The Morphodite

by M. A. Foster

  4. The sole implement of the sport is a narrow, weighted leather sack with a grip handle at the narrow end, called “The Scorpion.” The first Dragon (or lead player) is selected by scrimmage, the players linking arms and trying to reach the scorpion which has been placed in the center of the huddle. The winner of this free-for-all then displays the scorpion for all to see, delivering a monologue describing his or her qualifications and past triumphs, or virtues. During this speech, a harangue, judges take up positions, spectators gather in strategically placed huddles, and players attempt to conceal themselves or get as far as possible from the Dragon. At the conclusion of the monologue, the Dragon attacks whomever he pleases with the object of striking another player with the scorpion, either thrown or as a blow, whereupon that player then becomes the next Dragon.

  5. Dragon is played in all cases in the evening or night, and play continues until all players have had an opportunity to be the Dragon. Each Dragon is authorized a monologue, and most take advantage of the opportunity, but only the first dragon is required to make it The same rules apply as with the first: free movement is permitted during the speech.

  6. There is no preferred mode of attack: the scorpion may be wielded or thrown. However, if thrown and missed, the intended target may capture the scorpion without becoming a dragon, and may do anything with it: he may throw it away, or hide it, or keep it as long as he can.

  7. Individual style is all-important: some prefer stealth and subtlety, sneaking up on their targets and laying the scorpion on them gently, while others pursue their targets belligerently, screaming invective and curses, and then batter them to the earth. There are no rules here and no fouls and no penalties. The dragon may act solely as he sees fit. Serious injury is not uncommon, and death not all that rare.

  8. At the end of the game, agreed by mutual consent, the stake is distributed to players, judges and spectators, in the ratio (as listed) 3:2:1. Those players who were dragons often are awarded bonuses, which are taken from the spectators’ shares.

  9. No one is barred or refused. There are no membership rules, save a desire to participate in the risk of the game. Neither age nor sex is a factor. The only crime in the game is to enter and then leave the field, which event is regarded with scorn and ostracism, which may extend to real-life activities.

  10. The alteration of personality upon entering a dragon game is marvelous to behold. Quite often, the local bully will become meek and skulking, while a civil servant of impeccable exactitude may rush about applying homicidal violence to anyone he may meet.

  11. Certain individuals become well known as masters of the game or else as trustworthy judges. Others become equally famous for avoiding the scorpion, whereupon they are known as squids (traditional usage) and considered equally honorable. Another curious facet of the game is that despite the rigid organization of Lisak society, prominent public personages also play, and indeed, there appears to be a correlation such that the intangible esteem level of the player translates into major position within society.

  12. Some of the operatives assigned to this project have entered the game and found it, especially in the context of Lisak society, pleasurable and exhilarating. However, in the light of its anarchic violence and irresponsibility, we cannot recommend its introduction in the Homeworlds.

  With respect: A. Glist—Symbarupol.

  Outside the Residence, Charodei, Yadom and Lozny all felt exposed and vulnerable. They had felt the risk was worthwhile before and so ignored their danger instincts; but now that the business was done, and the decision made, they felt, as one, disoriented and deflated, and so their previous feeling rose again; this was, after all, Symbarupol, the nerve center nexus of that which they would demolish and replace with a better world. They walked along the dark, curving walkway which led to the Residence, all wishing to have the last words said and be on their separate ways, to the ends of the world.

  Yadom hissed, “Well, tell me: can we depend on this?”

  Charodei said, “Improbable as it sounds, there’s that insane ring of unspeakable truth to it…”

  Lozny said, a low muttering, “Hum. Likely so. But I’m going to ask us: with such a weapon, why does the owner of it give it away? Nobody gives anything away!”

  Charodei answered, “Well said! But consider that he did not give Rael to us but wished to know if we would take advantage of a possible release.”

  Lozny snorted, “Dialectical hair-splitting. Rampant squidism”

  “Ah, no—not acting the Squid, but the squum*, for in the distinction lies the germ of it. No doubt Pternam’s got all sorts of oddities and freaks in there, some projects that never came to anything, others that failed too many times, transformations too difficult. But this one, against the odds, worked: a fearsome thing. Yet how would he employ it? It is a destroyer.”

  * Dragon jargon: one who demonstrably invites attack, to become Dragon.

  Yadom said, “He could take it to Clisp or the Serpentine.”

  Lozny huffed, “Wrong. Even Pternam is perceptive enough to know how tight a rein Chugun keeps on those places. No, it would not come from a place, but something spread throughout the system, as we are. And certainly, there is no other group who can claim to have the contact we do with all parts of Lisagor.”

  Charodei said, “No group we know of.”

  “Do you know of one?”

  “No. But that does not delimit all possibilities. I say this because Pternam may have had alternate courses in mind. He may know of one.”

  Yadom said, “I think not. There was a do-or-die element to the proceedings.”

  Lozny said, “So we would believe.”

  Charodei said, “You don’t trust it. Well, neither do I, but all the same, I am for preparedness.”

  Yadom agreed. “Just so. We wait, and then move. This may well be the chance we need. The improbable ally. Stranger things have happened. Who knows what his motivations are? And, for that matter, who cares? It will all be moot when we get control, because The Mask Factory will be the first thing to go.”

