Robot Adept

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:

SHOCK OF KOLO

FLETA OF UNI

PLAYER ONE:

PLAYER TWO:

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. MA CHINE 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.