Incarnations of Immortality

by Anthony, Piers

  Then the ship accelerated, and he was thrown back against the seat. This needleship had plenty of power!

  "One other thing I better tell you about the Bems, just in case," Dursten said as he concentrated on his piloting, getting his ship into formation. "They're shape-changers."

  "What?"

  "You heard me, Nort. They can take any form, just like that. So if you ain't certain, fire first."

  "But I don't have a blaster!" Norton said. "Anyway, if I'm not sure it's a Bem—I mean, I wouldn't want to shoot one of our own people."

  "There is that," Dursten agreed, as if he hadn't thought of it before. "That's how my last pardner got it. After I plugged him, I realized he was only green from spacesickness, but it was too late. Had to deep-space him."

  "You killed your partner?" Norton asked, shocked.

  The spaceman shrugged. "I thought he was a Bem. These things happen when you got a quick trigger finger."

  Evidently so! "I hope you don't make any similar little mistakes on this mission," Norton said sincerely.

  "Naw, no chance. You and me's the only people on this ship. So if you see anyone else, he's a Bem."

  "How do we know we're not Bems? I mean, for all I know, you could be one, or for all you know, I could."

  Again Dursten paused for a new thought. His hand twitched near his bolstered blaster, giving Norton a horrible scare. But then the spaceman had another notion. "Say, the robot can tell. Here, I'll check us out now. Hey, Clankcase!"

  A robot trundled up, its feet evidently held to the deck by magnetism. "You yelled, sir?" it rasped.

  "Yeah, shore," Dursten said. "Check out Nort here. Is he human or Bem?"

  The robot oriented on Norton. Its body was cubistic, with a television screen where its face should be. A pair of eyes appeared on the screen, and these inspected Norton closely, though not quite in focus. A nose appeared, and this sniffed him, its nostrils flaring. A mouth formed. "Say 'Ah,'" it said.

  "Argh," Norton said, suddenly realizing that if the robot decided he was a fake, he could not protect himself; he was bound to the chair.

  An ear appeared, sliding to the center of the screen to listen better, shoving the other features to the side. "How's that again?" the mouth said from the border.

  "A R G H H H H!" Norton repeated clearly.

  The eyes slid back to the center, squinting thoughtfully. "He's human," the mouth said. "Probability of ninety-eight point three-five percent, plus or minus three percent."

  "Plus or minus three percent?" Norton asked, shivering with relief. "Doesn't that mean ninety-five point three to one-hundred-one point three percent?"

  One eye drifted off the screen while the other bore unwaveringly on him. "Correct," the robot rasped blithely.

  "Well, now check Mr. Dursten."

  "Shux, I know I'm human!" the spaceman protested. But the machine clanked around to focus its screen face on him.

  "Human," Clankcase agreed in due course. "Ninety-six point one percent probability, plus or minus the standard three percent deviation."

  "What?" Dursten lipped thinly. "You gave him a higher rating than met His finger itched toward his blaster.

  "He is more human than you," the robot explained.

  "Get out of here, you bucket of bolts!" Dursten growled, and the robot dutifully retreated.

  "I suppose you had better explain to me how to pilot this craft," Norton said. "Just in case."

  "You kidding?" the spaceman exclaimed derisively. "I boned up on piloting for three years afore I even touched my first ship—and I wrecked that! Then it was two more years afore I touched another."

  There was a metallic rattle of laughter from the rear. "That's why, you silly asteroid!" Clankcase chuckled.

  "Get lost, you metal moron!" Dursten snapped.

  "Lost? Honest?" the robot asked. "A foolish man said that once to my cousin, and—"

  "Cancel that there directive!" Dursten said quickly. Then, privately to Norton: "That 'Little Lost Robot' got written up as a feature story in the tabloids. But that ain't part o' this here sequence."

  "Why do you put up with such perversity from the inanimate?"

  The spaceman scratched his head, dislodging some dandruff. "I shore don't know. It's just always been that way with robots. We need 'em for routine chores, so—" He shrugged. "Now I think of it, I'd trade Clankcase in a minute for a better assistant, like maybe a nice, plump Femme. A Femme would really be useful."

