Robot Adept

Chapter 6 Amoeba

Mach found himself naked in a chamber, embracing the alien female, Agape. “The exchange has been accomplished,” he said. “We had better disengage.” For Bane had conveyed to him that this was the office of one of the Contrary Citizens. What a place for them to hide!

“Where be we?” the woman asked.

He started to explain, then realized it was pointless, because she had been here all along. “But you already know that, Agape.”

“I be Fleta!” she said.

“Don’t tease me like that, Agape,” he said. “I love her.”

“Tease thee? I tease thee not,” she protested. They discussed the matter, and soon she satisfied him that she really was Fleta, who somehow had managed to exchange with him, and was now in the body of the alien female. What a development!

“This really be thy rovot form?” she asked.

He was glad to have his love with him, however unexpectedly, but this was decidedly awkward. Fleta had no notion of the ways of Proton, or even of the management of her strange body. She would quickly give herself away, if he didn’t indoctrinate her immediately. Her language alone…

They worked on it. Fleta adapted to the language fairly readily, and with some difficulty learned how to reshape her amoebic body. Learning how to cope in the frame of Proton would be a longer task; he had to settle for the minimum.

In the course of their discussion, he learned from her that Tan was the Adept of the Evil Eye, and that he had wanted to marry his daughter to Bane. How fortunate that Bane had resisted!

Teaching Fleta to eat the amoebic way was a challenge. Getting her through the night was another, because Agape’s body melted when it lost consciousness and puddled on the bed. But they squeaked through it, and in daytime Fleta was at the front desk as Agee, the android receptionist.

Meanwhile he researched their situation, and learned that the self-willed machines were helping, and had a plan to enter Agape in this year’s Tourney, which was about to begin. That would protect her from the Contrary Citizens until she washed out, when she would be shipped back to Planet Moeba, no interference brooked. Good enough; all she had to do was hide for three days, and she would be safe.

Except that it wasn’t Agape with him now, it was Fleta, and Fleta knew nothing about the Tourney, and less about Planet Moeba. It would be complete disaster to ship her there.

He would have to get her exchanged back to Phaze before she went to Moeba. That could be difficult. He would have to think about ways and means.

Tania stopped by the office: the very thing he hoped would not happen. She was striking in her fashion: a face that was removed from the ordinary by its tan eyes and framing of tan hair, and a well-developed body. Obviously she could be a beauty when she chose to be. At the moment she was too cold and Citizenlike despite her nakedness to be attractive, however. Serfs learned early to treat the bodies of Citizens as objects of veneration, not of interest, unless directed otherwise.

She reviewed Fleta in a cursory manner, then Mach. She wasn’t satisfied. She curtly ordered Fleta to requisition a replacement menial robot. Then she was gone. Perhaps it was a test; if so, Fleta passed it nicely, except for the single error of referring to him as a “rovot.”

Then Tania’s brother appeared. In Phaze it seemed that this young man had not yet assumed the office of the Adept, but in Proton he was evidently Citizen Tan. Parallelism was approximate, not perfect; otherwise Mach and Bane could not have been alternate selves.

Did the Citizen suspect? Mach watched with increasing apprehension as Tan questioned Fleta, then handled her, then took her to the sleeping chamber for a sexual exercise. Obviously a true android serf would be thrilled to have such attention from her employer, while an alien female in love with a robot would not. Could Fleta tolerate this intimacy for the sake of concealment of her nature? He feared she could not, and tried to interfere on a pretext.

And his body was abruptly shorted out. Now he knew, too late, that Tan suspected; he was helpless.

But Fleta, primed to act when he gave the word, decided it was time. She wrapped her amoebic flesh about Tan’s more sensitive parts and forced him to obey her. She made him free Mach, then deposit her in the waste disposal chute. The self-willed machines would guide her from there. She had escaped.

Leaving Mach with a hurting and humiliated Citizen.

It would not be smart for Tan to do anything to Mach, because Mach was the key to communication between the frames that the Contrary Citizens so very much desired. But Mach wasn’t sure that Tan was in a mood to be smart at the moment. He made a hasty retreat from the office, and with a speed that only a machine in a frame whose details were run largely by machines could manage, became lost in the service network. He knew Tan would not give the alarm; this would be a private grudge. Citizens did not take lightly to depradations on their dignity.

He consulted his brethren, the machines. He learned that there was indeed a search on for Agape (Fleta), and that it would be dangerous for her if Mach were to try to approach her before she was safely qualified for the Tourney.

