The castle of the Brown Demesnes was impressive, being fashioned of brownstone rather than the wood he had thought, with a brown forest and the river turning muddy brown. Even the grass was brown. There could be no doubt of the identity of its owner. Two great brown wooden golems guarded the heavy brown wooden door. But Fleta approached it without trepidation. “Bane came often here,” she said. “And I too, carrying him, when we were young and he used not his magic to travel. Brown was I think about ten years old when I was foaled and now she be close to thirty, but she it was who versed me in the human tongue and in the ways of thy kind. She did babysit Bane, too. She be the best of Adepts.” That seemed to be a sufficient recommendation. They stepped up to the golems. Mach had nullified the invisibility spell, realizing that however convenient it had been to travel without being seen, they couldn’t approach a friendly Adept in that condition. “Tell thy mistress that Fleta and a friend come calling,” Fleta said to them.
One golem turned ponderously and stomped inside, while the other maintained watch. Soon the first returned. “Come!” it boomed. Mach wondered how a creature that did not breathe could boom, but realized that magic could account for it.
They followed it inside. The paneling inside was brown, but in varying shades, so that it was not oppressive. They came to the central hall, where a handsome brown-haired woman stood. She wore a brown gown and brown gloves and slippers, and her hair was tied back by a brown ribbon. This was of course the Brown Adept. Mach had rather expected her to be brown-skinned; she was well tanned, but that was the extent of it. Maybe the first person to hold this office had been literally brown.
“Fleta, it has been many months!” the woman said. “And Bane—“
“He be not Bane, Brown,” Fleta said. “He be Bane’s other self, from Proton-frame.”
Brown’s brown eyes studied Mach. “Aye, now I perceive the difference! But I thought there was no communication between the frames anymore.”
“Only in our case, sir,” Mach said.
“Dost call me ‘sir’?” she said, amused.
Mach was abashed. “In my frame, only Citizens wear clothes. I—“
She laughed. “I remember the Citizens! Stile and Blue fought them, and in the end I helped. Call me Brown; if thou art not the son of Stile, thou’rt the son of Blue.”
‘The son of Blue,” Mach agreed. “I am called Mach, and I am a robot.”
“A rovot be very like a golem,” Fleta put in quickly.
“Only now I’m in Bane’s body, and he’s in mine. We need to switch back, but don’t know how. So we were going to go to the Blue Demesnes, but demons and goblins prevented us, so we looped around and came here.”
“So that be why the monsters stir!” Brown exclaimed. ‘They be in pursuit of thee!”
‘That’s the story,” Mach agreed. “We don’t know why. We’re hoping you will help us.”
“Of course I will help,” Brown agreed. “I will send a golem bird to the Blue Demesnes, and thy problem shall be resolved. Meanwhile, the two of you be welcome here; the golems will protect you from the goblins.”
“O, thank thee!” Fleta said, going and hugging Brown. The Brown Adept snapped her fingers, and a brown bird flew in to perch on her wrist. It looked authentic, but evidently it was a golem; this was an impressive evidence of the woman’s skill. “Go tell the Blue Adept to contact Brown,” the Adept told it. ‘The matter be important.”
The bird flew away. “It can speak?” Mach asked.
“Nay,” Brown said, smiling. “It understands only where to go, but Blue will know I sent it not frivolously. We should hear from him in two hours.”
They had an excellent meal, and Brown provided better clothing for Mach; his homemade apparel was quite ragged. Brown was an easy woman to know; it was evident that she had a high regard for Stile and Stile’s son, and she was quite interested in what Mach had to tell of Proton.
“But now that I have met Fleta,” Mach said in passing, “I am not as certain I really want to return to Proton. If she can’t go with me—“
Fleta tried to caution him, but Brown was on it immediately. “So thy relationship with the mare be more than convenience?”
“Nay,” Fleta said.
“Yes,” Mach said. “I think I love her.”
“But that cannot be, in Phaze,” Fleta said. “Thy kind and mine do not love.”
“And thee,” Brown said, fixing her gaze on Fleta. ‘Thou dost not love him?”
