Statesman by Piers Anthony

contour-clinging, lifelike things that could readily be mistaken for living flesh when animated by her expressions. In fact Forta was an accomplished mime: she could don mask and costume and mimic her chosen character so cleverly that the resemblance was startling. At my behest, she donned her Megan set, as she called it, and in a moment it was as though my wife entered the chamber. The mask-face, the hair-wig, the walk, the gestures, the subtle body signals—I was shaken despite my comprehension of the device. She was so very like Megan that I longed to embrace her.
    Then she spoke—and with Megan's voice, complete with the nuances that I had thought only I appreciated. “Why, Hope—it is so good to see you again,” she said, and extended her arms to me, in exactly the way Megan had done when our marriage was active.
    I knew better, but I couldn't help myself. I stepped forward and took her in my arms. I kissed her—and did not even feel the mask. It seemed like a living face, despite my knowledge. Yet this was not my wife, but another woman acting her part. I knew that Forta could and would take that part as far as I cared to have it go, right through the sexual aspect, and would emulate Megan even in that. This was my closest possible approach to my wife, and it was offered with my wife's collaboration.
    But that was not, I discovered, what I desired. If I could not have Megan herself, I did not want any imitation. I broke the contact and turned away, my emotions churning.
    Forta understood. She returned to her chamber, and in a moment reappeared as herself. “Or any other form you prefer,” she said simply.
    Spirit had been present. She shook her head. “If I had not seen it...” she said.
    I preferred to mull the matter over in my subconscious for a while. “We have a job to do on Saturn,” I said. “How can you facilitate that?”
    “I can serve in a secretarial capacity when required,” she said. “I realize that you already have a secretary, but perhaps Spirit could use me. I can also emulate either of you, should you require doubles for safety.”
    “To become a target for assassination, in lieu of one of us?” I asked, appalled. “We would not ask that of you!”
    “But I would do it at need,” she said. “I can also serve as a courier, and as translator.”
    “You know other languages?” I asked, interested.
    “Not exactly. I have translation apparatus that facilitates the limited ability I have in that regard.”
    “That I would like to see,” I said.
    She demonstrated. She had a pocket multitongue language computer, with capsules for the individual languages. An earplug enabled her to hear the ongoing translation in Afrikaans, her native language and the one she thought in. It developed that she had been using the translator for English, though she did speak that language, because it was easier for her to hear words in her own language, then translate her reply, than to deal completely in English.
    “¿ Español?” I inquired.
    She smiled, checked through her file, brought out the Spanish capsule, and inserted it in the machine. " Sí
    ," she said.
    “But if you do not know it, how can you speak it?” I asked.
    “I have a prompt,” she explained. This was a plug in her other ear, that fed her the words she subvocalized. The unit had a receptor at her neck, so that she could in effect speak without being heard by others, and so her Afrikaans word for “yes” produced the prompt of the Spanish “ sí.” She understood phonetics, and knew the basic sounds of many languages, so that she could speak remarkably well despite the adaptation. I would have thought she was a slightly slow Hispanic, had I not known. It was amazing how she could do this ongoing translation, with only slight pauses in her speech, ordinarily unnoticed in dialogue. This was a formidable skill.
    “You can do this in Russian too?” Spirit asked.
    Forta demonstrated the Russian capsule. I was impressed; she did