Robot Adept

A ripple of light spread out from him, causing the very night to wave and the stars overhead to glimmer in unison. It was the splash, again, faint because this was not its first invocation, but definite.  Suddenly Fleta was there, in girlform, in his embrace.  She had received it, and must have flown, literally, to rejoin him. She said no word, but her tears were coursing. There was no separation of any type between them now.

On the third day they caught up to Bane. He was evidently in Hardom, the Proton city-dome that was at the edge of the great southern Purple Mountain range.  In Phaze it was the region that harpies clustered. Thus the Proton name, reflecting the parallelism: HARpy DOMe, Hardom. But there were no harpies in Proton, of course, other than figuratively.

They paused to pay a call on the harpy they had befriended during their flight from the Adverse Adepts and their minions the goblins. That had been before the Translucent Adept’s intercession and their change of sides. This was Phoebe, who had by virtue of Mach’s fouled-up magic gained a horrendous hairdo that she liked screechingly well. It had enabled her to assume leadership among her kind, having before been outcast because of an illness. Fleta had cured that illness, which was the real basis of the unusual friendship; harpies generally had no interest in human or in unicorn acquaintance.

Phoebe was perched in her bower. Her head remained the absolute fright-wig that Mach had crafted, with radiating spikes of hair that made her reminiscent of a gross sea urchin. “Aye!” she screeched. “The rovot and the ‘corn. I blush to ‘fess it, but glad I be to see ye again!”

“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 dog gerel 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—