Fleta’s lip trembled in the way it had. “I know it be forbidden.”
“But thou dost love him.”
“Aye,” Fleta whispered.
‘Then why dost thou help him to return to his frame?”
“Because he and me can never be, and his world be there.”
“I am not sure of that,” Mach said. “But if I stayed here, Bane would be trapped there, and I know that’s not right.”
“So it be hopeless as well as forbidden,” Brown said. “I think I cannot help the two of you in that.”
“No one can help,” Fleta said, turning on Mach a look of such misery that he leaped from his chair and went to hold her.
At this point there was an interruption. A globe of mist appeared above the table. It formed into a shape of a man’s head. “So the apprentice and the animal are getting friendly,” the head remarked.
“What dost thou do here, Translucent?” Brown demanded angrily.
“Our agents have discovered that the young man be not what he appears to be,” Translucent said. ‘This be not the apprentice Adept, but his other self from Proton.”
“So I have already ascertained,” Brown snapped. “Be it for this thy minions persecute this couple?”
“Persecute? Hardly. This young man represents the only known contact with the other frame in a score years. We have long regretted lack of contact with those of Proton, and would have this lad relay messages there for us. For this purpose we sought him, and are prepared to reward him handsomely.”
“By sending demons and harpies and goblins after him?” Fleta demanded hotly. “Some reward!”
“Watch thy tongue, animal, lest thou lose it,” Translucent said to her.
“Don’t call her animal!” Mach flared.
The foggy head surveyed him, then nodded. “So it really be like that.” It smiled. “I apologize, unicorn, if aught I spoke of thee seemed amiss.”
“Just call off thy minions,” Fleta said, taken aback.
“Indeed, they be gone already,” Translucent said. His gaze returned to Mach. “What be thy price to c arry messages?”
“Price?”
“Gold? Servants? A palace? My associates and I can be generous when pleased.”
“Thy associates and thee be no credit to the frame of Phaze!” Brown snapped. “Get thee hence from my Demesnes!”
“In a moment, woodworker.” Again the misty gaze fixed disconcertingly on Mach. “An thou not be ready at this time to make a commitment, call me when thou dost wish. Take a cup of water and dash it to the ground and speak my name, and I shall respond. I think thou willst in due course perceive the merit in mine offer.” And at last the head faded out.
“Disgusting intrusion!” Brown muttered. “We try to keep things civil with the Adverse Adepts, and Translucent be not the worst o’ them, but even he can try my patience.”
“You mentioned that you helped fight the Citizens, in the old days,” Mach said. “Is this tied in with that?”
“Aye.” Brown smiled reminiscently. “I was but a child then, and new at my post, for my predecessor had recently died. Stile, new as the Blue Adept, came here and wreaked havoc in my Demesnes, and I was angry; but when I came to know him, I helped him, and for a time I had charge of the Book of Magic, and in the end I did betray him for his own good by reversing the frame he went to.”
“So you were the one who brought Blue to Proton, and Stile to Phaze!” Mach exclaimed.
“Aye. Then I turned the Book of Magic over to Trool the Troll, and he became the Red Adept. Since then Stile has guided the affairs of Phaze in a beneficial direction, curtailing the evil powers of the opposing Adepts, who naturally hate him. E’er they sought to balk him, and to diminish the freedoms of the animals and Little Folk, but e’er he was alert, and Red provided powerful new spells when needed, and Phaze has prospered despite the loss of magical power.”
“Loss of magic? It seems effective enough to me!”
“That be because thou saw it not in the old days. When the frames separated, half the Phazite, the rock of magic, was passed o’er to Proton, to make up for the Protonite lost by mining there. That balanced the frames so they would not destroy each other, and then they separated so that no one could cross thereafter. But the power of magic was diminished, and I think the power of economics diminished in Proton too, because there could be no more unlimited mining.”
“It was,” Mach agreed. “Proton remains well off, because Protonite now commands a much higher price, but only a small fraction of the prior total is exported. My father has worked to make the operation of the society more efficient, so that we can maintain as good a lifestyle as before; the self-willed machines have been helping. But the old-guard Contrary Citizens have adamantly opposed him; they want to get rich by multiplying the output of Protonite.”
