Robot Adept

by Piers Anthony

  “We were passing, and thought we would pay our respects,” Mach explained. “I must return to my own frame for a time.”

  “So? Methought thou didst have a thing for the ‘corn.”

  “I do. I will return to her. But there is business I must attend to meanwhile.”

  “Be there any aid I can render?” Phoebe asked. “Ye be mine only friends among thy kinds.”

  “You have done more than enough for us. We merely wished to greet you again, and be on our way.”

  “As thou dost wish,” the harpy said, shrugging. “But let me give thee another feather to summon me, in case thou shouldst have need o’ me.” She plucked it from her tail with a claw and extended it to him.

  “Thank you,” Mach said, touched. Harpies were in a general way abominable creatures, but this one they had befriended seemed quite human. Probably the others would be too, if the animosity between species could be overcome. He tucked the feather into a pocket.

  “Yet it be late,” Phoebe continued. “The night be cool, and my nest be warm. If ye two would stay the eve—”

  Mach exchanged a glance with Fleta. This nest had fond memories for them. They decided to stay.

  In the morning they continued to the spot where Bane was, on the edge of the plain just north of the Purple Mountains. The glow on the delf cup became so bright it was as if the sunlight were reflecting from it, but the sky was overcast. When the glow spread to circle the cup, Mach knew that this was where he could overlap his opposite self.

  He turned to Fleta, who now changed to girlform, wearing her cape and shoes. Her mane became her lustrous black hair, a trifle wild and wholly beautiful. He embraced her and kissed her. “You must explain to Bane, if he doesn’t already know,” he said.

  Mutely, she nodded. They disengaged.

  It was time. But though he had to leave her, he sought some way to make the parting less absolute. He wanted to say something, or to give her something. But he could think of nothing to say, and had nothing to give.

  His hand went to his pocket, reflexively. His fingers found the feather.

  “Fleta—this may be foolish—but I want to give you something in token of what I will try to give you in the future. I have nothing, but…”

  “There be no need, Mach,” she said bravely.

  “This.” He brought out the feather.

  She looked at it. Suddenly her laughter bubbled up past her bosom in the way it had, and burst out of her mouth. “A dirty harpy pinion!” she exclaimed.

  “Well, technically it’s a tail feather. A pinion is from the wing.”

  “Only a rovot would be thus at a time like this!” she exclaimed. She flung her arms around him and kissed him fiercely. Then she withdrew, and gravely accepted the feather. “But it be a good thought, Phoebe’s and thine. Mayhap I will have need o’ her. Certainly Bane will not.” She tucked it into a pocket in her cape.

  It was foolishness of a sort that he would not have indulged in, as a robot. Therefore he valued it now. “Farewell—for now. My love.”

  He stood where the cup indicated, and concentrated. Yes—he felt the presence of his other self. Now all he needed was to will the magic for the exchange, assuming that Bane joined him in the effort. “Let me gain the body of Bane,” he singsonged, knowing that the doggerel was only a token, hardly necessary for this act.

  He felt the magic of the exchange taking hold. Bane was cooperating. In a moment they would—

  Fleta flung herself back at him, clasping him tightly. “Thee, thee, thee!” she cried, her bravery abolished.

  There was a ripple around them. Then the exchange happened. There was something strange about it; this was no ordinary event. But it was too late to reverse it; whatever was to happen, was happening.

  Chapter 2

  Proton

  They took their places on either side of the console. Bane’s screen showed a grid with sixteen boxes. Across the top was written 1. PHYSICAL 2. MENTAL 3. CHANCE 4. ARTS, and down the left side was written A. NAKED B. TOOL C. MACHINE D. ANIMAL. The numbered words were highlighted, which meant that he was supposed to choose from among them.

  But his mind drifted, conjuring different interpretations for the terms.

  Physical: He looked across at Agape, who was naked in the serf mode of Proton, as was he. She was beautiful, with curling yellow tresses, wide-spaced eyes with yellow irises, and erect breasts. It was hard to believe that she wasn’t human.

  She met his gaze. Her hair lengthened and turned golden, then orange. Her eyes nudged closer together, as did her breasts, and her nipples brightened to match the new hair and eye color. She smiled.

