“Judgment,” Aliena agreed. “Survival is a constant balance between resources and threats. When the threat is slight, bluffing is good. When the threat is serious, so must be the defense.”
The classmates considered that, and recognized its validity. Quincy, the dunce of the prior class, was the star (so to speak) of this one, because his human knowledge translated.
A few days later Aliena switched him to a third class. She instructed this one too, and he understood that she also instructed the classes of females. This was because she was the sole adult starfish on the ship; they activated adults only on immediate need. Meanwhile they were activating young ones and training them for the mission, with the hope that they would be more capable because of their complete immersion in it. They had less to unlearn.
These stars were grown but still young and inexperienced. This class was on brain transfer. “We will review and practice transferring our brains into other hosts,” Aliena said. “This is the capacity that brought our species to dominance on our world.”
Uh-oh. Quincy knew he couldn’t do that. He had learned that starfish were capable of putting their brains into the heads of other creatures on their planet and then operating the bodies of those creatures. He was a brain transferee himself, but that wasn’t the problem. It was that the human brain had not evolved to perform such a feat the way starfish brains had. It had required physical surgery to install him in this host, and it was taking him time to learn the ways of it. He could move to another host only by further physical surgery, and he hardly wanted to do that. Once was more than enough.
His classmates were silent. This was clearly significant for them.
“However, we lack the resources to do this properly,” Aliena continued. “We would really need a planet for that. So we will do it in emulation. But the emulation will be realistic. Once you master this technique, you will qualify as grown starfish, eligible for the qualifying race.”
“Qualifying race?” Quincy asked, puzzled.
“Only those who complete the race become full citizens, and only the winner gains the right to breed. Brain transfer is one of the skills you will need to complete the race.”
Quincy shrugged. “That lets me out. I am an alien, not eligible for full starfish citizenship or breeding.”
“For this purpose you are eligible for both,” Aliena told him. “That does not mean you will qualify, only that if you qualify you will gain those privileges.”
He could qualify, even with his alien (to them) brain? That was remarkable. But of course he would not be able to do what real starfish did, even apart from brain transfer. He simply was not their kind.
The details of brain transfer were, to Quincy’s human mind, gruesome. As far as he knew, there was nothing like it on Earth. It entailed catching and sedating a creature of another species, then opening its head and disconnecting its brain by stages, installing the starfish brain in its place. When it was complete, the starfish brain was in the body of the prey, and the prey’s brain was mush. The starfish brain then operated the new body, enabling it to do more than before because of the starfish’s vastly greater intelligence. But the prey brain did not have that luxury; what little was left of it was able only to maintain the starfish body, not to operate it. If the starfish did not return within a reasonable time frame, the body would die, and with it the captive brain remnant. The starfish brain, however, would continue to live in the new host, and would associate with other starfish, either in their natural bodies or in other captive hosts.
They practiced in simulation, and Aliena was right: it was realistic. They were mentally connected to robotic hosts that soon came to feel real and alive. They stalked and captured assorted prey species, some sea creatures, others land creatures, bound them, sedated them by injecting them with a serum that not only paralyzed them, but also facilitated the function of temporarily severed nerves, and did the stages of brain exchange.
Quincy did it too, to his muted amazement. He caught a deer-like creature that came to the river water to drink, and went through the process there on the shore, one body remaining under the water, the other remaining on the land. At last the operation was complete, and the two bodies separated, with their brains exchanged.
“At this point,” Aliena told the class, “you have learned the minimum. You may now relax a few days until the race. The simulation is open to you until then, but its layout will change for the race.”
There were eleven in the class, including Quincy. Six of them were glad to retire from the simulation, relaxing. Four of them continued to explore the simulation, going after other creatures for potential brain exchanges. Quincy went through the entire simulation methodically, mapping every feature of the landscape and every plant and creature in it to the best of his ability. The others ignored him; if he wanted to waste his time memorizing a layout that would not be valid for the race, that was his folly.
“Why are you doing this?” Aliena inquired as she joined him for the night.
“I have always been a realist. That has enabled me to handle situations that sometimes confuse others. Maybe it will be similar this time, though I know that my chances are not great.”
“How does realism relate to this effort?”
“The layout will change, but I figure that its elements will remain, albeit in new locations.”
“That is true. Learning their present locations will not help you.”
“It should help me, because I will know what to expect. When I pass a certain kind of formation, I will know it will not appear elsewhere. When I encounter one of two of a certain species of fish, and one is taken by a competitor, I will know to look for the other. When I see a challenging feature of geography, I will know its nature and limitations regardless of its placement. This will make learning the new simulation much easier; I will simply need to place its pieces on the new board. Then I can study how best to navigate it.”
“This is a sensible approach,” she agreed. “I gather you intend to make a respectable showing.”