  Norton realized that opportunities for socializing were limited in space. The spaceman's mind naturally was on the distaff. "About the piloting—I can't be a very good co-pilot if I don't know anything. Maybe if you just showed me how to signal for help—"

  "Aw, I'll show you how to pilot," Dursten said. "It'll take 'bout ten minutes, give or take three percent."

  And indeed, what had taken the spaceman five years to master was transmitted in ten minutes. It was mainly a matter of moving the steering stick and pushing the firing button when a target ship was in the cross hairs on the combat screen. The ship was largely automatic, and what little was not was handled by the robot. An idiot could pilot the ship—which was perhaps fortunate.

  However, Dursten explained why it had taken so long for him to qualify. He had been easily distracted by available Femmes at the Academy. Femmes seemed to cause more trouble than Bems did!

  The fleet drew into formation and warped through space at Woof-factor 5 toward the enemy planet. Stars streaked by the port like fireflies.

  Suddenly a red light flashed. "Oh, fudge!" Dursten swore. "An enemy fleet is intercepting us. We'll have to fight."

  "But I thought you like blasting Bems," Norton said.

  The spaceman's handsome face lighted like a nova. "Say, yeah! I forgot about that!"

  The Bemships turned out to be warty boulders. They spread out to engage the human fleet. Soon the two formations degenerated into separate dogfights.

  A Bem boulder loomed before their own needle, its ports resembling huge, faceted eyes. Light squirted from one of its warts. "The danged zilch is shooting at us!" Dursten exclaimed indignantly. "Well, just for that I'll blast it out o' space!" His features suffused with righteous anger, Bat Dursten concentrated on the obnoxious enemy craft, getting it in the cross hairs. His thumb jabbed the firing button. "Take that, fertilizer-brain!" he raged.

  A beam of light speared out. It struck the boulder. The boulder exploded into smithereens, soundlessly. Norton remembered that sound did not carry well through the vacuum of space.

  "Got you, you alien bugger!" Dursten exulted.

  But another boulder was bearing down on them. A spurt from a wart just missed their needleship. Quickly the spaceman reoriented, bringing the cross hairs to bear. He punched the button, and the enemy ship smithereened like the last one.

  Norton checked the rearview screen. "Bat, there's one on our tail!" he warned.

  "You take it, Nort; I got to watch the front."

  So Norton oriented the aft laser gun, fumbling its cross hairs into place. He fired, but his beam missed. The enemy squeezed a wart back, coming closer. Norton, his hand shaking, got the wobbly cross hairs aligned and mashed the firing button so hard it bruised his finger.

  This time he scored. The light lanced forth. The alien vessel burst apart, splatting some of its garbage on his viewscreen. Norton wrinkled his nose; he could almost smell the alien stench.

  He turned back to Dursten—just in time to see a young woman approaching the spaceman. She was absolutely luscious in her scanty costume, and her flesh jiggled like gelatin as she walked.

  The spaceman looked up at her. "Say, sweetie—where'd you come from?" he asked, ogling her attributes.

  "I replaced your robot," she said with a phenomenal smile. "How can I be of service?"

  Dursten glanced at Norton. "Say, co-pilot—why don't you take over the reins while I catch an errand in the back?" he suggested, unbuckling his safety harness.

  "But—but how could there be a replacement
when we're in deep space?" Norton asked.

  The spaceman paused to scratch his head, his eyes remaining on the Femme. "Say, I never thought o' that!"

  "The Genius teleported me in, of course," the Femme said. "Did you think of a way I can serve you?"

  "Well, as a matter o' fact—" Dursten began, floating from his chair.

  "I'll thank the Genius," Norton said, touching the communicator. His brief course of instruction had included this, too. The panel had few controls besides an on-off switch.

  "You do that," Dursten agreed, drifting toward the back. He had forgotten to turn the gravity back on, so he had to hold on to the Femme for support.

  The head of the Genius appeared on the screen. "Yes, Norton," the pursed lips said.

  "Uh, sir, did you teleport a buxom young human woman to this ship? A, er, Femme?"

  "Certainly not! Spaceman Dursten becomes combat unready when distracted by temptations of fair flesh."