“Stile encouraged the association of the species,” Brown continued. “Thus it was that Bane was named after wolf-bane, the charm the werewolves use for strength, and had as playmates the young of the unicorns, werewolves, vampires and even on occasion some of the Little Folk or the trolls.”
“I learned about Fleta,” Mach said, smiling at her. “But how far does this association go? Fleta seems to feel that any permanent liaison between us is forbidden.”
Brown spread her hands. “Camaraderie be one thing; marriage be another. The species be concerned about the purity of their lines, and some have ancient enmities. So this be an uneasy association at best. Stile himself was close to Neysa, but he married his own kind. So even if thou didst not have to return to thine own frame, I think there would be no approval in this frame for what thou might desire.”
“She speaks truth,” Fleta murmured.
“Not as I see it!” Mach said. “I grew up in a society in which robots like myself mixed with other types of creature, and no limits to their association were imposed. My father is human, my mother a robot. Is there greater distinction between me and a unicorn than between me and a human being?”
Brown shook her head. “In Phaze thou wouldst be called a golem, an thou didst have thine own body. Even so was Sheen considered, when she visited this frame. I personally believe that golems should have greater rights, but I am biased by the nature of my magic. Phaze be not ready for mixing of species in any but the most innocent sense, and not ready for self-willed golems at all. An thou didst take Fleta to Proton with thee, there the situation might differ.”
Mach sighed. “I think I do not want to return to Proton alone, but I cannot take her with me.”
“I knew always our love was forbidden,” Fleta said. “The more fool I for yielding to it.”
“This experience has been a kind of dream for me,” he said. “But I too knew I could not live forever in a dream. Once I discover how to exchange back, I will have to return his body to Bane.”
Soon they had another call. A man walked in from the kitchen, carrying a tray full of desserts: chocolate ice cream. Mach glanced at him casually, then did a doubletake. “Father!”
Brown laughed. “Stile, thou idiot! Thou didst not have to masquerade as a servant!”
For it was indeed Stile, the Adept. He looked exactly like Citizen Blue, except that his clothing was of Phaze instead of Proton. He was small, shorter than any of the others in the room, but fit, in his middle forties.
“I didn’t know quite what to expect,” Stile said, setting down the desserts. “So I thought I’d come quietly.” He sounded exactly like Blue, too.
“So thou didst animate one of my golems!” Brown said.
“It was already animate. I merely gave it my semblance.”
“Sit down, have some ice cream,” Brown said mischievously. Mach had to smile, knowing that an ordinary golem could not eat.
“Not my flavor,” Stile demurred.
Brown snapped her fingers. Another golem responded. “Fetch some blue ice cream,” she ordered.
The golem returned in a moment with blueberry ice cream, setting it before Stile. He took his spoon and began to eat.
Fleta’s mouth dropped open. Then Brown caught on. ‘Thou dost fashion the illusion of eating, to go with the illusion of life for the golem.”
Stile smiled. “It gets harder to deceive thee, Brown. Why didst thou send thy messenger?”
“This be not thy son, Bane, but his other self from Proton, Mach,” Brown said. “He needs to know how to return to Proton.”
Now Stile did a doubletake. He stared at Bane. Then he glanced at Brown. “May I?”
“Feel free,” she replied.
Stile sang something under his breath. There seemed to be a play of force around Mach, but nothing else happened.
“So it be true,” Stile breathed. “Contact between the frames, after twenty years!”
Brown relaxed. Evidently she had retained a certain skepticism about Mach’s claim, despite her friendly treatment of him. But it seemed that Stile’s magic had verified it.
“Fleta brought me here,” Mach said. “We were pursued by agents of Adverse Adepts.”
Stile nodded. “So that was why it came not to mine attention! They used no magic. Methought thou wast merely having a private fling with thine old companion, and I knew my son could handle the like of goblins.”
“I managed to work a little magic, but it was clumsy, especially at first,” Mach said. “Without Fleta, I would have been captured.”
