, on a farm planet. Well, let’s choose up; this is it. I got the last placement, so you get choice of numbers or letters.”

She chose the letters, and touched B, the center column, because that had the horse riding in it. She was lucky; he chose 1, and the highlights overlapped at HORSEBACK RIDING. She had her first choice, which meant a good chance.

ADJOURN TO RIDING AREA, the screen said. FOLLOW THE LINE.

She looked at the floor. A new line showed, leading away from the console.

They followed it. It brought them to a corral where a number of people were riding horses. It terminated at a check-in office.

The bored attendant glanced up. “Whatcha into—easy, rough or show?” he asked.

“I don’t mind losing, but I don’t want to get dumped,” Shock said candidly. “I bruise easily.”

“Easy,” the attendant said. “Saddle or bareback?”

“Your turn,” Shock said.

So they were still taking turns on choices. “Bareback,” Fleta said.

In due course they found themselves on two sedate horses, bareback, with reins. The one who guided his horse most accurately along a set course would be the winner.

Fleta didn’t like reins, so she dismounted, went to the horse’s head and removed the bit and the reins. The man who had brought the horses looked surprised, but did not comment.

She remounted, and they proceeded along the course. Shock was evidently barely familiar with horsemanship; had the course not been long familiar to the animal, he would soon have been lost. Fleta leaned low, embraced her horse with legs and arms, and spoke to it in its own language: a low whinny. Her body might be alien, but her nature was equine, and now it came strongly through. She felt a sudden surge of homesickness for her homeland, and knew that this captive horse felt the same.

The horse’s ears perked. She stroked its neck, reassuring it, explaining by pressures of her legs how it should react. Soon she had it responsive, and the horse obeyed her commands when they were neither verbal nor visual. She really did understand horses.

Thereafter, the horse stood tall and proud, and moved so precisely along the course that others stopped to look. One of the keepers, alarmed, challenged this: “You do something to that animal? No tether, no halter, no bit, no reins—you drug it?”

“No drug,” Fleta said.

“Bring it over here; I want the vet to see.”

So they had to interrupt the contest, while the horse walked to the side where the robot vet rolled up. The machine ran sensors across the horse’s skin and flashed little lights in the animal’s eyes and mouth. “This horse likes this rider,” the robot said, and rolled away.

“You sure have the touch!” Shock said. “Or did you just get a happy horse?”

“We can exchange horses if you wish,” Fleta said.

“Yes, let’s do that!”

So they dismounted and exchanged. Fleta addressed the new horse as she had the first, and removed the bit and reins, and soon it was as cooperative, while the first, feeling the ignorance of the new rider, became surly.

By the time they finished the ride, there was no question of Fleta’s victory. “Serf, you’re new on the register,” the corral manager said, hurrying up. “You looking for employment? You’ve got a touch with those animals I never saw before!”

Fleta dismounted, put her arm up around her mount’s head, and kissed it on the nose. “I do relate well to animals,” she agreed. “But I am trying to qualify for the Tourney.”

“But once you enter that, you’re gone, unless you win!” the manager protested. “Look, this spread is owned by a pretty savvy Citizen. If he sees how you are with his animals, he’ll give you good employment and treat you right. It’s a lot better risk than the Tourney!”

It surely was—for an ordinary serf. But Fleta knew that she could not remain in this guise indefinitely without being discovered, and then she would be in instant trouble. “I wish I could do it,” she said with genuine regret. “But I am committed. I must enter the Tourney.”

They left the corral. “I think you should have taken it,” Shock said. He shrugged. “Well, you bumped me down a rung on the ladder; you’re number one-four-two on the Leftover Ladder.”

“Why is it called the leftover? I thought there was a ladder for each age group.”

“There is, and the top ten of each ladder qualify. But some don’t fit well, being underage or overage or alien or handicapped or whatever, so there’s a special ladder for us. I guess they sent you here because you’re too new to know the ropes.”

That was not the reason, Fleta realized. It was because she was an alien creature masquerading as an android of the opposite sex. She could not qualify for a regular ladder without giving herself away, so the self-willed machines had set her up with this all-inclusive one. They did know what they were doing.

But she was on the 142nd rung! How could she ever make it to the top ten rungs?

Shock showed her where to verify her ranking: the Game Computer had a special screen that would show the placement of whomever approached it. Sure enough, FLETA was now listed 142 on LEFTOVER. SHOCK was 143. He shrugged and departed, satisfied.

“Report to alcove for special instructions,” a low voice murmured from the speaker.

Surprised, she went to an alcove, where there was slightly greater privacy.