“I’d like to win the race. It may be a long shot, but I’ll do my best.”
Her color shifted thoughtfully as she contemplated him. “Why would you want to win it?”
“So I can breed.”
“But you know it would really be your host body breeding, not your human lineage.”
“I do.”
“Then what is the point?”
“It is twofold. First, I want to do as well by my host body as I can, just as I hope Gloaming is doing for my human body. It’s a matter of honor.”
“This is good,” she agreed, shifting hues again.
He took the plunge. “Second, I would like to breed with you.”
Her colors froze. “Why?”
“Because I am coming to care for you, Aliena. I know your love is elsewhere, as is mine, but sex is not necessarily love, and you appeal to me on that level. So I would like to win the right to do it with you, if you are amenable.”
“You assume I am amenable?”
“Not at all. In fact I doubt that you are. I just want to have the right should you ever become interested.”
“Why do you think I might ever become interested?”
“There are only two fully mature starfish on the ship. The others are, as yet, immature. If you got a desire now, your choice for a partner would be between me and one of your students. I am sure that any of your students would like to mate with you; you have impressed them.”
“I also teach the females, who are equal in number and similarly limited about breeding. There will be eleven prospects for the winning male.”
“Not if they have to run the same gauntlet. Then there will be only one. And you. So your chances of being chosen are even, regardless which male wins the race, and which female.”
“And if you won, you could be chosen by the winning female.”
“I am assuming that partners do not breed unless both are interested. I could be chosen, but I could also
choose.”
“True. But breeding is compelling; a starfish, given the opportunity, does not decline. There will be a breeding between the male winner and either the female winner or me. If you win, that will be your choice.”
She had not said she would decline. “That is a choice I would like to have.”
Her colors resumed their muted shifting. “You have assessed it rationally.”
But neither had she said she would accept.
They slept. He realized that her kindness in this respect was not completely altruistic; she needed company for her own sleeping, and he was what was available. She must have slept with Gloaming before he transferred to his human host: Quincy’s body. She might have done it with one of the students, but that would have been awkward because they were even in number, and her intercession would have left one unattached. No, they could sleep in groups. Still, he liked to think that she preferred his company.
The next day there was another event. “Today the humans are visiting: my child Maple and your wife Lida. We will want to interact with them. The machines will translate; there will be no problem communicating.”
“I met Maple,” Quincy said.
“Yes. I was sorry to leave her, as I was to leave Brom. I learned love, and I love them both.”
“That must have been hard for you,” he said sympathetically.
“No harder than for you to leave Lida. You are the one other starfish who understands.”
And there was another reason she associated with him: he was in a similar emotional situation.
She took him to a vertical transparent wall that showed an air-filled hallway beyond. Aliena moved to that wall, and Quincy took his position somewhat apart from her. Two human forms appeared, walking: an adult female and a juvenile female. The young one skipped ahead. He recognized her as the child who had accompanied the Smythes at the outset of his adventure, but now he saw her from the starfish perspective. She was an awkward mass of flesh supported by internal bones, precariously balanced on her hind arms, with her long head fur flouncing as she moved. She ran to face Aliena. “Mother!” she cried.
“Maple!” Aliena replied.
The woman walked beyond them, coming to stand before Quincy. She looked even worse than the child, her flesh projecting here and there, pushing out the cloth of her clothing and jiggling, and her loose hair obscuring part of her head. It was Lida.
After a moment he managed to reorient and see her as human, rather than alien. But he did wonder how Aliena had managed to stomach her occupation of a human host. It must have been a horrendous trial, at least at first.
“Hello, Lida,” he said. “You look lovely as ever.” That was technically true, just not the full story.
“I—I’m uncertain I can say the same of you.”
He laughed, appreciating the anomaly: they each looked like monsters to the other. “I have Gloaming’s original body. I assure you it’s a good one.”
“You know his name?” she asked, surprised.
“Aliena told me.” He told her of the reference.
“Oh, Quincy! I’m supposed to love the alien male in your body. But I still love you!”
“And I still love you, Li.” And he did, but not in precisely the same manner as before. His starfish host simply was not aroused by the same things his human host had responded to. Lida was no longer the sexy creature he had known as a human male, though she had not changed. “But we both have to move on.”
She hesitated, then said, “I’ve been giving him sex. But I haven’t climaxed myself.”
Which meant that she wasn’t giving the alien male actual love, just sex. “You’re holding back.”
“He’s not you!”
He tried to reason with her, doubting that she would be reasonable. She was capable of throwing a real fit when she got too emotional. He told her that she could love Gloaming in addition to loving Quincy, and that he would try to do the same.
Bad move. “You have a prospect?” she asked sharply.
What could he do but tell her? “Aliena.”
It did not go well. She soon broke off the dialogue and ran from him. All he could do was watch. He should have known better than to even mention Aliena.
