He smiled. There were ways. Bane, in this body, might have been helpless, but Mach was not.
First he had to eliminate the marker. He knew that his left hand was hopeless; once impregnated with radiation, it would remain so until the radiation faded, which could be years. So—
He opened his chest cavity and brought out a small tool. He used this to pry under the pseudoflesh of his left wrist and access the circuitry there. He nulled it, and separated the physical locks. Soon he removed the hand and sealed over the wrist.
Another passenger noted this procedure. “Most interesting,” the creature murmured. It was a serpentine form, with a dozen handlike projections along its sides. Perhaps its interest was professional.
Mach realized that the creature had spoken in Moebite. It must have learned the language for its visit. He held out the hand. “Would you like to borrow it?” he asked in that language. “I must warn you that it has been impregnated with marker radiation: harmless to living flesh, but a beacon for the party seeking it.” He held out the hand.
The creature took it. “I would like to study this. I regret I cannot detach one of my own. May I proffer some other item or service?”
“Perhaps a service. I believe that some party on Moeba intends to take me captive, identifying me by this hand. Would you care to lead that party astray?”
“I would be delighted!” the creature said.
Thus expeditiously was the deal made. Mach was gambling that the party would use the radiation to do the identification, not considering the physical appearance of the subject at all. It was evident that many strange creatures visited the planet, so appearance meant little.
He would have to do without his hand, but that seemed a necessary price for his freedom.
Now all he had to do was decide on a legitimate mission, since he would have to remain on the planet at least until another ship traveled back to Proton—and until he could safely return. That might be a while.
Actually, he had a mission: to learn how a robot might breed with a Moebite. This was the occasion to investigate the prospects.
In due course the ship arrived at the planet of the Amoeba and established orbit. The passengers were shuttled down on a winged craft that swooped onto a dark marsh. A submersible bubble took them to a chamber some distance below the surface.
It turned out that the other passengers were Moebites, returning from their various interplanetary missions. They had maintained their discrete disguises as a matter of principle while away from home, but now dissolved with relief into their natural jelly forms. They had assumed that Mach was another Moebite, and were evidently surprised when he did not melt.
The individual with the marked hand went immediately to another chamber, as if trying to escape detection. There was no immediate sign of pursuit, but Mach was sure some would soon manifest. There was no chance of losing track of that hand!
A Moebite formed into a vaguely human outline and approached him. “You have business here?” it inquired in its own language; Mach understood it only because of his language program.
“I have come to inquire about your nature and culture,” Mach said. His actual words were only approximately analogous to the ones he would have used on Proton.
“We are always glad to exchange information,” the Moebite said. “Do you wish a cultural tour?”
“Yes.” His preliminary research had indicated that this was the proper mode of introduction.
“I shall summon a guide.”
“Thank you.”
In a moment the guide appeared, in the guise of a naked human being, except for one distinction: it was neuter. “A greeting, man-being,” it said in Moebite. “I am Coan. Have you a preference?”
Mach considered. The creature was sexless, and could assume the appearance of either sex, just as Agape could. Agape had chosen to be female, and had then conformed psychologically to that image. He decided not to get involved with any other alien female. “Male, if you please. I am Mach.”
Coan’s midsection melted, then shaped into penis and scrotum. His hips thinned down slightly. He had made the requisite cosmetic adaptation.
“Our habitat is dry, but we handle wet well,” Coan said. “These are melt channels through which travelers normally pass.” He indicated several holes in the floor. As Mach looked, he saw one in use: semi-fluid substance was squeezing up from it and pooling around it. Soon the Moebite was through, and sliding toward a waiting region, evidently early for its ship.
“I hope there is an alternative exit,” Mach said. “My body is not flexible in this manner.”
“Our facilities for aliens are limited, but sufficient,” Coan said. “We shall utilize a capsule.” He showed the way to a port that could accommodate a man. He touched it and it opened, revealing the small transparent bubble beyond. They climbed in and sealed the bubble’s lock. Then the little craft moved through the water, dropping slowly to the sea floor and extending fibers that traveled along its nether side, moving it gently forward.
“What was the business of the other travelers?” Mach inquired.
“They are representatives to other planets. They assume the forms of the creatures whom they visit and learn their modes of communication. We are studying the galaxy, and wish to know as much as we can learn about the ways of other sapient species.”
“Because you have no technology of your own,” Mach said.
“True. We had no need of it until we made contact with other species. Now we realize that we are retarded in this sense, and we wish to make progress. We prefer not to be entirely dependent on other planets for our interplanetary contacts.”
Mach could appreciate why. Any aggressive planet could exploit Moeba unmercifully, and surely in time that would occur. “So you are studying technology, and trying to learn sexual reproduction, so that your species will evolve as effectively as others do.”
“You have an unusual comprehension of our effort,” Coan remarked.
“I am not a normal individual of my species,” Mach said. “I am a machine—”
“I had noted that. But you are self-willed.”
“Who is in love with a living creature of another species.”
“I begin to perceive the nature of your empathy,”
“I also represent, in a manner, the interest of another individual who is in love with a Moebite, and who I believe would like to breed with her.”
Coan considered a moment. “I believe we have some common interest. We must explore it in greater detail.”
“Agreed.”
The bubble reached the shore and crawled onto land, then stalled; its fiber-propulsion was unable to sustain the weight on land. The port opened, and they climbed out.
Coan escorted him to a building that appeared to have been constructed by natives of another planet. That made sense; the Moebites had had no technological culture of their own. This was the limitation they were trying to surmount.
“In the beginning, our culture was without form and void,” Coan said, showing a setting of deep water. “We were amoeba, but small, floating in the current. We were victim to other species, and to each other. Predator species were dominant.” And in the setting, little amoeba were engulfed by larger ones.
“We retreated to the least hospitable realms, the shallows and the rivers,” Coan continued as they moved to the next exhibit. “Conditions were more extreme here, and we had to develop tougher membranes and tougher protoplasm. But the predators did the same, and followed us. We retreated to the fresh water, developing membranes to contain our vital solutions, and finally to the land itself.” The settings showed this progression.