Robot Adept Read online

  “Who are the best in Phaze?”

  “Stile. The Silver Elves. The Eldest Vampire.”

  “Damn!” Translucent exclaimed. “He cannot play them!”

  Because they were all on the other side. “I thought I was so smart, angling for a variant of chess,” Mach said ruefully. “I only got myself in trouble.”

  “There be other players,” Translucent said. “And ye be committed to a variant. Mayhap there be other experts in that variant. Some among our forces.”

  Mach brightened. “I can make a spell to locate the finest available player of Pole Chess.”

  He did so. In a moment he ascertained that the Silver Elves dominated this variant also, but that there was one outstanding player among the snow demons. His name was Icebeard, and he was a chief of a White Mountain clan. He seldom played in tournaments, because he could not tolerate any warm location, so his skill relative to that of the Silver Elves was not known, but it was suspected that it was equivalent.

  “I will go see Icebeard,” Mach said.

  “But the demons eat normal folk,” Fleta protested.

  “I can protect myself, now,” Mach reminded her. “And you, if you want to come.”

  “Methinks I had better,” she said. “They may be thine allies now, but an thou sleep, it be best to have a guard.”

  Translucent nodded. “I will acquaint him with thy situation. But trust him not behind thy back. Our alliance be jury-built. Conjure thyself to the base of the mountain range, then climb them afoot, that they may recognize thee.”

  Mach conjured himself and Fleta to the base of the White Mountain range. The White Mountains were as massive as the Purple Mountains of the south, but more formidable because they were cold.

  “One thing amazes me,” Mach said. “The frames of Proton and Phaze overlap, geographically; every feature of one is mirrored in the other. Yet Proton is a planet, a sphere, while Phaze is a flat surface. How can this be?”

  “Methinks the folk o’ the other frame suffer from illusion,” Fleta replied. “They think their world must be a ball, while we know it for what it truly be, a circle.”

  He glanced at her, uncertain whether she was serious. “Proton has a north and south pole, while Phaze has an east and west pole. How can those be reconciled?”

  “By playing Pole Chess,” she replied.

  He considered that. Pun or wisdom? Then he saw her laugh bubbling up from her belly to her bosom. He grabbed her and kissed her before it could reach her mouth. “Silly filly!” he exclaimed.

  And found himself kissing the unicorn. She had changed form, leaving only her lips touching his.

  He changed to his stallion form, snorting. If she wanted to play it that way—

  She became the hummingbird, her slender bill touching his nose. He became another.

  She returned to girlform. “Ah, I forget thou be Adept now!” she exclaimed. “My Rovot Adept! Methinks I like thee better as a helpless man!”

  “Tough manure, bird brain,” he said with mock gruffness as he joined her in manform. “I accepted you as a unicorn; now you have to accept me as an Adept.”

  “O, sigh,” she said, not sighing. “What shall we name him?”

  “What?”

  “Has thou not paid attention, sludge brain? Our foal, an we conceive.”

  She changed subjects as readily as she changed her form! “Aren’t you counting chickens before—” He saw her laugh bubbling up again, and corrected himself. “Foals, before they hatch?”

  “I ne’er yet saw a foal hatch,” she remarked. “An we make a name for him, he will have to step into it. So what be the name?”

  She had already decided on the sex, and now was working on the name. He reached for her, seeking another kiss, but this time she eluded him. “Mayhap combine our two names?”

  “Mach, Fleta,” he said, considering, “MA, FL. Mafl?”

  “That be more like a sneeze!” she protested. “Mayhap the hind ends?”

  “TA, CH,” he said. “Tach?”

  “That be more like cloth ripping! Mayhap one of each?”

  “FL, CH—Fletch or Flatch?”

  “Flach,” she decided, pronouncing it with a soft C.

  “Rash?”

  “Watch thy language, rovot! Flach.”

  “Flach,” he agreed, not changing the pronunciation. Then she stepped up for her kiss.

  Now they started up the trail that Mach’s magic told him led to Icebeard’s den. They had to approach slowly, so that the demons had a chance to recognize them; it seemed that the demons were suspicious, hostile folk.

