Out of Phaze

“I fear for thee nonetheless,” she said. “If the goblins spy thee—“

“I’ll take that chance! Please, Fleta, don’t let me interfere with your life any further!”

“O, I wish there were the right plants in these mountains!” she exclaimed.

“Plants?”

“Herbs. We eat them at need, to suppress the cycle.”

“Oh.”

“O Mach, I love thee and would not leave thee vulnerable to the dangers of Phaze. I want to leave thee not!”

Mach took a step toward her, his arms outstretched, intending to comfort her, but she backed hastily away. “I dare not touch thee now!” she whispered.

“But I mean you no harm, Fleta!” he protested.

“Dost thou not see—it be thee I would be bred by, not some stupid stallion!”

Mach was stunned. “But—but I’m not your species! We agreed that it was not proper for us to—“

“Aye, we agreed,” she said, biting her lip. “And no way it would take. I be a pighead even to say this, but—“

“Are you saying—you and I—?”

“The body knoweth not; it thinks one breeding be as good as another. I could stay with thee till the time pass—“

“Stay—and—?”

“Dost despise me now?” she asked, her face wet with tears. “Fain would I ne’er have had thee know, but me-thought I could get thee to safety before—“

Mach worked it out aloud, to be sure there was no misunderstanding. “If you and I tried to breed, nothing would come of it because of the difference in our species. But then you would not have to run off to the stallion. You could stay with me.”

“That be my thought. I know I have no right—I know it be wrong—“

“Fleta, I come from a different culture. Robots and androids and human beings—we do this sort of thing all the time, knowing none of it can take. I myself am the offspring of an impossible marriage between a man and a machine. I have not—not tried to engage in—not with you, because—I understood you did not want it!”

“Ne’er did I say I wanted it not,” she said. “I said it should not be. I spoke not for myself, but for my culture.”

“Then we have no problem!” he exclaimed. “I have have longed for—if I had realized—“

“Then—thou wouldst do it?”

“Just tell me when!”

Something gave way in her. “Now?” she asked faintly.

Mach stepped toward her again, and this time she did not retreat. “Now and forever!” he cried.

They came together, and he discovered in a moment that this was no ordinary tryst. He tried to kiss her, but she was too busy trying to tear off his clothing and her own. All she wanted was one thing, and she wanted it instantly.

They did that one thing, but such was the urgency and haste of it that it was not, for him, the fulfilling experience he had anticipated. He lay beside her on the leafy ground, his clothing half off, her cloak the same, and wondered whether that really could be all there was to it, in the living state. No preliminaries, no caressing, no speaking, not even kissing; just the straight, raw thrust of it. Yet of course she was an animal, and this was the way her kind did it, regardless of the form assumed. He should have known.

She turned to him, on the ground. There were twigs in her hair, and dirt was on her breasts. “Mach?”

“Yes?”

“Canst—again?”

“Again? Now?”

As a robot, Mach could have done it; as a living creature, he found it difficult. “Um, let’s work up to it a bit more slowly, this time,” he said.

“But I need it now!” she protested. To be in heat: to have a temporary but insatiable appetite for sex. He understood this intellectually, but his body could not keep the pace.

“I’ll try,” he said.

He tried, and to his surprise found he was able. The body was young and healthy, and the mind retained desire. This time the culmination was slower, but she seemed satisfied.

He relaxed, glad he had gotten through. She would not have to charge off to the herd.

But in a few minutes she stirred again. “Canst—?”

“Fleta, there is only so much flesh can do!” he cried.

“But an it not do more, must needs I seek the stallion—and this I want not!”

Because her body governed this need, not her mind. Mach would have found this baffling, had he not had his own experience with involuntary arousal.

So Mach tried again. This time he made a production of it, deliberately kissing her and playing with her breasts and stroking her body. She tolerated this, but it was not her interest; she craved the breeding, nothing else. Finally he was able to do it a third time, and then she relaxed.

But too soon she stirred again. “Canst—?”

Mach lurched to his feet. “Must—urinate,” he said, and headed for the bushes.

In the bushes he did what he said he would do, but his mind was elsewhere. He had thought that one or two acts would satisfy the need; now he knew that the need was as far beyond his means as the galloping travel across the plain had been. Yet Fleta was under the control of her cycle; she had to be bred, as she put it, and if he could not serve in lieu of the stallion, she would be compelled to seek that stallion. He had to find a way to accommodate her, at least until her cycle moved on.