  Mental: “Thou hast no need to change for me,” he murmured, smiling back. “I be smitten with thee regardless.” But now it was easier to believe that she was alien. Agape, accented on the first of the three syllables, meaning “love.”

  Her hair continued to grow, becoming red, and it curled down across and around her breasts, which were gaining mass. “Make your move, Bane,” she said.

  He looked again at his grid, pondering. His mood was lightening, as perhaps she intended, but it was not easy to set aside the gravity of their situation.

  Chance: Bane was with the creature he loved, but he had little joy of it, because she would soon be leaving the planet and his life. Citizen Blue had made it plain: as long as Mach and Bane represented the only contact between the frames of Proton and Phaze, and the Contrary Citizens and Adverse Adepts desired such contact, the boys were probably safe. But their girlfriends were at risk, because they could be kidnaped and used to put pressure on the boys. Therefore the relationships had to be sundered, lest much worse occur. It was risky for them to maintain their association.

  Agape had agreed to return to her home planet, Moeba. But the Contrary Citizens were watching, and would surely try to intercept her at the port and take her captive. So for the nonce she remained with the experimental group, and Bane had the benefit of her company. Every day might be the last together, so they did their best to make it count.

  Arts: Today they were playing the Game. They had had a bad experience with it on the estate of Citizen Purple, but now they had the chance to play it as it should be played, unrigged, for fun instead of for life. It was fairly new to each of them, because Bane was from another frame and Agape was from another world. Neither was what either appeared to be; each was fashioned artistically to be on the appealing side of ordinary.

  Her breasts caught his eye again, just above the level of the console. Now they were huge and purple.

  He laughed. “Thou be trying to distract me!” he accused her. “So I may make a bad choice!”

  “Curses, foiled again,” she muttered. She had studied hard to learn human idiom as well as custom, and seemed to enjoy showing off her increasing mastery of both.

  “I want to make love to thee,” he said, experiencing a reaction.

  “You did that this morning,” she reminded him. “Have you forgotten already?”

  “Nay, I remember! That be why I want it again.”

  “Well, defeat me in the game, and you can do with me what you will.”

  “But what if I lose?” he asked.

  “Then I will do with you what I will.”

  He reflected on that, and his erection doubled its growth. A passing couple noticed. “I’d like to know what game they’re getting!” the man said.

  Too late, Bane remembered that he was now able to control such reactions. He thought the correct thought, and his member subsided. But his desire remained, for he could not control his mind as readily as his body.

  He touched the number 1. PHYSICAL. He wanted to get physical with her, in or out of the game.

  She had already made her selection. It was B. TOOL. Was she teasing him with another idiom, because of the reaction he had just quelled?

  He grimaced. The way his thoughts were going, he would have preferred A. NAKED. Of course that wasn’t literal; it simply meant that the players were rele
gated to their bare hands. All serfs of Proton were unclothed; that had no significance here. It had taken him some time to get used to this, but now he accepted it.

  A new set of boxes appeared on his screen. This was the Secondary Grid, and its numbers across the top were labeled 5. SEPARATE 6. INTERACTIVE 7. COMBAT 8. COOPERATIVE. Down the side were E. EARTH F. FIRE G. GAS H. H2O. The letters were highlighted for him this time.

  He looked at her again. She had reverted to a more normal figure and color, except for her nipples and eyes, which were now electric green. What would she choose? 8. COOPERATIVE? Maybe he could still get close to her. “Earth” meant a flat surface, as opposed to the variable or discontinuous surfaces of the following options, or the liquid surface of H20. Cooperation on a flat surface—that might be good.

  He touched the E panel. Again, her choice was ready.

  She had chosen 5. SEPARATE. So much for that. Was she teasing him again? No, she was merely playing the game, unaware of his thoughts. They would do what they would with each other after the game; they had no need to do it in the game. He was being foolish.

  They were in 1B5E: the category of tool-assisted physical games, individually performed on a flat surface. That did not sound very appetizing to Bane.

