Out of Phaze

“Well, he had functions I don’t.” But as he spoke, Mach realized it wasn’t true. He was in the living body now. In the night he had had to urinate, and now he felt an increasing abdominal discomfort. He realized that it had been building up for some time, but because he had no prior experience with digestion, he had dismissed it. He had been lucky that he had understood the process of urination; he could have become quite uncomfortable otherwise.

Fleta shook her head with a certain understandable perplexity, then brushed it aside. “Come, we must cross before the dirty birds return.”

“Yes, indeed!” he agreed.

She showed him how to navigate the ladder. She climbed nimbly on it, then crossed over the river by using her hands and feet in the rope rungs. He followed, quickly adjusting to its give and sway, and scampered to the other end. He found his fallen axe and picked it up.

“Now must roll it again,” she said.

“But I tied it on the other side!” he said.

She smiled, and untied it on the near side. As the second rope was freed, the ladder rolled itself up, as though guided by invisible hands along an invisible floor, and finished in one tight coil against the far tree. Only a thin thread remained behind, anchored to the rear tree. It was ready for the next user.

“Close thy mouth, Mach,” Fleta said. “Else folk might think thou hast ne’er seen magic before.”

Mach closed his mouth. They faced down the path. “Uh, if we can wait a moment,” he said.

“Wait? Whatever for?” she asked brightly.

His intestine was becoming quite urgent now. ‘The— privacy—“

“Rovots need no privacy,” she reminded him.

‘That’s changed. Why don’t you go on ahead, and I will rejoin you in a moment.”

“Oh, no, I must keep thee company, else thou dost get edgy.”

He thought he was about to burst, and not from emotion. “I can spare your company for this moment.”       |

“Well. . .” She took a step down the path, and he started to take one toward the bushes.

Then she turned back. “No, I really must not leave thee unattended, Mach. This wood be not familiar to thee. Who knows what mess thou mightst get into, if—“

“Go!” he cried.

Suppressing a smirk, she resumed her progress down the path. The minx had known all along!

He plunged into the bushes, heedless of scratches. He found a halfway suitable place and set about n moving the necessary portion of his clothing. But he had harnessed it about him so effectively that this was difficult; it didn’t want to come off. He had to wrench out his waist-vine, and then the leaves of his costume fluttered down, loose.

He squatted and let living nature take its course. Then he remembered that the living people of Proton clean themselves after this act, so that no soiling or odor would occur. They used special paper for this purpose, or sonic mechanism. He had neither here.

He cast about, seeking some substitute. Nothing seemed to offer. He didn’t want to use any of the cloth of his costume.

He heard a heavy flapping. The harpy loomed. H tried to duck down out of sight, but she spied him. “Ho what have we here? The bare essence!” she screeched

“Get out!” he exclaimed, embarrassed.

“Hey, girls, we’ve found him!” she screamed. “I spotted him by the stench!” She laughed with a cackling sound.

Now there was a whole flock of them, flapping in to see. Mach realized that he had indeed gotten into a mess. Those dirty birds were after more than laughter; their narrow eyes gleamed and their talons convulsed and drool dripped from their open mouths.

He realized that he couldn’t escape them by running.

His clothing was falling apart, and the bushes hampered him, and they were airborne and numerous. They would have him in a moment.

He lifted his axe, but they hovered just beyond its range, screaming imprecations. He could throw it, but then he would be without a weapon.

“Fresh meat!” a harpy screeched, diving down from behind. He whirled and swung the axe, but she sheered off.

Another dived from behind, and a third. Whichever way he faced, there were several behind him, ready to attack.

Mach lunged to a tree, setting his back against it. Now he could defend himself better. But he couldn’t get away, and when his arm tired—

In the distance was the sound of hoofbeats. There was music, too: the melody of panpipes.

“Oh, damn!” a harpy cried.

The beat and music got louder as the source approached rapidly. The ground shook with the hoof-strikes. The pipes played a militaristic air. The harpies scrambled up through the air, shedding feathers in their rush.

The unicorn appeared, charging through the brush. Her horn speared at the last harpy, but the bird was already out of reach. “There’ll be another time, ‘corn!” she screeched.

The unicorn stomped about, making sure that all the birds were gone. Then she leaped back toward the path, and the sound of her retreating hoofbeats faded.