Piers Anthony - Robot Adept

That problem had been solved. Now she should be able to function. She sat at the desk and began her day’s work.

They were fortunate: no one came to the office that day, and there were no calls. Mach was able to brief her on many further details, so that she was beginning to feel halfway competent. It was true: an idiot—or a unicorn—could fill this position. She also developed better facility in eating, and learned how to eliminate by forming a ball of wastes inside, then softening her flesh to let it pass outside at the appropriate time and location.

But the effort had wearied her. By day’s end, she was eager to sleep.

She lay down to sleep. But as soon as she relaxed, she started to melt. Alarmed, she reformed herself and approached Mach. “I’m melting! I can’t sleep—I might dissolve away!”

He smiled reassuringly. “That’s why there is no camera coverage in that chamber; the machines saw to it that Bane and Agape were sent to an office that did not yet have full equipment. Agape is an amoeba; her natural form is a blob of protoplasm. Only when she is awake can she maintain humanoid form. Do not be concerned; you can reform when you wake.”

“But I be not sure I can find this exact shape again!” she wailed.

“I think the body has memory devices that enable it to return to prior forms, just as you have them for your unicorn forms. I will inform you of any deviance.”

“But what if I melt into the bed?”

“I don’t believe that will happen. Your surface retains its skin, which contains the fluids. Also, I suspect that the amoeboid form does not relinquish consciousness completely; it probably shores up its surface at need, to prevent seepage. Human beings perform similarly in sleep, not falling off beds and not releasing urine during sleep. Maintenance circuitry.”

Moderately reassured, she returned to the bed and let herself dissolve. Sure enough, she neither flowed off the bed nor released fluids into it as she slept. She woke after a few hours, refreshed.

Next day the worst happened: Tania stopped by the office. She was a buxom woman of about twenty-one, her somewhat plain face enhanced by an artful framing of luxurious hair. She was technically a serf, so was naked, but she carried herself as if clothed.

Mach stood absolutely still, a machine out of action, in an alcove in the wall. Fleta was at the desk, where she belonged; it was her duty to handle whatever tasks were required, such as providing information about the location of her employer, Citizen Tan. Fleta was of course aware of Tania’s identity; the woman had given it for admission to the office, and she matched her picture.

Tania eyed Fleta. Her eyes possessed a peculiar intensity; obviously in Phaze that would manifest as the evil eye. “Any news?” she asked curtly.

“No, Tania,” Fleta said, as Mach had told her.

The woman eyed her. Her eyes were the color of her hair and nails: tan. “Android, you will address me as Tan.”

“Yes, Tan,” Fleta said obediently. Mach had warned her that this woman might be imperious, and that though she could not, be addressed as “sir” she probably wished she could be. She knew from her own knowledge of Adepts in Phaze that the utmost caution was in order.

“Stand, android,” Tania snapped. “Come in front of the desk where I can see you.”

Fleta stood and went around to the front. Serfs were not supposed to answer Citizens unless an answer was called for, and Tania was to be treated like a Citizen.

“Turn around.”

Fleta turned, while the woman’s eyes probed her body. “You aren’t very intelligent,” Tania remarked.

Fleta was tempted to reply that most animals weren’t, but stifled it. Mach had explained that she was passing for an android, and that few androids approached the human level of mental performance.

“What is the nature of ultimate reality?” Tania asked.

Fleta stared at her, needing no effort to feign confusion. She smiled and looked blank in the approved manner. “Should I ask the screen, Tan?” she asked at last.

“Don’t bother, android.” Tania glanced around the office. “Robot, come forth,” she commanded.

Mach stepped out from his alcove, silently. She eyed him as she had Fleta.

“Have you kept this office clean?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Did you hear me tell the android to call me Tan?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

Mach didn’t answer. Fleta had to suppress a giggle; he was playing dumb. Tania had not asked a comprehensible question, so he hadn’t answered.

“Address me as Tan,” she said coldly. “Is that a functional penis?”

“In what manner, Tan?”

“Sexual.”

“Yes, Tan.”

“What’s it doing on a menial?”

“Whatever my employer directs, Tan.”

“Android,” Tania snapped without turning. “Put in for a replacement menial robot. This one’s too smart.”

Oops, trouble! If they replaced Mach, how would she get by? But she had no choice. She returned to the desk, sat, and addressed the screen. “Requisition replacement menial rovot for Citizen Tan, this office,” she said, perversely pleased that she had managed the strange formula without hesitation.

“Requisition entered,” the screen replied. “Allow forty-eight hours for delivery.”

Tania was already on the way out. In a moment they were alone again.

Mach said nothing. He simply marched back to his alcove and resumed his inert stance. By that signal Fleta knew that it was not safe to talk. He knew when they could be overheard; she depended on his judgment.

She had passed Tania’s inspection, but Mach had not! What an irony! Then she had to stifle another giggle: irony for a metal man! But she was not happy.

But as she pondered the matter further, she realized that the Contrary Citizens were closing in, and so there would be trouble within two days anyway. This might make no difference. They would have to get away from here before Mach’s replacement came.

She finished out the day, answering the occasional incoming calls in the routine manner: Yes, this was Citizen Tan’s office. No, the Citizen was not available at the moment. Yes, she would enter a message for the Citizen, and he would return the call if he wished to. When she was hungry, she ordered Mach to fetch her food from the food machine. As an android she ranked the robot, and naturally used every bit of what little authority she possessed. This nicely concealed the fact that she still had no idea how to use the food machine. Mach had set that up, too. She wished she could hug him. Instead she set some food on the desk, and took a careful bite, so as to seem to be eating normally; the rest she put on the floor, so she could melt her feet over it.

Proton was a dreary frame! No wonder Mach liked Phaze better!

In the evening, when the office officially shut down for the shift, Mach came out. He checked to be sure they were not being spied on, then opened his arms. She hurled herself gratefully into them. “Methinks the boredom be the worstest torture o’ all!” she whispered.

“You did well,” he murmured. “I only hope Tania didn’t notice your one slip.”

She felt a chill. “Slip?”

“You referred to me as a ‘rovot.’ The screen has an interpretation circuit, so passed it through because of the context; you were merely echoing her command, which it had heard. But if she noticed—”

“Ro-bot,” she said. “Ro-bot, ro-bot. I can say it if I try. But is that an error Agee would make?”

“No. Since there should be no suspicion that you are here, instead of Agee, and that is not typical of her speech, it should pass unnoticed. Actually, you passed the real test: Tania knew that if you had any emotional attachment to me, you would have had trouble putting through that requisition. You showed no hesitation.”