  An accurate assessment! "But there's one here!"

  The Genius frowned. "Yes, now I detect an alien presence there. It is immune to my power. Destroy it immediately." He faded out.

  So the shape-changing Bems had infiltrated this fleet, and one was aboard this ship! Norton looked for a blaster, but found none. He spied a loose support rod in his chair, evidence of slipshod construction, and wrenched it out. It would have to do as a weapon.

  He set out for the rear of the ship—but his feet left the deck in the null-gee, just as Dursten's had. He didn't know how to turn on the gravity, so had to put up with it. Pilots, he thought irately, should wear magnetic shoes, just as the robots did! Clankcase had had no problem getting around.

  Clankcase? The Femme said she had replaced the robot. And her feet had been firm on the deck. Bems, as he understood it, could not teleport or do other psi, but they could change shape. The Bem must have been in the shape of the robot before!

  Norton grabbed his chair and pulled himself down close to the floor. Sure enough, there were moist sucker marks where robot and Femme had passed. No doubt about it—there was a Bem aboard.

  Norton used the chair as a brace and shoved himself forcefully toward the rear of the ship. In a moment he sailed into the back chamber, where Dursten was in the process of scrambling out of his space suit while the voluptuous Femme giggled and jiggled gelatinously.

  "Halt, alien!" Norton cried, brandishing his rod.

  Dursten glanced about. "What alien?"

  "That Femme," Norton said. "She's a Bem!"

  "How can you say a mean thing like that!" the Femme cried.

  Norton did feel like a heel, for she was an eye-popping morsel of pulchritude, but he had to answer. "Because your sucker feet stick to the floor! We float in free-fall."

  She glanced down at her firmly anchored feet. "Curses—foiled again!" she cried. She charged him, arms extended.

  Norton knew he should hit her with his rod, but three things prevented him. First, she remained the most lusciously curvaceous item of distaff flesh he had ever seen, and it was against his instinct to brutalize that. Second, when he tried to ready the rod, he lost his grip on the case of stored cans of beans that had anchored him, so he could not strike effectively. Third, she was on him before he could do anything.

  Her mass carried him right back into the control room. She was naked now, and felt every bit as luscious as she looked. Her hand struck his rod and it flew free. Now he was weaponless!

  Bat Dursten was unable to help; he was too busy climbing back into his space suit. "To think—I almost kissed it!" the spaceman muttered, looking sick. "A Bem Femme!"

  Norton was unable to gain any purchase, for the Bem Femme had hold of him and lifted him aloft. This was easy enough for her to do, since he weighed nothing at the moment, while she had good sucker purchase on the deck. He found himself captive as the woman's shape melted beneath him. Her pretty face sagged into putty; her lovely breasts became great blisters of flesh. She metamorphosed into a mass of gelatin surmounted by three enormous bug eyes. Her two arms became three tentacles, still holding him tight. Her torso quivered in jelly like ripples, as it had before, but somehow the effect was less aesthetic.

  "Just wait till I form some good, hard teeth!" she said from the gaping orifice that was all that was left of her once-human mouth. "I'll chomp you to bits!"

  Helpless, Norton stalled for time by engaging in dialogue, hoping Dursten would complete his dressing soon and recover his blaster. "How did you get aboard, Bem?"

  "I stowed away while the ship was in port," she said. Already fierce teeth were growing in the orifice.

  "Are there many of you in the fleet?"

  "Sorry—that information is classified."

  How like a military creature! "If you're going to consume me anyway, why can't you tell me?"

  She scratched behind a bug eye with the tip of a free tentacle. "I suppose it's because I don't know the answer."

  Oh. "Why didn't you kill us before we suspected your identity?" Where was Dursten?

  "Too risky to tackle two at once. I planned to eat Dursten first, then do you when I got hungry again. It takes a while to digest a man; go too fast, and you get gas."

  Norton could see why a gelatinous creature would not want to get gas. "But you could have eaten him when we were both strapped in our seats!"

  The Bem blinked all three bug eyes. "Say, I never thought of that! Why didn't you speak sooner?"

  "Why didn't you eat him the moment you got him alone?"