  Fleta assumed her natural form, and Mach rode her, deciding that he needed to remain recognizable. He kept alert, though; demons were known to like starting snowslides.

  Sure enough, they had not progressed far before there was the rumble of an icy avalanche starting.

  Mach snapped his fingers. The sliding snow became white fog, that flowed past them without impact. They proceeded as if nothing had happened.

  Farther along, five snow tigers appeared, pouncing in unison. Mach made a tiny gesture, and they became five snow birds, who spread their wings and flapped wildly, not understanding what had happened.

  They crested the first foothill, and moved on toward the larger range. A horrendous snowstorm swept in, stirring white tornadoes from the drifts, and hailstones the size of human heads began pelting down.

  Mach lifted his gaze and squinted, and the tornadoes lay meekly down on their sides and expired. The hailstones slowed, becoming translucent, and bobbled in the air like balloons, finally popping into nonexistence. The storm thinned to the semblance of a canopy, and slid away to the side, leaving the sky clear.

  Fleta snorted musically through her horn. Mach now understood horn language. Her sentiment translated, approximately, into: “Methinks that will teach them not to mess w’ rovot Adepts.”

  They moved on without pause. They were approaching the region of the ice caves, where the snow demons lived. Fleta played a merry ditty on her horn, theme and countertheme on the panpipes, as if the two of them had not a care in the frame. Indeed, it seemed they had not; Mach’s Adept magic was proof against all the demon malignance.

  A snow demon appeared at the mouth of a cave. His whole body seemed to be made of ice; parts of him were even transparent. “Go ‘way, freaks!” he called in the demon fashion of welcome.

  Mach lifted his left little finger. Fire blossomed behind the demon, cutting off his retreat and causing him to leap forward before he melted. He plunged into a snowbank for protection.

  “How’s that?” Mach inquired innocently.

  “Go melt thy buns in a furnace, flatlander!” the demon snapped.

  The snow puffed into steam, leaving the demon exposed. He scrambled up the slope to reach fresh snow.

  “We have come to see your leader,” Mach said. “Will you lead us to him?”

  “Ne’er!” the demon exclaimed.

  A panel of quartz appeared beneath the demon’s feet. Beneath it could be seen the leaping flames of some subterranean conflagration. The snow above it began to melt.

  The demon started to retreat, but more panels appeared, surrounding it. “Well, maybe…” he said doubtfully.

  The panel beneath him developed a hinge. Slowly the quartz eased down, about to slide whatever was on it into the inferno below.

  “…it would be best if I did that,” the demon concluded.

  “How nice of you,” Mach said graciously. The quartz ceased its motion, turned opaque, and frosted over.

  They followed the demon to the mouth of the largest cave. But he stopped there. “No ‘corns allowed,” he said.

  Fleta assumed girlform, huddled in her black cloak. “Do I look like a ‘corn?” she inquired.

  “Listen, mare. I just saw thee change!”

  A small ball of fire appeared in the air, like a star that had fallen too low.

  The demon eyed it nervously. “Look, it’s Icebeard’s law! No animals
inside!”

  The fireball brightened, resembling the sun on a foggy morning; The demon reconsidered. “Come to think of it, she looks not much like a ‘corn.” He led the way into the cave.

  It had been cold outside, but it was colder in the cave. Mach made a spell to warm them both without affecting anything else, and Fleta gave him a glance of appreciation.

  A glow, developed in the icy walls, providing wan light that became adequate as their eyes adjusted.

  Then the demon leaped ahead. The ceiling cracked, and ice dust sifted down. The tunnel was collapsing!

  Mach grimaced. The falling particles became floating motes of fire, that moved forward through the tunnel as if propelled by a stiff draft. As larger chunks came down, they too ignited and shot forward. Whatever was ahead would become quite warm, quite soon.

  The ceiling stabilized.