Yet she would want and need his support. How could he provide it, without putting her in peril? How could he resist the natural urge to go to her prematurely?

He knew how. He requisitioned a unit and programmed a dialogue. He dictated an opening statement that would satisfy her as to his authenticity, and left the rest to interactivity. It would seem just like him, and give her comfort. He left it with the self-willed machines, who would use it when appropriate.

But when he set foot in the halls, and sought to lose himself among the walking serfs as he made his way to the estate of Citizen Blue, an android turned abruptly and threw an object at him. Mach dodged it, and it struck the wall beyond him, detonating in a flash and report like that of a small bomb but doing no harm. Apparently it was a toy, a mock explosive.

Mach took off after the android, who was trying to duck around a corner. He wanted to know who had sent him, and what the mock-bomb was supposed to do.

The android, like most of his species, was clumsy. Mach reached him easily, catching him by the shoulder.

The man whirled, flipping another bomb toward Mach’s face. Mach intercepted it with his left hand, his reactions much swifter and better coordinated than the android’s.

The bomb exploded in his hand, and the pieces of it fell away. It might have harmed a flesh hand, but not his. “What are you trying to do?” he demanded.

“Mark you,” the android said.

Suddenly Mach understood. That had not been a damage-bomb, but a marker-bomb! It had impregnated his hand with radiation that would enable him to be traced.

“Who sent you?” he asked.

“Citizen Tan.” The android was not even trying to evade; evidently his attempt to flee had been part of a ruse to get Mach close.

Mach let him go and ran on toward his destination. But he saw suggestive motion ahead, and realized that others were already closing in. They knew his destination, and his location, and would intercept him before he reached safety.

He had been right about Citizen Tan: the man was angry. Tan intended to capture Mach, regardless of the Contrary Citizens’ desire to get him to work for them. Injured pride was more immediate than long-term power. Fleta was safe because Tan could not find her—but Tan could get at her through Mach, reversing the ploy.

This situation had developed so quickly that Citizen Blue was not aware of it. Mach needed to get back to the self-willed machines, who would alert his father. But the minions of Tan were cutting him off from that contact too. Also, his contact with them now would serve as proof of their complicity. He had to find some other avenue of escape.

Mach charged back the way he had come. This happened to be the hall leading to the spaceport; he had entered it from a service aperture, which he did not dare use now, as the tracer radiation would betray his private contacts.

The spaceport? That was a dead end! They would close in on him there, and spirit him away before he could alert his side. Unless—

Why not? Their tracer would do them no good, if he were offplanet!

He hurried to the waiting shuttle. Ships did not actually land in the dome city; the shuttle conveyed passengers to the orbiting station, where they boarded the interplanetary vessels. He stepped in just as the port was starting to close; the shuttles departed on a rigid schedule every few minutes. He was safe from pursuit—for those few minutes.

He checked the screen for the imminent listings. Ships arrived and departed from and to a dozen planets every hour. There should be somewhere convenient, from which he could alert his father. It was ironic that they had been having so much trouble getting Agape offplanet, while he was doing it on the spur of the moment!

The name leaped out at him from the list: MOEBA. The very planet!

Mach laughed, internally. He would visit Planet Moeba.

Mach had been on interplanetary flights before; it had been a deliberate part of his education. He understood about the temporary blackout of Feetle (FTL—Faster Than Light) travel and the necessary adjustment of time to synchronize with that of the planet being approached. But he was surprised by the passengers.

It seemed that they were all from other planets; Proton had merely been a mail-stop, and he was the only new traveler. One individual resembled a molding green cactus. Another seemed like a living plate of spaghetti with olives for eyes. A third was rounded and furry, with half a dozen whistle-pipes poking out. The others were somewhat stranger.

Mach ran through his geography program, identifying the various species and cultures. They were all legitimate; the surprise was in finding such a varied assortment on a single ship. Their languages were all different, too, and he had no programs for these, so could not communicate.

He did have a program for Moebite, because of his association with Agape. He had never used it, but he automatically set up for likely eventualities. He had thought that Bane might find it useful; in the rush of events, he had neglected to inform his other self. How fortunate he had it now!

That jogged a little alarm circuit. His acquisition of that program was on record, which meant that Tan must know about it. Tan would not have known that it was for Bane; he would have thought it was for Mach himself. Tan might have concluded that Mach planned to go to Moeba at some time in the future.

