Of Man and Manta Omnibus

by Piers Anthony

  Then he was out of the physical, back in his own nature, fibrillating. He had never before experienced sensation and thinking of this type; there was a phenomenal amount of data to assimilate and circuits to modify. The physical was a whole separate existence, with its unique imperatives!

  OX had learned more in this one encounter than in any prior one. He now realized all the way through his being that the intellectual systems of the spots were as complex and meaningful as his own. The spots were, indeed, complete entities.

  He modified his circuits to incorporate a perpetual awareness and appreciation of this fact. Just as alternity was infinitely variable, so was intellect! His comprehension of existence would not be complete until he had experienced the inner nature of each spot -- and of a machine.

  He formed a shoot to approach Ornet. By motions and flashes that coincided with the creature's mode of communication, OX made known his mission: to exchange minds for a moment. Ornet was receptive; he had long been curious, in a paleontological way, about the inner nature of patterns, since they had so little place in his memory.

  The mechanism of exchange differed from the one that had been effective with Dec, for there was no mass-level tool of light. Instead, OX had to create a shoot-circuit that duplicated the bird's every observable contour and function, correcting it as Ornet directed. OX made himself into another Ornet, with feet and claws and wings and beak, subject to gravity and all the other manifestations of the physical aspect. Then this form moved to coincide with the presence of Ornet, and the shoot's points picked up the signals of the body's nervous functioning, the living animation of its cells.

  Slowly, the mapping progressed, merging the element pattern with the physical pattern. And as the overlap became sufficient, OX began to receive Ornet's sensations and thoughts directly.

  Ornet was old. His species was normally adult in the third year after hatching and faded after twenty. Ornet was twenty now. His powers were receding, his feathers losing their gloss, his beak its sharp edge. He felt a kind of vacuum in his life, but he had not been able to define it until OX had questioned him about Cub. Then his memory had been evoked, making it clear -- but far too late. He had never had contact with a female of his kind, never been aroused -- and so had lived without really missing it. He was not given to speculative thought or to emotional reactions; he accepted what was and worked only to enhance survival and comfort.

  This personality, in a manner quite different from Dec's, was compatible with OX's own mode. But because Ornet's reproductive aspect was quiescent, OX still had no direct comprehension of it. And so long as his understanding was incomplete, he lacked a potential tool for survival.

  It was evident that Ornet did not have to die in order to reproduce his kind. But if the death/reproduction connection were not valid, what was?

  OX phased out, moving the shoot away from coincidence with the body of the bird. Deprived of their guidance by the minute electrical stimuli of the physical nervous system, the subcircuits collapsed. It was a non-survival jolt -- but only for the shoot. In a moment OX reorganized in a more stable format, recovering equilibrium.

  He had absorbed another vast segment of reality and comprehended to some extent the process of aging and its relation to death. But it was not enough.

  Now he came to Cub. Cub, by the reckoning of Ornet's memory, was now in the young prime of his life. And he had, as OX himself knew, a marvelously powerful and versatile reasoning mechanism. He was the source of OX's confusion; now perhaps he would be the resolution of it.

  OX made another phase-in shoot, this one in the form of Cub. Small and tight as it was, this lone shoot was nevertheless far more complex than OX's entire being had been at the time of his first emergence into awareness. I wish to join you, to understand you completely, the shoot signaled.

  Do as you like, Cub responded indifferently.

  OX attuned his subcircuits to the nervous impulses of living matter, as he had so recently mastered with Ornet. He slid the shoot over to merge.

  There was a period of adjustment, for though the principle of functioning was similar, between Ornet and Cub, the detail differed. Then awareness focused.

  It was a maelstrom. Rational misgivings warred with unattainable urges. The picture of a naked-Cub-species female formed, her arms and legs outstretched... dissipated in an aura of revulsion... re-formed.

  OX watched, felt, experienced. Now he, too, felt those amazing urges. The attraction/repulsion of the reproduction/death complex; the need to overtake, to grasp, to envelop, to penetrate -- countered by inability, confusion, and guilt. Desire without opportunity, force without mechanism. Compulsion so great it threatened to nullify survival itself. Emotion.

  OX twisted out of phase with such an effort that he carried the entire enclave into another frame. His system was in terrible disarray; his circuits warred with each other.

  But now he understood the spots' need to reproduce their kinds. He knew what emotion was. Having discovered that, he was unable to eliminate it from his system; the profound new circuits were part of his pattern.

  But OX realized that his survey was still incomplete. He had learned marvelous and dismaying new things -- but that only increased the need to learn the rest. Perhaps little of significance remained, and there were nonsurvival aspects to the continuation of this search -- but he had to do it. Survival and emotion drove him.

  He searched out Mach, the wild machine.