  This time the grid was only nine squares, with the numbers 9, 10 and 11 across the top and the letters J, K, and L down the left side. There were no words there, but there were a number of choices listed to the right. These consisted of ball games, wheeled games, and assorted odds and ends games that had perhaps been lumped into this category because it was the least irrelevant place for them.

  Bane hesitated, not sure where to go from here. “Now we place games,” Agape explained. “May I have the first turn?”

  Bane shrugged. “Thou mayst.”

  She put her finger to her screen and evidently touched KNITTING, for that word brightened on his screen. Then she must have touched the center square of the grid, for abruptly the word was there.

  “Knitting?” he asked. “What kind o’ game be that?”

  “A woman’s game,” she said smugly. “I am not good at it, because we do not have it in my society, but I had to learn its basics in order to come here; I suspect that you, being arrogantly male, have never had experience with it.”

  Bane opened his mouth, and shut it again. She had him dead to rights.

  “Now you place one,” she said.

  “Ah.” If knitting was a tool-assisted physical game of the female persuasion, there were many others of the male persuasion. He put his finger on BALL: Throwing. She would have trouble throwing a ball as far as he could! He touched the upper left square, and the expression appeared there.

  She put SEWING beside it in the top row.

  He scowled. If she got three lined vertically, then got to choose the numbers, she would be guaranteed one of her choices! But no, he remembered now that the turns alternated; the last person to place a game, which on this odd-numbered grid would be her, had to yield the choice of sides to the other. So he could choose the vertical and avoid that.

  All the same, he played it safe. He put ICE SKATING in the middle of the bottom row.

  She put BAKING in the left center, or 9K square. He quickly filled in the other end of the K row with BICYCLE RACING so that she would not have a horizontal line. He was beginning to enjoy this; he had thought they would not play the game until the grids decided what it would be, but realized that they were already in it. This was the aspect of strategy, where the game could be virtually won or lost, depending on the player’s cleverness in choosing and placing.

  Agape put COOKING in the lower right corner.

  Bane put SHOT PUT in the lower left.

  She put SOAP BUBBLES in the upper right square, the final one. The grid was complete.

  He chose the numbers, though there did not seem to be much difference. Then he wrestled with the decision over which column to choose. If he took the first, he had two chances to win one of his sports: Ball-throwing or Shot-putting. But she would anticipate that, so take the middle row, winning her choice of Baking. So he should take one of the other columns… where the odds were two to one against him. Except that if she figured him to take the first column, so she chose the middle row, he obviously should take the third column, putting them in Bicycle Racing. So the odds weren’t really against him. Unless she realized this, so took one of the other rows, so as to win. So he should—

  He shook his head. He was getting confused! There was no way to be sure of victory; it was an endless maze of suppositions.

  He decided to go with the odds. He touched Column 9.

  This time she had not chosen before him, for the chosen box did not illuminate. His row highlighted; that was all.

  At last she chose. The 9K square lighted, then expanded to fill the full screen. She had won it after all: they would play the game of Baking.

  “Do you concede?” she asked.

  It was only part of the ritual, but he was tempted. What did he know of baking? His mother, the Lady Blue, had always handled that. But he didn’t like quitting, even when it was only a game. Even when it really didn’t matter who won or lost. “Nay.”

  “Will you accept a draw?”

  That was a generous offer! He knew he should take it, but he decided to take his loss like a man. “Nay.”

  She sighed. “I thought to bluff you,” she admitted. “I know nothing of baking.”

  “Then methinks we both should learn,” he said. “The loser must eat the winner’s effort.”

  “But you don’t even need to eat,” she reminded him.

  “Aye, but I can. Mayhap I will not have to.”

  She looked at her screen. “Oh, there is a list of baking choices. What do we want?”

  “Something simple,” he pleaded. “Something we ne’er can mess up too much.”

  “I agree.” She addressed the console. “What is simple, and tastes all right if poorly made?”

  BROWNIES, the screen replied.

  Agape looked at Bane. “Do you know what brownies are?”

  “Nay, if they be not a species o’ the elves.”

  “Neither do I. So we’re even. Let’s do it.”

  “Aye.”

  There was a message on the screen: ADJOURN TO KITCHEN ANNEX, BOOTH 15.