  Lozny nodded with grim satisfaction. “Right. And what do we do with the Azart woman? Leave her on the loose? I don’t buy at all that line about not remembering. Perhaps the first time—all right. That one forgotten under trauma. But the second, when he’s already predicted what he’s going to turn into and can draw a picture of her? No. With that kind of control, he’s built a fortress, so there will be something left over to achieve whatever it is he wants. And we definitely don’t want something like that lying around self-controlled. What if she decides she doesn’t like our way, and starts tinkering with our new order?”

  Yadom said, “A dreary, dismal business, but those things can be arranged, as you know. After the change, she will be sick, and require care…”

  Charodei said, “But with the training it’s had, and even partial retention by the subsequent persona, Azart, it could be dangerous to approach it, to attack it. It would have to be something other than a frontal attack.”

  Yadom purred, “I have just the thing in mind. We have a young fanatic in Marula, one Cliofino Orlioz, who, in addition to a most murderous disposition, is something of a celebrity among the ladies.”

  Lozny concurred at once. “Exactly! He has the face of a poet, the body of a young athlete, and the mind of a war criminal. We shall install young Cliofino as an orderly in the Marula Palliatory.”

  “…A physical therapist. He will seduce her, of course. That way he can get close enough, I would suppose.”

  Lozny said, “Leave the details to me! We can handle it! I’ll see he has backup, too.”

  “Not too many. We’ll need them elsewhere, you know.”

  “As you say… And the signal can come from him, too: because whatever Rael does, if he appears as Azart, there’s no doubt. Nobody can mistake that. So we’ll have Cliofino give the alert too. Very good! So it shall be!”

  Charodei suggested, “And now to our separate paths.”

  Yadom sa
id, “Yes, separate. And Lozny… Make sure. If this is what is going to give it to us, we don’t want it left for anyone else to use… and especially not itself. Let it do it, but afterwards, kill it! Under no circumstances must that creature run free!”

  “As you order it, that’s how it will be. Until next time.”

  Luto Pternam had returned to the chamber after the others had left. Orfeo Palastrine, his Commander of Guards in the section below the Residence, had tried, politely but insistently, to persuade him otherwise, but Pternam had insisted on returning. The danger, so he thought, was almost over. Most certainly, the time for release of the Morphodite was drawing near; perhaps was now. At any rate, he wanted to have a small talk with Rael before things became set in concrete.

  In the chamber, there was a sense of tension departed: a relaxation and a fatigue, overlain with a wariness, a mistrust Pternam heard the locks click into place behind him and observed that Rael this time did not lock the chamber from the inside.

  Observing this, he said, plainly, “I see you do not lock the door ”

  Rael nodded, slowly. “This is correct; agreement has been reached, has it not? So I no longer restrain myself.”

  Pternam thought a moment, then said, “It is your wish that we open the way?”

  “Yes.”

  “There is haste?”

  “Were there haste, I would not be here now, asking.”

  Pternam thought of the massive building above their heads, the system of deadfalls, the guards, the cylinders of toxic gases and inflammables in readiness. Surely this… creature did not think he could simply walk out if he wanted. Yet he spoke plainly, like one stating a simple fact. Pternam ruefully considered that there was probably more in this Angel of Death than they had put into him, her, it He moved his head once, as if to concur, and said, “Explain. You have trod strange paths since we first met.”

  Rael said, “And you have remained on the broad thoroughfare. No matter. I will expliciate: Power consists of four components, which are in order of importance, Will, Timeliness, Skill, and Strength, weighted so that in that order, it is 4+3+2+1=10, which is the Whole. The Strength a person has, his force, his resources: that is the least part of it —even Timeliness outweighs it. Here, you have arranged things so that my Strength is low compared with yours. But in all other things I have more. Some of that you gave by intent, some by accident, and some came of my own devising. Let it be so, for I have done what you asked, and made cause with the revolutionaries, as asked, and now comes the rest of it.”

  “Yes, my part of the bargain. Very well…” Pternam made a hand signal to the observers outside, and when he heard no response, made it again, more emphatically. Then he heard the locks release. He said, “The way is now open.”

  “That is good.”

  “Indulge my curiosity: do you wish to leave tonight out of a sense of urgency, of Timeliness?”

  “I appreciate your question, but cannot answer it. To answer is to contaminate the computation; to answer is to violate a basic fact of life, indeed all existence: things happen in their own time. If one has to hasten, it is already too late, is it not?”

  “If you so aver.”

  Rael continued, “This computation I do is difficult, and complex and recursive: by that, I mean that there are stages in the process which cannot be compressed or jumped. A computer could do it faster, but not better. I would say that this would be wrong, inasmuch as the act of computation itself is included within the system of computation: how it is performed influences the result In the end of it, it gives me a four-dimensional answer: place, time, method, circumstance, identity. I study the symbols, and by the knowledge of interpretation and isomorphism of this system, I come to see it, as a fact: premembering.”

  “It is not easy, then? I mean, practice with it has not made it easier to do?”