Why, then, had Tan not acted to prevent it? Tan’s minions had tried to intercept Mach on the way to Citizen Blue’s estate; they had left an avenue to the spaceport open. That was the kind of error Citizens seldom made.

The timing had been remarkably convenient. Tan’s minions had struck just when the next ship out was the one to Moeba.

Mach had no further doubt: Tan had wanted him on this ship. That meant that there would be a welcoming party on Moeba. Away from Proton, Mach could not turn to his father for help. Perhaps a trap had been set for Agape, so that if she succeeded in departing Proton safely, she would still be taken captive. Now Tan had elected to use it on Mach. It could have been serendipitous for the Citizen: a trap set for one used to catch the other.

Now he was on the way to that trap, and he could not detour. The ship terminated at Moeba; it would undergo inspection and preparation for its next voyage, and only service crews would be permitted to remain on it. Mach would have to go to the planetary surface—where he would be vulnerable to whatever the Citizen had in mind. How could he escape it?

He smiled. There were ways. Bane, in this body, might have been helpless, but Mach was not.

First he had to eliminate the marker. He knew that his left hand was hopeless; once impregnated with radiation, it would remain so until the radiation faded, which could be years. So—

He opened his chest cavity and brought out a small tool. He used this to pry under the pseudoflesh of his left wrist and access the circuitry there. He nulled it, and separated the physical locks. Soon he removed the hand and sealed over the wrist.

Another passenger noted this procedure. “Most interesting,” the creature murmured. It was a serpentine form, with a dozen handlike projections along its sides. Perhaps its interest was professional.

Mach realized that the creature had spoken in Moebite. It must have learned the language for its visit. He held out the hand. “Would you like to borrow it?” he asked in that language. “I must warn you that it has been impregnated with marker radiation: harmless to living flesh, but a beacon for the party seeking it.” He held out the hand.

The creature took it. “I would like to study this. I regret I cannot detach one of my own. May I proffer some other item or service?”

“Perhaps a service. I believe that some party on Moeba intends to take me captive, identifying me by this hand. Would you care to lead that party astray?”

“I would be delighted!” the creature said.

Thus expeditiously was the deal made. Mach was gambling that the party would use the radiation to do the identification, not considering the physical appearance of the subject at all. It was evident that many strange creatures visited the planet, so appearance meant little.

He would have to do without his hand, but that seemed a necessary price for his freedom.

Now all he had to do was decide on a legitimate mission, since he would have to remain on the planet at least until another ship traveled back to Proton—and until he could safely return. That might be a while.

Actually, he had a mission: to learn how a robot might breed with a Moebite. This was the occasion to investigate the prospects.

In due course the ship arrived at the planet of the Amoeba and established orbit. The passengers were shuttled down on a winged craft that swooped onto a dark marsh. A submersible bubble took them to a chamber some distance below the surface.

It turned out that the other passengers were Moebites, returning from their various interplanetary missions. They had maintained their discrete disguises as a matter of principle while away from home, but now dissolved with relief into their natural jelly forms. They had assumed that Mach was another Moebite, and were evidently surprised when he did not melt.

The individual with the marked hand went immediately to another chamber, as if trying to escape detection. There was no immediate sign of pursuit, but Mach was sure some would soon manifest. There was no chance of losing track of that hand!

A Moebite formed into a vaguely human outline and approached him. “You have business here?” it inquired in its own language; Mach understood it only because of his language program.

“I have come to inquire about your nature and culture,” Mach said. His actual words were only approximately analogous to the ones he would have used on Proton.

“We are always glad to exchange information,” the Moebite said. “Do you wish a cultural tour?”

“Yes.” His preliminary research had indicated that this was the proper mode of introduction.

“I shall summon a guide.”

“Thank you.”

In a moment the guide appeared, in the guise of a naked human being, except for one distinction: it was neuter. “A greeting, man-being,” it said in Moebite. “I am Coan. Have you a preference?”

Mach considered. The creature was sexless, and could assume the appearance of either sex, just as Agape could. Agape had chosen to be female, and had then conformed psychologically to that image. He decided not to get involved with any other alien female. “Male, if you please. I am Mach.”

Coan’s midsection melted, then shaped into penis and scrotum. His hips thinned down slightly. He had made the requisite cosmetic adaptation.

“Our habitat is dry, but we handle wet well,” Coan said. “These are melt channels through which travelers normally pass.” He indicated several holes in the floor. As Mach looked, he saw one in use: semi-fluid substance was squeezing up from it and pooling around it. Soon the Moebite was through, and sliding toward a waiting region, evidently early for its ship.