  They had committed themselves. They made their way to the kitchen annex.

  The booth was ready for them. Two chairs were at consoles, their screens lighted.

  Agape took one seat. Bane the other. Both consoles faced the wall. Bane’s screen said: TOUCH WHEN READY TO PROCEED.

  He reached out and touched Agape on the shoulder.

  “It means the screen!” she exclaimed. But she leaned over and kissed him.

  He had known that. Satisfied, he touched the screen. Nothing happened. “Thou hast to touch thine too,” he reminded her.

  “There’s someone watching us,” she murmured. “You can see him in the reflection of the wall.”

  He looked. It was a middle-aged serf, apparently one of the caretakers or troubleshooters of this section. He ran it through his brain’s storage bank, and culled a positive reference. The serf was legitimate. “He be an employee, likely assigned to watch lest some minion o’ a Citizen molest us,” he murmured back. “Blue be not one to let us be taken hostage again.”

  “Oh, of course,” she said, relaxing. She touched her screen.

  Now the game was on. A menu appeared on his screen:

  1B5E 9K BAKING BROWNIES MACH (R) VS AGAPE (A)

  1. GENERAL INSTRUCTIONS 2. OPTIONS 3. RECIPE 4. LIST OF INGREDIENTS 5. TERMINATE

  “What be ‘R’ and ‘A’?” Bane inquired.

  “Robot and android,” she replied.

  “But—”

  “This is a standard unit. It cannot distinguish between a robot and a human being inhabiting the body of a robot. See, you are also listed as ‘Mach.’ Similarly, it cannot distinguish between an android and an alien; it knows only the distinction
between Human, Robot, Android and Cyborg. So I count as an android.”

  He smiled. “Yet we be two other people.”

  “Two aliens,” she agreed. “From Phaze and Moeba. That is what brought us together.”

  “I would not change it.”

  “Nor would I.” She returned his smile. They were doing a lot of that, now. “But let’s get cooking.”

  “Aye.” He returned his gaze to the screen.

  He did not understand much of it, so he decided to start at the beginning: GENERAL INSTRUCTIONS. He touched the number 1.

  The original menu contracted and retreated to the upper right corner of the screen, evidently remaining functional. New words took over the left and center:

  MOST COOKING AND BAKING IS DONE BY REMOTE INSTRUCTION. ALL DIRECTIVES INDICATED ON THE SCREEN WILL BE IMPLEMENTED IN THE ACTIVITY CHAMBER IMMEDIATELY BEYOND THE CONSOLE. IF YOU ARE FAMILIAR WITH YOUR OPTIONS AND RECIPE, PROCEED DIRECTLY TO THE LIST OF INGREDIENTS AND MAKE YOUR SELECTIONS. IF NOT, PROCEED TO 2. OPTIONS.

  Well, that was clear enough. Bane touched 2. OPTIONS in the corner. He wondered how Agape was doing. She had come to Proton only a day before he had, but had been better prepared for it.

  OPTIONS: YOU MAY GO DIRECTLY TO THE LIST OF INGREDIENTS IF THE RECIPE IS ALREADY FAMILIAR.

  YOU MAY SPECIFY THE SYSTEM OF MEASUREMENTS EMPLOYED IN THE RECIPE AND LIST OF INGREDIENTS.

  YOU MAY SPECIFY A MULTIPLE OF THE STANDARD RECIPE. WARNING: THIS MAY AFFECT THE BAKING TIME AND THE QUALITY OF THE PRODUCT.

  YOU MAY SPECIFY VARIANTS OF THE STANDARD INGREDIENTS. WARNING: THIS IS NOT ADVISED FOR NOVICE PRACTITIONERS, AS IT MAY AFFECT THE QUALITY OF THE PRODUCT.

  YOU MAY SPECIFY VARIANTS OF OVEN TEMPERATURE AND DURATION. WARNING: THIS MAY AFFECT THE QUALITY OF THE PRODUCT.

  The list of options continued, but Bane had seen enough. He decided to stick with the standard recipe and ingredients. He touched 3. RECIPE.

  There it was: the listing of the materials that were to go into the production, with brief instructions on integration and processing.