Free Aliena Too by Piers Anthony Page B

jolt of pleasure. Then she moved away at a pace he could not even attempt to match. The sound of her motion was lovely.
    Which was another lesson. The physical touch of a starfish could evoke pleasure—and surely discomfort, if made negative. He wanted her positive attention, as she was his only contact with his own kind, however indirectly.
    He practiced moving. He discovered that the host body had automatic circuits, just as the human body did, so that instead of directing the angling and squirting himself, he could invoke a motion circuit and have it done for him. He could move better when simply willing it, not thinking about it.
    Now that he could move, he explored his environment. He was in a kind of chamber formed by vertical stakes set in the sand of the sea floor, like a baby’s playpen. That analogy made him pause thoughtfully. Effectively, he was a baby in a pen; the stakes were there to dissuade him from wandering into danger.
    Was there danger here? Probably not physical. But suppose he wandered into some activity the regular starfish were performing? He would be in the way at best, and in trouble at worst. The pen might even be marked to keep others away, so he could practice without being laughable for his clumsiness.
    He saw a metal device in one corner of his pen. It reminded him of a food dispenser. He made his way to it, curious about its actual nature. There were several bars under what looked like spouts. He pushed against one bar with a director arm tip. It gave way slightly. Then there was a wash of brownish water from the spout that soaked him in its essence. He recoiled, thinking of mud, before realizing that it tasted more like chocolate. Chocolate mud. It was food! His receptors, intakes, or whatever were absorbing it and nourishing him, before it drifted on out of range.
    This thing was a food dispenser. He didn’t have a mouth or teeth as such, but he could drink in sustenance that came his way.
    He pushed another bar, and received another jet, this one red. It tasted like blood and strawberry and was delicious.
    A third one was like green wine and oysters, also surprisingly good. His starfish body evidently had different taste preferences than his human body did. That was fine.
    Then he felt an urge, and yielded to it. A whitish cloud appeared around him and drifted away in the slight current. It did not taste good. In fact it reminded him of a toilet. That was piss or poop or both! He was discovering how to go potty.
    Aliena returned. Quincy was embarrassed; had she seen him pooping? Or, worse, tasted it in the water?
    â€œYou have discovered the feeder,” she said. “Good; I was about to explain it for you. Now I think you have had enough practice for the day. You need to sleep, and resume learning tomorrow.”
    The region was slowly darkening: simulated night. “Starfish do sleep?”
    â€œWe do, for similar reasons humans sleep: to assimilate the events of the day and allow our brains to cleanse themselves physically and intellectually. Now you will want company for this.”
    â€œI will?”
    She paused. “Perhaps not. It is necessary for starfish, but not for humans. I am not sure which governs in your case.”
    â€œYou can’t sleep alone?”
    â€œIt is a species reflex. We conjecture that in our evolutionary childhood we discovered that safety lay in numbers. Even today there are predators who will attack a sleeping starfish, but will not attack two that are linked. Because if one starfish is injured, the other will fight back and probably injure or kill the predator. So we normally sleep linked in chains of two, three, or more. We are unable to sleep alone.”
    â€œI—can sleep alone,” Quincy said. “But I would prefer to sleep linked with you. However, if you have business elsewhere—”
    â€œA significant part of my business is you. We promised your wife that you would live. Also, you are maintaining the