“I hope there is an alternative exit,” Mach said. “My body is not flexible in this manner.”

“Our facilities for aliens are limited, but sufficient,” Coan said. “We shall utilize a capsule.” He showed the way to a port that could accommodate a man. He touched it and it opened, revealing the small transparent bubble beyond. They climbed in and sealed the bubble’s lock. Then the little craft moved through the water, dropping slowly to the sea floor and extending fibers that traveled along its nether side, moving it gently forward.

“What was the business of the other travelers?” Mach inquired.

“They are representatives to other planets. They assume the forms of the creatures whom they visit and learn their modes of communication. We are studying the galaxy, and wish to know as much as we can learn about the ways of other sapient species.”

“Because you have no technology of your own,” Mach said.

“True. We had no need of it until we made contact with other species. Now we realize that we are retarded in this sense, and we wish to make progress. We prefer not to be entirely dependent on other planets for our interplanetary contacts.”

Mach could appreciate why. Any aggressive planet could exploit Moeba unmercifully, and surely in time that would occur. “So you are studying technology, and trying to learn sexual reproduction, so that your species will evolve as effectively as others do.”

“You have an unusual comprehension of our effort,” Coan remarked.

“I am not a normal individual of my species,” Mach said. “I am a machine—”

“I had noted that. But you are self-willed.”

“Who is in love with a living creature of another species.”

“I begin to perceive the nature of your empathy,”

“I also represent, in a manner, the interest of another individual who is in love with a Moebite, and who I believe would like to breed with her.”

Coan considered a moment. “I believe we have some common interest. We must explore it in greater detail.”

“Agreed.”

The bubble reached the shore and crawled onto land, then stalled; its fiber-propulsion was unable to sustain the weight on land. The port opened, and they climbed out.

Coan escorted him to a building that appeared to have been constructed by natives of another planet. That made sense; the Moebites had had no technological culture of their own. This was the limitation they were trying to surmount.

“In the beginning, our culture was without form and void,” Coan said, showing a setting of deep water. “We were amoeba, but small, floating in the current. We were victim to other species, and to each other. Predator species were dominant.” And in the setting, little amoeba were engulfed by larger ones.

“We retreated to the least hospitable realms, the shallows and the rivers,” Coan continued as they moved to the next exhibit. “Conditions were more extreme here, and we had to develop tougher membranes and tougher protoplasm. But the predators did the same, and followed us. We retreated to the fresh water, developing membranes to contain our vital solutions, and finally to the land itself.” The settings showed this progression.

“But here the climate was truly savage. No amount of fleshly adaptation could sustain us against the alternate desiccation of the summer sunlight and freezing of the winter. But we discovered how actually to shape our environment somewhat for our comfort, by Grafting deep pools in hollows on the land that the predators could not reach, or by walling off sea inlets so that predators had difficulty passing. Food was a serious problem on land, but we learned to cultivate simple cells and feed on them.

“The most important breakthrough was the development of linguistic communication. It enabled us to form, in effect, a larger entity, that was better able to cope with inclement conditions. We now dominate our planet, and no other species preys on us. But when the first shuttle from an alien planet landed, we realized that a great deal more remained to be mastered.”

“But how do you reproduce?” Mach asked.

“By fission. We grow to sufficient size, then divide into clone entities, each the same as the original.”

“But this should result in the continual fragmentation of the species,” Mach protested.

“No. When two of us have need, we flow together, and the dominant genes establish a new entity with traits of each of the contributors. Then we fission, and the clones are similar. This process maintains a unified species.”

“But each individual loses its identity when mergence occurs,” Mach protested. “A new individual is formed, a compromise creature.”

“Yes. This is why our leading scholars avoid mergence as long as possible. Unfortunately, mergence is our nature; aging and weakening occur if it is postponed too long. Thus we are unable to maintain a truly discrete intellectual stratum in the fashion of the creatures of other planets. This, we now perceive, is a liability.”

“Sexual reproduction allows individuals to reproduce in a species-unifying way without sacrificing their individuality,” Mach said. “That is an asset.”

“Yes. That is why we seek to master this style of reproduction. We are devising a mechanism of uneven fission, so that the clones are not of the same size.”

“But the merging entities must still form new individuals,” Mach protested. “The size should not affect that.”

“True. But it enables one of the clones to retain identity.”

“I am a machine. My thinking may be limited. I don’t follow this.”