  OX anticipated resistance, but Mach was quiescent. Perhaps it was waiting to ascertain the nature of this new attack. OX formed a shoot-image of it, then cautiously phased in.

  This was dangerous because the machine, unlike the living spots, had certain pattern-aspects. It was aware of the elements, though its existence did not depend on them, and it could use them to make those special patterns that extended across frames. This ability was very limited, but this was one reason why OX had such trouble nullifying Mach's attacks. Mach could almost match OX's maneuverability across frames, provided that travel was restricted to adjacent or nearly adjacent ones. And the machine could drain the elements of so much energy that they would not serve a pattern-entity for some time.

  OX found the nerve circuits on the physical level of the machine, adapting to them as he had for Ornet and Cub. And slowly he became Mach.

  The machine intellect was distinct from those of the living spots. Its impulses ran along metal conduits with appalling force and dealt with motors and transformers and switches and harsh chemical reactions rather than the subtle interactions of life or pattern. Yet it was sentient.

  This was Mach -- and now OX understood. The machine had needs fully as compelling as those of the other entities. Its prime motive was similar to theirs: SURVIVE. But it required energy transformed from matter by more brutal processes. Most of the physical substances it could obtain from its environment, but a few were in critical shortage here in the enclave.

  It was the lack of these substances that made Mach desperate and dangerous. The machine required them in order to develop its potential to reproduce its kind -- and some of them could be filtered from the bodies of the living spots. There was no inherent personal animus; Mach attacked because it was driven by a need that could not be denied, in much the fashion of Cub's need. Gradually, as it realized that the spots were in fact sentient, it came to equate destruction of them as long-range nonsurvival and tried to resist the urge to take what beckoned. But it could not.

  Supply those substances, and Mach would no longer be an enemy. The machine might even cooperate with the other members of the enclave. Its strength on the physical level was such that it could be of substantial assistance to them -- especially in the effort to break out of the enclave.

  OX had developed combat circuits to oppose the inimical behavior of the external patterns. Now he comprehended that patterns were ill equipped to indulge in such activities. Their intellectual comprehension translated only poorly into action. This was one reason the external patterns h
ad done nothing but observe after arranging the enclave.

  Machines, in contrast, were entities of action. Mach's mind contained pragmatic instructions for accomplishing many tasks, provided the tools existed. OX now saw that he, as a pattern, had tools that the machine did not. Now OX understood enough, and he had a new sense of motivation. He made ready to act.

  Chapter 15 - ALTERNITY

  They stood on a metal highway, and a tank was bearing down on them. It was a monster, with treads as high as a man and a nose needling forward like that of an atmosphere-penetrating rocket.

  Veg's dizziness left him. He charged to the side. Tamme was right beside him, guiding his elbow in case he stumbled.

  The tank careened on by, not swerving.

  "Was that another trap?" Veg asked breathlessly.

  "Coincidence, more likely. Do you recognize this alternate?"

  He looked about. All around them were ramps and platforms, and on these structures vehicles of every size and shape sped by. Some were quite small, and some were tiny -- the size of mice, or even flies. But all were obviously machines.

  "A bit like downtown Earth," he muttered. "But not -- " He paused. "The machine world! This is where they breed!"

  "I doubt they breed," she said. "Nevertheless, this is a significant discovery."

  "Significant! Those machines are half the problem! I had to fight one of them halfway across the desert to protect our supplies!"

  "Only to fall prey to the sparkle-cloud," she reminded him.

  "Yeah..."

  A dog-sized machine headed for them. It had perceptor-antennae extending from the top, and it emitted a shrill beeping.

  "We're discovered," Tamme said. "I think we'd better move on."

  But it was already too late. The seemingly aimless paths of the machines suddenly became purposeful. From every side they converged.

  "I think we'd better not resist," Tamme said. "Until we locate the projector, we're at a disadvantage."

  They certainly were! They were now ringed by machines, several of which were truck-sized, and there was a dismaying assortment of rotating blades, pincers, and drills. But she had already noted a containment pattern to their activity rather than an attack pattern.

  A container-machine moved up, and two buzz saws herded them into its cage. The mesh folded closed, and they were prisoners.

  "You figure this is the end of the line?" Veg asked. "I mean, maybe the hexaflexagon goes on, but if the machines catch every visitor..."

  "Uncertain," Tamme said. "Some may avoid capture, some may escape, some may be freed."

  "How many agents do you figure are traveling around here?"

  "It could be an infinite progression."

  Veg was silent, chewing over that. She could read his concern: an endless chain of human beings parading through the worlds, right into the maw of the machine? That would explain how the machines knew so well how to handle them! And why the nose-woman on the fog world had not been surprised or afraid. The alternates would be like tourist stops...

