Piers Anthony - Out of Phaze

Aha! He brought over his axehead stone. He held the vine firm with one hand, and sawed with the sharp edge of the stone. In a moment the vine parted. He had his cord.

He used the stone to split the end of the stick, then wedged the stone into that cleft, so that the sharp edge was at the side. He wound the vine around and around this joining, drawing it tight. He pulled the tag-end into the crevice below the stone, so that it was caught firmly. Fleta surveyed the result dubiously.

“That be an axe?”

“A crude one. It will have to do.”

“It will take more than that to stop a dragon.”

“Then I will use it to make more than that.” Mach took his axe and chopped at a sapling. The head started to work out of its cleft, and the cord tried to unravel; he had to rework both more carefully. But he managed to fashion a pole about two and a half meters long. “A staff,” he announced.

“A dragon would chomp it off,” Fleta said. But she seemed halfway impressed.

Mach checked the ground again, picking up a number of smaller stones. “And what be these for?” Fleta inquired.

“For distance operations. I’ll throw them to keep monster away.”

“Canst throw well?”

“In my own body I have perfect aim; it comes from long experience in the Game,” he said.

There was a swirl in the air, and vapor formed. Bud in a moment it dissipated. “What was that?” Fleta asked alarmed.

“It resembled the effects when I tried to do magic,” he said. “But I wasn’t—“

“Thou didst speak in rhyme!” she exclaimed.

“. . . aim,. . . Game,” he agreed, remembering. “But I had no magic in mind; it was an accident.”

“If thou canst do magic by accident, why canst thou not do it on purpose?”

“But I tried to do it on purpose, and got nowhere.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. ‘There be things we know not about thy magic. Many a time I heard Bane conjure, but when I copied him, it worked not. Methinks it be a matter of person and of form, and if thou beest not he, yet dost thou possess the talent. Thou didst not even sing that time, yet the magic tried to come.”

Mach sighed. “I’ll try it again.” He held up his hand. “I thirst; I think—I want a drink,” he singsonged, visualizing a nutra-beverage.

The fog swirled, and the tall cup appeared in his hand. “It worked!” he exclaimed.

“It doth look more like mudwater,” Fleta commented.

“Nutra is opaque.” He brought it to his mouth and sipped.

He spat it out. “That is mudwater!”

Fleta laughed. “I told thee!”

“So I bungled it again. But I did conjure it!”

“Methinks there be much learning to thine art.”

“Surely so! Maybe I should practice.” He set down I the cup, held his hand up again, and repeated his incantation.

This time the fog swirled, but all that came to his hand was a splat of mud.

Fleta laughed again. “What a clumsy Adept thou beest!” Mach flipped the mud at her. He did not intend to have it hit her, but his aim was better than intended; the mud scored on her neck just above her robe, and slid down her front.

‘Thou monster!” she exclaimed, scooping up a handful of moist dirt where the mudwater had spilled.

“Now wait! I didn’t mean to—“ Her heave caught him on the forehead.

“Now we be even,” she said with satisfaction.

Mach decided to let it go at that. “But how do we get clean?”

“We wash in the stream,” she said. She showed the way down through the forest to a tiny stream. There was a pool just big enough to dip a hand into.

Fleta hesitated, then shrugged and pulled off her cloak. “Methinks I was foolish to react as I did, when I learned thou wast not the man I knew. I have no need for modesty before thee.” The mud had soiled the skin between her breasts. She cupped her hands and scooped up water, splashing it against her torso. Mach had found her more alluring when she had donned the cloak, because in Proton covering was the mark of power and privacy; now he reacted even more to her renewed nakedness. There was something about the water and the way she washed herself off.

Fleta, clean, shook herself. Her breasts seemed to move independently of her torso. Then she paused, looking at him. “And what be that?” she asked, smiling impishly.

Mach abruptly felt himself flushing. He turned away.

“I said not it was wrong!” Fleta exclaimed. “Me-thought I moved thee not, Bane, since we achieved maturity.”

“I am not Bane,” he said tightly. How could this have happened to him? As a robot he reacted sexually only when he chose to, never by accident.

“Aye, that thou art not,” she agreed softly. “I thought to tease thee as we did each other, when we were young. We—Bane and I—played games we ne’er told the adults.”

“And we of Proton,” he agreed. “But I did not mean to—I did not realize this would happen.”

“Nor I, Mach. But would I offend thee if I confess I be not grieved it did?”

His flush, by the feel of it, seemed to be fading, but not the rest. “Fleta, I really don’t know. Exactly what was the relationship between you and Bane?”

“Friends,” she said. “Good friends, as good as can be though we ne’er made oath on’t. Secrets we had, only with each other. But then we grew apart.”

“Friends—so close you even—?”

She came and set her cool hand on his shoulder. “Mach, there be naught that human man and woman can do together that we did not do, or try. But we were too young; it meant naught. Today it would be another matter, for we are grown.”

“So I should not—react this way—to you,” he said with difficulty.

She sighed. “Thou shouldst not,” she agreed. “We be too old for such games now, methinks. But Mach, fear not; ne’er will I tell.”

“We—you and Bane—are related?” he asked.

She burst into laughter. “Related!” She reached around him from behind and hugged him. This did not help his condition, for her breasts pressed hard against his back. “Thou dost not know, really?”

“Of course I don’t know!” he said, trying to be angry, but wishing he could turn and embrace her. How could he be so far out of control?

“Then shall I tell thee not,” she said, releasing him.

“You said you would not tease me!”

‘This be other than teasing,” she said. “I fear thou wouldst like not the truth.”

“I always like the truth!”

‘Then accept this, Mach: now I understand somewhat better the case with thee, and I be flattered, not annoyed, and would preserve it a little longer. Come, face me as thou art; I have seen thee thus before, and will speak of it not further, an that please thee.”

He seemed to have no choice. He turned, and she neither laughed nor frowned, though she did look. He knelt by the pool and dipped out water to wash off his face.

“We be not related,” Fleta said after a moment. “But naught more than games between us was e’er possible.”

“I wish you would tell me why!”

“When I tell thee, thou willst be angry with me, and that I seek not.”

“I promise I won’t be angry! I just want to know.”

But she shook her head, knowing better than he. “Methinks thou wouldst be more comfortable in clothing,” she said in a moment. “It be the custom here.”

He realized that she was correct. To go naked in a culture where clothing was the norm was not sensible. He would have to suppress his natural aversion to misrepresenting his status, and become a normal person of this frame, at least until he learned how to return to his robot body. Likewise, he could not afford to presume too much on the fact that she had seen Bane in a state of sexual excitement when young; obviously Fleta was no such playmate now.