Star quest

needed. A mechanical brain could handle all functions minimally, but it took an organic brain to really operate a Jumbo.
    The servo-robot trundled into the control center where his brain hung in a nutrient sack inside an energy net which was, in turn, sheltered within a shatter-proof, blast-proof alloy bowl The brain was protected, for even if shot down, the Jumbo might provide a humanoid body for the brain—a body which would be in enemy territory and capable of doing more damage. Carefully, the robot lifted the bowl from the immovable pillar, where it had been latched, and carried it down through the decks into the operating theater. He directed it to hypo him to sleep, and he was obeyed.
    Dreams flooded his mind…
    Later, he woke with a clear mind, no traces of fogging drugs. The surgeon arms dangled above his head, all manner of instruments fitted to their metal fingers. Thin bladed knives, broad spatulas, hypos, every conceivable surgical tool hung in their nimble, steel fingers. He raised his own arm and looked at it. It was nothing like theirs. It was real, terribly muscular, and ended in five fingers with hair on the knuckles, fine, wiry blond hair. He shoved himself to a sitting position and surveyed his new body. Admirable. Quite admirable indeed. His feet were neither too tiny to provide a sound base nor too large, to be in his way when a situation demanded agility. His calves and thighs were exquisitely muscled, almost rippling with power even as he sat still. His waist was slim, his stomach flat The barrel of his chest was matted with fine hairs that would, he knew, grow long and darker. His bull's neck was topped with a handsome face, the mirror showed him. There was no trace of the brain transplantation, not even a fine scar. A marvelous body. A fighter's body. He would need it. Kicking onto the floor and flexing his arms and legs, he thought next about clothes. The auto-fact had been programmed with information on Basa II costume. He stepped from the blue chamber of the surgeons and into the bone-white chamber of the auto-fact delivery trough. It provided him, when he punched the delivery button, with a neatly folded bundle of garments wrapped and tied with red twine. Tohm broke the string and laid them out on the couch that was bolted to the wall. There was a red velour of velveteen with a turtleneck ridged in black. The trousers were leotards, actually, black as the night is black. Slipper boots that came just below the knee slid on easily, almost of their own accord, comfortable, sleek, perma-polished. They repelled any form of dirt, maintaining that immaculate appearance popular among the wealthy here. Lastly, there was a cape of velveteen that fell just below his waist, a black and sinister thing with a quarter inch of tassel about the bottom. It tied about his shoulders by a polished brass chain whose links were studded by simu-pearls.
    Turning before the mirror, he admired himself. A uniform like this made a man seem so much more a man, so capable and magnificent. The grandeur of Basa II must be overwhelming, he thought, if this were standard dress. A grand and wonderful world. He had never been an aggressive man until they forced him to it, but in that getup, he felt as if he could reach out and stop the world in its orbit and rotation, black out the sun, command the gods!
    Cape fluttering behind, he walked back to the control center and keyed the computer to bring him a car. The capital lay above and ahead, and he did not wish to delay. A moment later, the small, bullet-shaped vehicle rose through the floor elevator and sat purring like
a
contented cat, waiting for him to lift the transparent rap and climb in. He did so, strapping himself in and sliding the roof shut again.
    The board before him twinkled with dozens of lights, the largest being a rotating map which glowed green like a radar scope and had a blinking red dot (the position of the Jumbo), a glistening shimmer of blue (his ear), and a field of pink haze slashed by fine yellow lines (the city and its roads). Punching the starter before him, he took the wheel, steered the car through the opening door, and came out in the bubble of air that surrounded the Jumbo. The shield was there to keep the sand back when he opened the ship's door. Now, door closed behind him, it blinked off and the sand came pouring back, burying him. Kicking the accelerator aside into the slot marked DIGGEH, he pressed down and watched as the dull, almost