  They cruised up to a metal structure. "A machine-hive," Veg muttered, staring out through the mesh, and his description was apt. It rose hugely, bulging out over the landscape, and from every direction machines of all sizes approached, while others sped outward. The hum of their engines was constant and loud, like that of hornets. A number were flying machines, and these ranged from jet-plane to gnat size. They zoomed in and out of appropriately diametered holes.

  Their own vehicle headed for one of the truck-sized apertures. The machine-hive loomed tremendously as they approached; it was a thousand feet high and as big around.

  "Any way out, once we're in?" Veg asked apprehensively.

  "I could short the gate mechanism and get us out of this vehicle," Tamme said. "But I don't think that would be expedient."

  Veg looked out of the rushing landscape. They were now on a narrow, elevated railroad-trestle like abutment fifty feet above the metal ground. Small buzz-saw machines flanked them on trestles to either side, and a pincer-tank followed immediately behind. There was no clearance for pedestrians.

  "We must be doing a hundred miles per hour," he remarked.

  "More than that. The lack of proximate and stationary objects deceives the eye."

  "Well, if the machines wanted to kill us, they'd have done it by now," he said. But he hardly bothered to conceal his nervousness.

  So they stayed put. In moments their truck plunged into the tunnel -- and almost immediately stopped. Tamme, anticipating this, caught Veg about the waist before he was flung into the wall. "Well, aren't we cozy," she murmured as she let him go.

  "I wish you wouldn't do that," he muttered. He meant that she could have warned him instead of demonstrating her superior strength again -- and he also knew that she was aware of his reactions to contact with her body. She nodded to herself; she was in fact teasing him, probably trying to build up her own self-image in the face of her deterioration of set, of agent-orientation. This was a weak human device, and she would stop.

  The gate opened. They stepped out. The gate closed, and the truck departed. But other bars were already in place, preventing them from following the vehicle out.

  "Now we can make our break," Veg said. He put his hands on the bars and shook them. "Yow!"

  Tamme knew what had happened. The metal was electrified. "They have had prior experience with our form of animation," she said. "Possibly the first agent escaped, but we shall not. We'll have to wait and see what they have in mind for us."

  "Yeah," he agreed dubiously.

  Tamme was already exploring their prison. It was brightly lit by glowing strips along the corners, the light reflecting back and forth across the polished metal walls. One wall had a series of knobs and bulbs. They were obviously set up for human hands and perceptions. The machines would have no use for such things!

  There was a pattern to the bank of knobs. It resembled the controls to a computer. The knobs would be to activate it, the lights to show what was happening.

  "Very well," she murmured. She turned the end knob quickly, removing her hand as it clicked over.

  There was no shock. The light above that knob brightened. Sound came from hidden speakers: raucous, jarring.

  Tamme reversed the knob. The sound died. "Alien juke box," Veg muttered.

  "Close enough," Tamme agreed. She turned the next knob.

  Sound rose again: a series of double-noted twitterings, penetrating.

  She turned that off and tried the third. This was like the roar of ocean surf, with a half-melodious variable foghorn in the background.

  There was over a hundred knobs. She tried them all -- and got a hundred varieties of noise. Then she started over. On the second round the sounds were different; there were no repeats.

  "This may be fun to you, but it's my turn to sleep," Veg said. He lay down on a raised platform that seemed made for the purpose.

  Just as well. She could work more efficiently if he were safely out of mischief. She could have zeroed in on the sounds she was looking for much faster but preferred to wait until Veg got bored, for a reason she did not care to tell him. Now she got down to serious business. Still it took time. For two hours she tried new sounds until she got one vaguely resembling human speech. She turned this off, then on again -- and it was a different, yet similar patter. She tried again on the same knob, but though the human-sounding voice continued, it was no closer to anything she understood.

  "Have to find the key," she murmured inaudibly. "Not getting it yet."

  She left the knob on and turned to the next. The voice modified, becoming less human. So she went to the knob on the other side, and now the voice became more familiar.

  In this manner, slowly, she centered on a language approximating contemporary English. She knew she could narrow it down to her exact dialect but refrained.

  Veg woke with a start. "Hey -- that's making sense!"

  Tamme warned him into silence with a fierce gesture. Now that the lan
guage was close, the machine could probably identify their precise alternate -- which was the point of all this. She wanted communication without complete identification, lest her world be in peril.

  But the machine -- actually it was an input to the main hive intellect -- had heard. "Curminicate, yez," it said.

  "Yez," she agreed, while Veg looked bewildered.

  "Ujest noob; abdain edenddy."

  That's what you think! she thought. I'll unjest your noobs but not to abdain edenddy. I want an approximation, not identity.

  She adjusted knobs, bringing it closer. She pretended to be trying to obtain identity while actually adapting herself to the new pattern so that the machine would be satisfied the language was her own. This was a clever trap: letting the captives pinpoint their own alternates so that their worlds could be nailed.