Coan showed him to another exhibit. This was an expanded view of two amoeba. “Each adult fissions unevenly,” he explained. As he spoke, the models divided, each forming one large and one small daughter cell. The amoeba, of course, were single-celled, despite their size. “But this is contrary to our nature; the smaller individuals cannot survive alone, being too small to sustain the sophisticated processes of our advanced state. They must merge immediately, while the larger ones are able to survive independently.” The two small ones merged, forming a new individual of about the size of the parent amoeba.

Now Mach understood. “The two parents survive unchanged; together they have generated a new individual, without sacrificing their identities!”

“Yes. This is our analogue of sexual reproduction. By this device we can retain our memories and culture, without sacrificing succeeding generations. But problems remain. The fission into uneven clones is not natural to us, and there is little individual incentive to do it. We need to make it sufficiently rewarding so that every one of us has an incentive to do it this way instead of the old way.”

“And so you are studying the other species of the galaxy, seeking the secret of sexual attraction and fulfillment,” Mach said. “That was what Agape was doing, when she encountered—” He hesitated, then continued. “Me.”

“Yes. It appears that she was successful.”

“I believe so. Not only did she learn the physical pleasure of sexual union, she learned the emotional pleasure of love.”

“We have had difficulty with the latter concept.”

“I am sure you have! But Agape will try to explain it to you when she returns to this planet. Meanwhile, if I might offer a suggestion—”

“We are seeking suggestions from all sources.”

“I am a robot. I have no natural emotions or pleasures. All that I am is unnatural: the result of programming for specific effects. Yet I do have pleasure, and I do love. Perhaps you need to program artificial inducements for your artificial process of reproduction.”

“How can you, as you say a machine, know that your feelings would have meaning for living creatures?” Coan asked. “You have had no living experience.”

Mach decided to be open. “I have had living experience. My identity has crossed over into the body of a living male. I found the sensations and emotions more intense, but of the same general nature. I had not understood them before that experience, but when I returned to my machine body, so did the emotions, and I know they are the same, only reduced somewhat in strength. Enhancement of my programming could correct that. If you could arrange for genetic programming of similar emotions—”

Just then two others barged into the chamber. “My pursuers!” Mach said. “I must flee or fight!”

“But there can be no violence here!” Coan protested. Mach ran for the far exit—and encountered a third intruder, a Moebite in the form of a giant legged ball, with two tentacles at the top holding the poles of what he recognized as an electronic shorting device. One touch of that, and he would be turned off. They had come prepared!

But they were amoeba, not robots. They lacked his strength and ferocity of reflex. He dived below the dangerous tentacles and slammed into the ball-body. It squished. He reached up to grasp the insulated handle end of a pole and ripped it out of the flaccid grasp. He jammed the point against the opposite point.

There was a flash. That shorted out the shorter; it was now useless. He dropped it and scrambled on out of the chamber.

Soon he found himself outside, on land. But the others were following, and he knew they would not be careless again with their shorters. He had to get farther away.

The water! He could handle it, and the shorter could not. He would be safe there. He ran for it, and plunged in.

In a moment he was in the wilderness of uncivilized Moeba. Life was thick, here in the sunlit shallows, and he discovered to his surprise, also beautiful.

Some shapes were like yellow ferns, waving gently in the warm current. Some were like patches of blue gelatin, spread across the warm rocks. Some were like pink puffballs clinging to vertical surfaces, and others like the thick brown bristles of scrub brushes. Some were like flowing syrup, and some like puffy white mold—which they just might be. Many were like large ant eggs standing on end, and many others were like dewed spider webs.

This was the realm from which Agape had sprung. He made a file of photographs of it, so that Bane would be able to recall this information and see it all, exactly as Mach was seeing it now, when Bane returned to this body. Mach knew that his living other self would be pleased.

He was safe, now, walk-swimming through the water. But how was he to return safely to Proton? By this time Citizen Blue would have secured things there; all Mach needed to do was get there, and see how Fleta was doing.

He decided to wait a reasonable interval, then return to the museum, where the Moebite authorities should have dealt with the intruders. As Coan had said violence was not tolerated there; they would do whatever they did to criminals. Then he would be able to return to the space station in the normal manner and take the next ship for Proton. It should be straightforward now that he had triggered the trap and escaped it. Agape too, should be safe, when she came here; the Contrary Citizens’ fangs had been pulled, at least on this planet.

Meanwhile, he would explore this realm further recording as much of its beauty as he could for Bane.