“Challenge the player on the eighth rung,” the speaker said.

“But don’t I have to climb step by step?” she asked.

“Not in this case. You are permitted two free challenges: one in the lowest ten, to register on the ladder, and one elsewhere, to establish your regular position. Thereafter you can ascend or descend only rung by rung, and need accept only a single challenge each day. If you win Rung Eight, and limit subsequent challenges to one a day, you can lose on the following two days and still qualify for the Tourney. You must achieve the rung now; pursuit is closing, and you will be protected while you remain at the qualifying level.”

She felt like melting. She had almost forgotten the danger she was in. “How do I challenge?”

“We shall enter it for you. Follow the line.”

She looked. The new line was there on the floor. “Thank you,” she said, but the speaker did not respond. She hadn’t known that the Game Computer itself was cooperating with the self-willed machines; probably it could get in serious trouble itself, if the Contrary Citizens learned of its part in this. That had to be why her double slip in naming herself and her nature had not given her away: the computer already knew her identity, and was covering for her.

She followed the line, still intrigued by the magic of this realm. It led to another console, where an older woman stood. She had only one arm. This, it seemed, was Number Eight on the Ladder.

“Fleta of Uni,” the woman said disapprovingly. “You breeze here from offplanet at the last minute and want to enter the Tourney and maybe win Citizenship, just like that?”

Fleta looked at the name on the screen. This was Stumpy of Proton. A cruel name for a long-time serf. “Citizenship?” she asked, alarmed. If the Citizens were already closing in…

Stumpy looked at her with open incredulity. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Fleta asked, confused.

“Oh—you’re an android,” Stumpy said.

Fleta did not argue, as she was impersonating an android. A reputation for stupidity was an asset, for her. She smiled and looked appropriately blank.

“Well, let’s get this charade over with,” Stumpy said. She slapped her hand down on her screen.

Fleta had the letters again, so she took D. ANIMAL again. Immediately the screen showed Stumpy’s choice, 3. CHANCE. The square expanded.

Instead of a new grid, there was a message: BETTING ON ANIMAL CONTESTS. SELECT AN INCIPIENT CONTEST. ONGOING LIST FOLLOWS.

Below was a grid in which many animal contests were listed: races, fights and performances, between horses, dogs, fowl or other creatures.

Bemused by this approach, Fleta touched the column that contained horses, but immediately the chosen square brightened, and it was 1D7E: DOG FIGHT.

Well, she had watched werewolves fighting each other for status. Because she was the foal of Neysa, the friend of the entire local Pack, she had been privileged to witness rites that were ordinarily barred to outsiders. That was how she had become friends with Furramenin; she had been a foal and the werewolf a pup together. Dogs were similar creatures, though inferior; they bore about the same relation to werewolves as horses did to unicorns or monkeys to human folk. She should be able to judge a dog fight.

Now the screen became a picture, startling her. It showed a pit, with two snarling dogs being held by trainers. Fleta saw at a glance that one dog, though slightly smaller and leaner, had a more savage temperament; it would be more serious about the fight than the other.

SELECT VICTORIOUS DOG, the screen directed.

Fleta touched the screen where that dog was portrayed. But in a moment a message appeared: BETTORS SELECTED SAME ANIMAL. SELECT TIME OF DECISION: CLOSEST MARK.

A scale of times appeared, delineated in seconds and minutes and hours.

Fleta judged that the larger dog would quickly be cowed, and try to break off. Would the fight be halted at that point? Since the horses were owned by a Citizen who wanted them treated well, perhaps the dogs were similarly owned, and the fight would not be allowed to proceed beyond the point of evident advantage. That would keep it short. She touched the scale at one minute, ten seconds.

Stumpy’s mark showed: four minutes even. Now they had a viable bet.

The picture of the dogs reappeared, with the scale retreating to the bottom of the screen. Both bets were marked, and a pointer pointed at 0: the elapsed time of the fight.

Then the dogs were released. They sprang at each other, the larger one confident of the advantage. Indeed, for a few seconds he had it. But then blood flowed from grazing gashes, and the smaller dog went berserk. He attacked with such ferocity that the other was first surprised, then dismayed. Suddenly the other tried to break free—and nets came down, incapacitating both animals, and the fight was over.

The time was fifty-four seconds.

Stumpy looked at Fleta with new appraisal. “You weren’t guessing,” she said flatly.

“I understand animals,” Fleta said.

Stumpy turned and walked away.

Fleta walked back to the Ladder screen. There was her name, on the eighth rung, with Stumpy just below it. She had qualified for the Tourney.