  Mach turned to Fleta. “Do you know, the demons seem to live in rather shaky passages. I worry that the entire mountain might fall in on them unexpectedly.” A rumbling developed, and indeed the mountain did seem to be shaking. “If I ever got the suspicion that any of this were deliberate, I might be inclined to hasten that collapse.” The shaking increased, making that collapse seem imminent. “It isn’t smart to annoy an Adept, as I’m sure these demons know.” The shaking became horrendous, so that even Fleta flinched.

  The demon reappeared. “Icebeard will see thee now!” he cried.

  The mountain was instantly quiet. “I thought he might,” Mach said.

  The tunnel opened into a chamber whose walls were curtained with icicles. On a frozen throne sat the leader, whose beard was indeed formed of ice. “So nice to see you, Adept,” the demon leader growled.

  “I came to play Pole Chess with you. Do you by chance have time for such a game?”

  Icebeard considered, scowling. A distant rumble started. The demon’s aspect changed. “Yes, of course. The Translucent Adept informed me that thou didst wish to practice, and the cause be worthy.”

  “Whether the cause is worthy is a matter of opinion, but the issue must be settled, and I mean to do my best. Since you are said to be the best player available to me, I want to practice with you.”

  “The best player,” Icebeard said, evidently flattered. “Aye, we shall play.” He glared at a demon messenger. “Frostbite, fetch the board and pieces!”

  Fleta looked around, and chose a block of ice to sit on. All she knew of chess was what Mach had told her, but she wanted to watch.

  Icebeard glanced at her. “Be thou not cold, filly?”

  “Nay, thank thee; I be quite comfortable.”

  “Um,” he said, disappointed.

  The board and pieces arrived, and they set them up on a stand. The board was a cross-hatched sheet of ice, and the pieces were finely carved ice. Mach made sure his touch was cold, so that he would not damage the chessmen. The figures were elaborate: each pawn was a grotesque little goblin, the castles were coiled dragons, the knights griffins rampant, the bishops thin trolls, the queen a glowering ogress, and the king a crowned demon.

  But this was Pole Chess, so there was one additional set of pieces: the poles. These were the tallest and most regular of them all, resembling the spiraled poles that ancient barbers once used as a signal of their operations. When all the other pieces were set up, the white and black poles stood to either side, just off the board, centered.

  The pole could neither take nor be taken, except in one very special circumstance. It could only block. It could move to any unoccupied square on the board in one move, but did not have to be played. It was normally used to occupy a square that a player did not want his opponent’s man to take, or to block the path of the opponent’s man, or to shield a piece from attack. In the end game it could be critical in the defense of the king. Clever use of the pole could change the complexion of a game—but it was possible also to play through without ever invoking the pole. Thus it added an element to the game without any obvious corresponding sacrifice. Some players swore that Pole Chess was the best variant ever; others condemned it as a decadent offshoot. Mach himself was neutral; he could take it or leave it, and tended to be guided by his opponent’s strength in it. A player who was good with the pole could trap himself when playing normal chess, forgetting that he could not abruptly block check. But a player who was not used to it could find his careful strategy negated at the end, when the pole interfered with the operation of his major attacking piece.

  They played—and Icebeard humiliated Mach. The demon was a good player, all right!

  They played again. This time Mach stuck to the most conventional opening and play, so that no surprises were likely, and played for a draw. He never got the chance; Icebeard overwhelmed him.

  They played a third time. Mach went for innovative, risky play, trying to surprise the demon. For a while he seemed to be succeeding; then he made a foolish error, and Icebeard clamped down and never let go.

  “I’m not in your league,” Mach admitted ruefully.

  “Obviously not,” the demon said graciously. “I will make a deal with thee: get me a match with the Adept Stile, and I will train thee to win against any lesser player.”

  “But I thought you would train me for the benefit of your cause!” Mach protested.

  “That, too, rovot,” Icebeard agreed.

  “I’m not sure that’s fair,” Mach said, and the mountain began to rumble warningly.