“I brought him here because I thought they would not be blocking off this castle as they were the Blue Demesnes,” Fleta said. “But I could not tell him how to return to Proton.”
“How didst thou come to this frame?” Stile inquired of Mach.
“I willed it—and suddenly it happened.”
“But thou couldst not will thyself back?”
Mach shook his head. “It didn’t seem to work that way.”
Stile considered. “Where did it happen?”
“In a glade near the swamp.”
Stile looked at Fleta. “What glade?”
Fleta gave a more accurate geographic description, and added that Bane had gone there several times before the exchange was made.
“Then Bane was trying for this?”
“Yes,” Mach said.
“Thy position in Proton—how did it relate to thy point of arrival in Phaze?”
“Why, they were the same,” Mach said.
“Then thy body occupied the same spot his did—one in each frame.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“That must be the key! To overlap the position, then will the exchange. Mayhap he facilitated it with a spell.”
Mach sat amazed. Of course that was the key, suddenly so obvious! To overlap, so there was no physical motion required. And when he had walked away from that spot, the overlap no longer occurred, so they couldn’t change back.
“I did it!” he exclaimed ruefully. “I left the spot, trapping him there without even realizing!”
“Then perhaps he is trying to locate thee, again,” Stile said. “Does he have a mechanism for that?”
“I don’t know,” Mach said. “But I think so, because he knew where to be, while I did not realize that location mattered. But if so, it may not work in Proton.”
“He would have used another spell,” Stile agreed. “Or perhaps the two of you are attuned to each other. If thou dost try to tune in on him—“
“I never thought of that!” Mach exclaimed, feeling quite stupid. He sat still and concentrated, thinking of Bane. Where are you, my other self?
He felt the faintest of stirrings, as though he had reached something far distant. But he couldn’t be sure.
“Try it again, periodically,” Stile suggested. “I think this be a thing no other can do for thee.” He leaned forward. “But in the meantime, there be things we must grasp. This be contact between the frames, when we thought it impossible. A psychic rapport between the two of you—mayhap a unique one. I see now why the Adepts be after thee; they knew before I did, and seek contact with Proton.”
“Yes,” Mach agreed. “They want me to carry messages, and have offered me anything I want.”
Stile nodded. “We all be starved for news! But thou— if thou be the son of mine other self, who is thy mother?”
“Sheen.”
“Sheen be the best and loveliest of women, but she also be a robot. Do robots bear babies now?”
“No. I am a robot too.” Quickly Mach explained.
“Yet thou dost resemble Bane, physically?”
“Precisely, as far as I can tell.”
“And thou dost have a soul, for now it be here.”
“And his is in my robot body,” Mach agreed.
“I suspected that a machine could have a soul when I knew Sheen,” Stile said, and his eyes looked far beyond the chamber. “Now it seems we have the proof.” He shrugged. “Tell thy mother I remember her, and be glad for her fortune in marrying Blue.” Then he left, and only the golem remained, brown and wooden, the melting ice cream untouched before it.
“He seemed not much interested in thee!” Fleta said indignantly.
Mach smiled. “He was interested. He is like my father; only a small fraction of the thought and emotion in him leaks out. I’m glad to have met him, and I shall carry back his message.”
“Methinks Stile was a bit too restrained,” Brown remarked. “He will be watching thee, Mach.”
“I know it.” Mach looked at Fleta. “I think our time together is limited, now that I have the key to my return.”
“Aye,” she agreed faintly.
“I will provide you with a suite here, until the time,” Brown said.
It was a nice suite. “She understands,” Fleta whispered.
“She understands,” Mach agreed. “She may have had some forbidden love of her own.”
For the first time, they spent a night in human quarters, without fear of pursuit or discovery, and it was sheer delight. They made love with the desperation born of the knowledge of coming separation.
“But surely I need not stay always in Proton,” Mach murmured. “If I could come here once, I could come here again, at least for a visit, to see you.”
“Aye,” she breathed with sudden hope. “If Bane agreed. I don’t know how he would feel—“
“Bane be a good man. He would do it.” They lay in silence for a time. Then he asked: “You told the Brown Adept that you love me.”
