Robot Adept

But on Phaze serfs wore clothing. Bane had been clothed. She had been so distracted she had hardly noticed! So nakedness might be an error here. If this really were Phaze.

She didn’t know, so after brief consideration, she removed her cloak. She had nothing on beneath it, other than the orange socks; her body was lithe and well formed, and seemed designed to be free of constraint. She walked on, feeling better.  But after a time she felt the heat on her shoulders, and realized that the sunlight was damaging them. Nakedness was a privilege available only to those in protected environments, such as the domes! With regret, she unfolded the cloak and donned it again; it was better to sweat than to burn.

Sweat? She didn’t sweat! Moebites dissipated heat by extending thin sheets of flesh to radiate excess calories, and by reducing activity. Only true human beings exuded moisture from their skins for the purpose of cooling. And horses. And androids.

Was she a true human being now? If so, she had to be in Phaze. No—she could be an android in Proton, so that was not definitive.

Yet how could her mind have been transferred to another living body? She was not a robot or cyborg; her mind was a part of her entire physical being, in separable from the flesh. If she had accompanied Bane to Phaze, it would be an aspect of the exchange; Fleta the Unicorn would now be in Proton with Mach the Robot. But that might be just what the Citizens wanted her to think. Perhaps they did have a technique for transferring consciousness of an android body, perhaps maintaining an electronic link to her natural one. How could she tell the difference? Or they could simply have drugged her and given her hypnotic suggestion, to cause her to dream a programmed dream and believe that her body as she now found it was real. In that case, there would be no real danger to her—but the Citizens might go to extremes to make her think there was danger.  As if on cue, a great hulking shape appeared in the air: some monstrous flying creature. It looked very like a dragon.

Should she try to hide from it, or should she ignore it? If this were a setup, it wouldn’t matter. But if this were real, she could be in serious trouble.  She decided to play it safe. She ducked, trying to hide in the high grass.

But the dragon, evidently questing for prey, had al ready spotted her. It flew directly toward her. It came close, circled her once, then made a strafing run. Fire shot from its mouth, coming straight at her.  She threw herself aside. The fire ignited the grass.  behind her, and scorched her backside. Indeed, her cloak was burning, and she felt the flame as if it were roasting her own flesh. She threw herself down flat, to roll, to crush the blaze out, but it continued stubbornly.  Meanwhile the dragon was looping about, readying itself for a second run. This time she knew it would not miss.

Then she remembered the spell that Bane had given her. Maybe it was all part of the fakery, but she would have to use it! “Agape, Agape, Agape!” she cried.  The dragon, orienting on her, hesitated. It peered down, perplexed. It flew over her without firing, then looped back and searched again. It sniffed the air. Then, frustrated, it flew away, trailing a small, angry plume of smoke.

The spell had worked—or had seemed to. The dragon had not been able to see, hear or smell her. But she was perfectly perceivable to herself, and she still cast a shadow. So if the spell was genuine, it operated only on the perceptions of the predator. If it was fake, then the dragon, or dragon mock-up, had simply been feigning.

That fire was real, though! There was a smoldering patch of grass, and her cloak had a hole in it near the pocket. Indeed, the feather had been scorched.  “Who calls? Who calls?” someone screeched.  Agape looked up, startled. It was another flying creature. This one was much smaller, being a gross woman headed bird. She smelled awful, and had a fright-wig head of hair or feathers. She was a harpy, one of the creatures in the human pantheon.

Was Agape still unperceivable? How long did the ‘spell last?

“I smelled thy signal, but I see thee not!” the harpy screeched. “Where dost thou be?”

Smelled her signal?

The harpy circled. “Damn!” she muttered. “Mayhap the dragon got him, ere the smell of my burned feather reached me!”

Burned feather? That was the signal? If Fleta had kept that feather, knowing it would summon the harpy when burned, that harpy must be a friend.  “Here I am,” Agape called, almost before she realized she was doing it.

The harpy whirled in air and peered down at her.  “Ah, now I see thee, mare! Glad am I thou wast not hurt! Yet why didst thou summon me, an thou escaped the dragon?”

“The dragon’s fire burned the feather,” Agape explained.

The harpy screeched so violently with laughter that she practically fell out of the air. “Aye, don’t that beat all! An accident! But how earnest thou to run afoul o’ a dragon? Why not change form to thy natural state and pipe it off?”