  "Well, he is a handsome man, and not too bright—"

  "You mean you'd actually—?" Norton asked, shocked.

  "Oh, we do it all the time to beautiful Femme humans. I thought it would be a nice change to do it to a handsome Manne human this time."

  "But you're a completely different species!"

  "True. But space duty does get dull, and novelty is the vinegar of life."

  "Spice of life."

  "Whatever. Now I'm ready to eat you."

  Norton, set back by the dialogue, could not think of another question. This was unfortunate, because now the teeth were thoroughly formed and the orifice was ready to commence consumption. "Help, Bat!" he screamed.

  "I can't get my foot into this $@%!! space boot!" the spaceman swore from the back room.

  The Bem's orifice gaped. The huge, gleaming, new saw teeth glistened with saliva. The three tentacles hauled Norton down into the maw. "Bat, forget the boot!" he yelled. "The monster's eating me!"

  "Be there in two shakes of a croggle's tail," Dursten called back. "My blaster floated away; got to find it."

  Norton struggled, but still had no purchase. He kicked the monster in an eye, shattering the orb. "Oh, you mean thing!" the Bem complained. "Why did you have to do that?"

  "All's fair in war," Norton said, trying to kick at another eye, but he could not get correctly aimed.

  "Well, no matter," the Bem said philosophically, blinking her two remaining eyes. "I will grow a new one as soon as I digest you." She sprouted several more tentacles to pin his extremities, rendering him completely helpless. The monster was surprisingly strong.

  "Bat!" Norton yelled desperately, but heard only a muttered curse as the spaceman still searched for his missing blaster.

  The descent into the maw resumed. In her natural shape, the Bem seemed larger; she really could consume him entire. He continued to think of the monster as female, because of the Femme form it had assumed. Was this the end?

  The teeth closed on his boots and began to crunch through them. Saliva washed over the leather. Apparently the Bem could digest these, too.

  Then Norton had an inspiration of sorts. "Sning!" he cried. "What should I do?"

  Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

  So much for that. "Well, save yourself, anyway," he said to the little snake. "Get out of here before the maw reaches my hands and chews them and you up."

  Sning uncoiled and slid from Norton's finger. He floated a moment in air, also being subject to free-fall, then wri
ggled forward, using the air itself to slide against. He moved to Norton's pocket where the compressed Hourglass was and tapped it meaningfully with his nose.

  The Hourglass! Of course! Would it work when folded away? According to Lachesis, it was unchanged, merely seeming different. Norton willed its sand to turn red. Travel! In time! he thought fiercely.

  Suddenly he was in space, alone. He had traveled, but the ship had not. He realized that the ship was not a planet; the spell did not align him with it automatically. The other way! he thought, hoping this command sufficed.

  Evidently it did. In a subjective moment, he was back in the ship, homing in on his prior situation. Stop.

  He stopped. He was floating in the control room, behind the two pilot seats. Dursten and Norton himself were discussing the mechanism for controlling the ship. Neither saw the new Norton. Neither robot nor Femme was in evidence; this must be the time right between their appearances.

  The prospect of paradox overwhelmed him for the moment. Could he interfere with the events of his past self and change events he had already experienced? He had been told he was an entity apart, in control of time—but he had never consciously tested paradox. He might change the lives of other people—but how could he change his own? Yet if he did not, he would be consumed by the Bem. This did not appeal any more than the prospect of paradox did.

  Now he saw the Femme approaching. Hastily he willed the sand and slid forward a few minutes, managing to keep his place within the ship. He floated behind the Bem as she held his former self aloft. This was what he had come to undo.

  He remembered how he had been wrenched when he turned over the Hourglass, because that reversed his own timeline. Would it do that now, returning him to this point, or a point before the Bem had grabbed him? He had to try!

  He turned the glass—and found himself moving backward, along with the scene. The Bem retreated with her burden to the back room, while he—

  He turned the Hourglass over again, and forward progress resumed. The Bem returned.

  This wasn't getting him anywhere, because it wasn't changing reality, just his present perception of it. Reality was like a holo he could run forward or backward but could not change. But change was what he needed.