  The demon pointed an icefinger at Mach’s nose. “Listen, rovot, thou hast proven thou dost be Adept, and can bring this mountain down about our heads. I have proven I can play Pole Chess of a level thou canst only dream of. Causes be fine, but it be best to make fair exchange for service. Thou knowest that training thee will be a colossal bore to me. Dost think it fair that he who be mooted the best player o’ the frame plays me not?”

  Mach was taken aback by the force of this logic. “No, it is not fair. But it is Stile’s son I must play against. How can I get Stile to play against you, knowing that this is your price for training me to beat Bane?”

  Icebeard grimaced. “Thou dost have a point, rovot!”

  FIeta spoke up. “Would Stile want his son to win ‘gainst an untrained opponent?”

  Both Mach and Icebeard looked at her, then at each other. “I’ll try,” Mach said. He looked at Fleta. “Do you want to come along?”

  “The filly stays here!” Icebeard snapped.

  “What is this? You think you need a hostage, demon?”

  Icebeard reconsidered. “Nay, not for this. Old reflexes die hard! Let her go with thee.”

  “Nay, I will stay, an Icebeard show me how to play this game.”

  The demon stared at her. “Has thou any aptitude at all, filly?”

  “I know not. But when I visited Proton-frame, I played in their Tourney, and won four rounds. Mayhap I will ne’er get to play again, but an I could learn more game skills, that would please me.”

  The demon softened. “Mayhap thou dost have potential. We shall shortly find out.”

  Fleta went to the table, and they were setting up the pieces as Mach conjured himself to the Blue Demesnes, slightly bemused.

  He stood before the Blue Castle and hailed it, as before. Again the Lady Blue emerged. “I fear thou canst not change his mind, Mach,” she said.

  “Lady, this time I come to ask a favor of him.”

  “He will see thee not at this time, but I will talk to thee.” She showed him into the courtyard, and they took seats at the table, as before.

  He gazed at her for a moment. “You know, my mother is a robot.”

  “Aye, the Lady Sheen. I know her.”

  “You know her?” he asked, surprised.

  “In the old days it were possible to cross the curtain physically, an one’s other self be dead. Mine other self—” She broke off, looking troubled; but before he could think of anything appropriate to say, she resumed. “I crossed and met her, and knew she was worthy, and asked Stile to marry her. But in the end he remained wi
th me, and it were Blue who married her.”

  He continued to look at her. “You are a beautiful woman, Lady.”

  “What be thy business, Mach?”

  “I am in training for the first match with Bane. I know it is not to your interest to help me in my effort to defeat him, but—”

  “ ‘Interest’ be defined in sundry ways,” she said. “Bane represents the existing order, and there be good and evil in that. Thou dost represent a contrasting order, and there be evil and good in that. There be that in thy order that Bane craves, and that in our order that thou dost crave.”

  “Yes!”

  “So thou dost represent a part of him—the part that would marry Agape and live in Proton-frame. He represents a part of thee—the part that would have our way govern, rather than the special interest o’ the Adepts. Thou dost contest for part of his good, and he for part of thine. The victory o’ either be neither comedy nor tragedy. There be nor right nor wrong in this. It be merely the settling o’ an issue which else would destroy all.”

  Mach had been braced for hostility, open or covert, and ready to argue his case purely on the issues of pride and fairness. But the Lady Blue showed no condemnation, only understanding. This realization caught him off guard, and momentarily overwhelmed him. As a robot, he still got caught on occasion by the surges of feeling and emotion generated by the living state. “Oh, Lady, I love you,” he whispered, feeling the tears come.

  Then she was standing beside him, embracing him as he sat, her maternal bosom against his cheek. “We love thee too, Mach,” she murmured, stroking his hair. “We know thou dost what thou must.”

  In a moment she returned to her place, but the sensation of her embrace lingered. What a woman she was! It was easy to understand how Stile had left Proton to marry her.

  “What be thy business?” she repeated gently.

  “I—I—the demon—” He took a breath and started over. “The snow demon Icebeard will train me in chess, if Stile will play him a match. He—he is an excellent player, and feels that Stile should at least play him once.”

  “Aye.”

  “So—”