The child Maple went to Lida. Then Aliena spoke to him, and he somehow knew that this was not being translated to the others. “Humans are far more emotional than starfish; it is their strength but also their weakness. They suffer jealousy, which is something we have yet to properly understand. I am with her via the glasses she wears. She is, at base, a reasonable person. I believe she feels guilt for trying to love Gloaming instead of you. It is more complicated than I can fathom. But I think she will adapt.”
Then Lida and Maple were returning. “Yes, she is accepting the situation. You should encourage her.”
Lida came to the wall. “Dear—”
“Kiss me,” he said, lifting an arm.
Lida kissed the wall opposite the tip of his limb. “I’ve been giving Gloaming sex. If you want to be with Aliena, you have my leave. It’s only fair.”
She was coming around. They exchanged parting amenities, and Lida promised to visit again. Then she left. He was relieved, but also saddened. It was ending between them, as it had to. Had he his choice of a perfect world, he would never have left her. But that kind of choice he never had.
That night when Aliena touched arm-tips with him for sleep, she said one thing. “If you should win the right to breed, I will be amenable.”
That was immensely reassuring. Now all he needed to do was win the race, somehow beating ten starfish in their own element.
In the morning Aliena gave him a pleasant arm-tip twinge. “I will not participate in the race, or influence it, but I will be watching it. If you lose, you lose. I will regret that. But remember, your usefulness to the project will not end; this race is merely for maturity and breeding rights, not for anything else. And there is something else you should know: those who do not win will not breed, but they can emulate it. Their association merely will not be fertile. So for you, with your human interest in copulation, this is not necessarily the end. There may be a female who would like your association in this respect. Males and females will be allowed to associate, after the race, in whatever manner they choose.”
That was interesting. So it was really a fertility race, and they had a way to ensure that only the winners would be fertile. “Thank you. I still hope I can win.”
She moved away without further comment.
In a moment he picked up on her remark about copulation. Evidently she, being a starfish, did not have that kind of interest. It was for breeding only. So probably when the two genders of starfish mixed, they would not be looking to copulate. He was disappointed, but it was better, as usual, to be realistic.
This was the last day before the race. The layout remained as it was, but would change tomorrow. His exploration of it was almost complete. There was an isolated section that might or might not have something worthwhile for him.
He moved rapidly, but the distance made it take time, because starfish were not swift travelers. The section was barred by an isthmus of plant-overgrown land on which predators roamed: hostile territory. He did not need to fear them today, because they were mostly illusion. But tomorrow, when the starfish participated in emulation, the predator emulations would be all too real. He had rehearsed how to fend them off, but hoped not to have to.
He made his away around the isthmus, remaining in the water, though this expended valuable time. But he wondered: was there something here that could really be useful, and that was why it was protected against easy study? As far as he knew, none of the students had come here, believing that it would not be a productive expenditure of their time or effort. Actually, no other starfish seemed to be exploring at all today, maybe saving their energy for the morrow.
A figure loomed before him. Quincy’s spines elevated; was this a live predator, rather than an emulation?
“Greeting, alien.??
?
It was another starfish! But he didn’t recognize it. “Greeting, stranger,” he returned.
The starfish approached him. Now he saw its color: dark pink. A female! And by the standards of her kind, a newly nubile and very attractive one.
“Yes, we too are entitled to explore the setting,” she said. “We females worked from the other end of it, so we did not overlap your section. But we will all be together tomorrow.”
“Together tomorrow,” he agreed. “I will not interfere with your exploration.”
“I am not seeking information at the moment, but dialogue.”
“You actually wanted to talk with me? Even though I can’t talk well?”
“It is true that others are contemptuous of your pidgin, and wary of your origin. But I am of a different inclination. We starfish do vary in personality.”
“You sought me,” he said. “Why?”
“I hope you will not reject me if I am candid.”
“Who are you?”
“Do you mean you require a name? Then name me.”
He pondered briefly. “You are exploring, as I am, so I name you Explora.”
She made a ripple of shades of red. “And you are Quincy.”
“I am. I will try not to reject you for candor. I already know that I am somewhat freakish in your culture, despite having a good host body.”
“I have two interests in you. One is that I understand that humans are inordinately interested in efforts of breeding, even those that are not expected to generate offspring.”
“That is true. Relative to you, we are obsessed with it. At least our males are.”
“I am similarly obsessed. I think constantly of getting together with a male, any male, and doing it just for the sake of doing it. Even without reproduction, it’s the pleasure of the act I crave. This makes me an oddity among my kind, but perhaps not among your kind.”
Could this be true? There might indeed be considerable variation among individuals, even of the same brood, but for a female to have such an extreme interest seemed unlikely. Then he caught on. “Aliena sent you.”