O Master Caliban by Phyllis Gotlieb Read Free Book Online

sank down into the black he had one weird thought, a wisp from old stories of Gothic horror: brain exchange. He had time for a twinge of amusement: they would never trust an animal, brain or body.

    * * *

    When he woke the grid was rising. Erg-Dahlgren was sitting on the other table, hands gripping the edge, legs crossed at the ankle, swinging. He grinned. He had lost his newness; his skin was yellowed, specked with age spots, lined. The ergs had mapped him: he had Dahlgren’s every mole, hair and blue vein.
    Dahlgren sat up slowly and faced him unconsciously in the same position.
    “You have guessed?” said the erg. “I am ready to take your place ... if there are women, there is nothing they would not have seen on you, even if they were to remember after so many years.”
    “I was never very good with women,” Dahlgren said dryly. “That would not be a great problem.”
    “So much the better.”
    “Why do you want my place?”
    “To do what you would do. Make worlds. Create, destroy, and own, like all men. It is what makes us different from the animals.”
    “Thank you for the lesson,” said Dahlgren.
    “My philosophy, of course, has not the depth of yours.”
    “I have no doubt you will improve on it,” Dahlgren said. “When may I expect to die?”
    “Not yet! Not yet!” Erg-Dahlgren held up a hand with the arthritic knots of the original. “I look and move like you, but I do not yet think like you—”
    “You are doing a very good imitation.”
    “Thank you. But I must be perfect—a sentiment with which I believe you would agree. In order for me to do that we will play a game.”
    “I thought we were doing that already.”
    “You see, I did not know you had a sense of humor. That is very difficult for an erg to simulate.”
    “It shouldn’t be,” said Dahlgren. “It’s a branch of the same tree that grows cruelty and the lust for power.”
    “That is good. I will remember that.” He turned his head, and Dahlgren followed the look. He had not noticed the new erg rolling in on silent casters. It was not as big as the most powerful machines, but was still much taller than he. Vaguely female in shape, somewhat conical, rather insectiform; five arms lay curved down along each flank; a rank of faceted jewel eye buttons ran down the midline; its bulblike upper end wore a crown of antennas. Dull silver in blemishless perfection, segments tiered like peplums, it gave the impression of a pampered hive queen. Dahlgren thought his mind might be slanting off again; for a moment he had the idea that erg-Dahlgren was about to call it Mother.
    YOU ARE READY TO PLAY. The voice was pure machine.
    “We must dress first,” said erg-Dahlgren. “Always look the part. Our man does not know what game yet.”
    DO YOU NOT, DAHLGREN? WHAT GAME DO YOU PLAY BUT CHESS?
    “What game is more suitable for men and machines?” erg-Dahlgren asked. He pulled on a replica of Dahlgren’s coverall.
    Dahlgren thought, they are one. No, he is her doll, her puppet. If I broke her doll she would mend him. But it had never occurred to him to attack an erg. He had chosen ergs for their superiority as carefully as he had chosen animals.
    No longer naked in the presence of his enemy, he felt stronger, and said, “You cannot force me to play chess with you.”
    “Why should we force you?” erg-Dahlgren said. “You will wish to play. I have learned the rules of your game; let me tell you mine. It does not matter who wins, because there will be no prizes. I have told you that I intend to learn how you think and act, because I am going to take your place on Earth and in the heavens. When I have learned, you will die, because you will no longer be needed. The longer you play, the longer you live. You have not much more than half a thirtyday because we must lift off by then. You should know that you have already been given a great gift of time because it took nine of your years for us to learn to make me.”
    “You’ve done