  “The more you do it, the harder it gets. This contradicts common experience, yes, but that is how it is. You see more and more, and then the overriding problem becomes to stop the pattern… it just keeps on going, into deeper and deeper levels. No, I would not use a computer to do this; the speed of the computation… ah… makes it harder to disengage. I would fear for the safety of the machine, and for the fabric of local space-time—it induces strains. I suspect that at the maximum computational speeds, you would be manipulating the future—not just seeing it come to be, but changing it directly.”

  “That’s magic, such as certain old legends speak of.”

  “I can comprehend that if you do it a certain way, what would occur would look like magic to an outside observer—there would be change without apparent reason. Things would appear without cause. Disappear, too. I know of no way to do this and protect oneself from the field, if I may call it that.”

  “Some would call what you do magic of the direst sort.”

  “All call things they don’t understand magic—usually evil magic. Especially the way of knowing.”

  “Interesting. I would like to explore this.”

  “I do not desire that you know it. One like me is quite enough for this corner of the universe.”

  Pternam felt a sudden surge of alarm as Rael spoke. Could this thing see that they had tried once before and failed, in this very part, and that the subject had evaded them. Harmless, true. It was a creature somewhat like Rael, but it had not been able to understand what they wanted of it. Could he see the past, too?

  He said, “Can you see the past as well?”

  “I do not choose to look at it; no matter, for the past is embedded in the present The present contains it entirely. I know this is a disturbing notion.”

  “Indeed.”

  Rael paused, and then said, “I must say one more thing, and then the time will have arrived.”

  “Say as you will.”

  “I normally would not, but there is something here I do not understand entirely, because I did not have the time to follow out the implications; I could see a certain condition, but not where its roots led. I think it is something about your world-line that you do not know about Your actions indicate a blindness to it. Therefore I must inform you.”

  “Continue.”

  “A… condition of existence is a balancing of forces, a tension. I would expect a bipolar field for this place, this time. That is what the theory I have worked out calls for. But here, there is a third field, extremely subtle, but I sense power behind it, at a great distance. This makes the field here tripolar.”

  “Does that change what you do?”

  “No. I act at the point where the three sets intersect. But hear me: something on this world maintains it, that is not of this world. I have not determined what it is. It is masked very well here, and extremely difficult to see. I understand that I will see it later, but for the now, I would have to run a special series to capture it”

  “This maintaining set: it opposes us?”

  “That is the odd part: it supports. Were such a thing to exist, I would think it weighted on the side of opposition, but this is not so—it maintains. Supports Lisagor as it is. You may wish to look into this.”

  Pternam said, “Why? By releasing you, I unleash Change upon the world.”

  “Just so—even the names of places will change.” And then he said, “I have not determined your motives yet—that is another set of exercises I have not had the time or given the priority to do. Yet things are not as they seem to you, and you may wish to take some action or initiate a search.”

  Pternam shrugged and said, “You will change things. It matters not.”

  “Very well. Release me.” Rael stood up, and began to arrange the papers and tablets on his work desk.

  Pternam said, “What will you take with you?”

  “My knowledge. I leave you my notes; you may study them at your leisure.”

  “Aren’t you afraid that we’d learn how to do this ourselves?”

  Rael gave a slight chuckle. “Not at all. If you understand what’s in those notes, you won’t dare. A
nd besides, giving you this has no effect on things. Or not giving: it makes no difference. A rare find, I assure you, when it makes no difference.”

  “Very well. The door is unlocked, and the troops are advised. It is appropriate to wish you luck?”

  Rael said, “I can appreciate the sentiment expressed.” He looked at Pternam directly. “But in a sense, which I perceive, there really is no such thing as luck. Remember my equation of Power? Therein was no mention of luck… Enjoy your studies.”

  And with no more than that, Tiresio Rael went to the door, stepped through it as it was opened for him, and turned the corner. He was now loosed.

  Pternam remained for a time in the chamber, gathering up in a slow, bemused fashion the notes, notebooks, and scratch pads which Rad had left behind; artifacts of some unknown process, whose validity Pternam seriously doubted. Still, he was certain that Rael would do something, however irrational it was. But he, Pternam, knew better. The basic idea they had fed Rael was false, and he had erected a science upon a totally worthless proposition; no matter—they had this world under control, and Rael was the last decoy. His key to the Inner Council, and with that the Central Committee… He glanced down at the pile of papers he was gathering, and leafed idly through them, thinking to himself that they would make an interesting study for that section which specialized in delusions. Excellent material! But it caused him a peculiar emotion for which he had no name when his eye struck upon a short phrase close to the margins of one of the formulae-covered sheets.

  It said, in Rael’s meticulous printing, “It makes absolutely no difference whether one approaches the universe from an initial position of truth or falsity; it all comes out, if pursued far enough. And the Answer astounds either origin equally.—TR”

  Anibal Glist was not accustomed to receiving visitors at late hours; he was one to retire early and leave alley-skulking to others of more ambitious bent. Therefore it was somewhat of a surprise to him to be awakened by a hurried knocking at his door, sometime, he imagined, in the hours between midnight and morning. He could not recall afterward what time it had been. But the subject soon made itself most memorable.