“I had no right,” she said.
“Surely it has happened before! With animals being able to assume human form, and sharing human intelligence—has no unicorn, or werewolf, or vampire ever before loved a human being?”
“Oh, aye,” she said. “But it be discouraged for aught but play.”
“Play—as in bed? But not serious, as in love?”
“Aye. Love be special.”
“Surely it is! And until I occupied this human body, I think play was all I ever experienced. But now I believe I love you, Fleta, and I don’t see how that can be wrong. I know what you are, and if you love me too—“
She shook her head. “Mach, mayhap there be secret love twixt our kinds on occasion, but ne’er open. Sometimes a human man will take a werebitch as a concubine, and she would do it not if she loved him not. Sometimes an animal be so fetching, like Suchevane the vampiress, that she could take a human man.”
“Who?”
“Suchevane. She be the loveliest of her kind. Methinks Bane played a game with her, too.” She grimaced. “But thou dost have no need to meet her,” she concluded firmly.
“So animals and human beings never marry.”
“Nor speak the three,” she agreed.
“The three? Three whats?”
“When thy kind—and sometimes other kinds—bespeak true love, the one will address the other three times, and then there be no doubt.”
“Three times? You mean if I said ‘I love you’ three times, then you would believe me?”
“Thee,” she said. “But say it not, Mach.”
“Thee? But I don’t talk that way.”
“Aye. Thou art not of Phaze.”
“Thee—three times?”
“Say it not!” she repeated. “This be ne’er offhand!”
“I don’t understand.”
“Aye,” she murmured, and kissed him.
In the morning they joined Brown for breakfast, then went out for a walk around the Demesnes. Mach paused to concentrate on his other self—and felt Bane much more definitely than before. “He’s closer!” he said. “He must be tuning in on me, making his way here.”
“Aye,” she said, her lip trembling.
He kissed her. “I will return!”
“I will wait for thee.”
They were coming into a pleasant flowery garden, whose blooms were all shades of brown. “I’m getting to like the color,” Mach remarked.
“These be grown on the best fertilizer there be,” Fleta said.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Unicorn manure.”
He laughed, thinking it a joke. But she was serious. “When my dam, Neysa, met Brown, and Brown helped Stile, the unicorns agreed to provide her fertilizer for her garden, and so it has been e’er since.”
That reminded him of her nature. She had not assumed her natural form since their arrival at the Brown Demesnes. “Fleta, before we part, would you—“ She glanced askance at him.
“Would you play me a tune? I think your music is lovely.”
“But to do that—“
“What is wrong with your natural form?” She hesitated. It was obvious that she preferred to relate to him in the human fashion. Then she shrugged, and became herself, with her glossy black coat and golden socks. She played a melody on her horn, and then a two-part tune, the pan-pipes playing counterpoint. How she could do that he was not sure; he assumed that magic assisted it. Perhaps the high notes were played at the narrow tip of the horn, and the low ones at the broader base. But the music was as pretty as he could imagine. He would always remember her for this, for her sound as much as for her appearance.
She finished, and changed back to girl form. ‘Thou dost value me only for my melody,” she teased him.
“I would value you just as much if—“ Mach looked around, seeking a suitable metaphor for the occasion. They were near a pleasant pool, at whose brown-mud border fat frogs squatted. “If your horn sounded like the croaking of frogs.”
She laughed, but there was an angry croak from the nearest frog, who evidently had overheard. In a moment all the frogs had the message, and were glaring at him.
“Methinks thou didst misspeak thyself,” Fleta said, suppressing a merry chortle in the way she had, at bosom-level.
Mach was abashed. It had never occurred to him that the frogs would understand. “I—“
“Croak!” the largest frog said witheringly. Then it turned about, facing the other frogs. They settled themselves in a ring around the pool, at the water’s edge. Then they croaked.
Some had low croaks, and some had high croaks, while most were in the middle ranges. They croaked in sequence—and suddenly a melody emerged, each croak a note. More than that: it was the same melody Fleta had just played on her horn, in both its parts. The frogs were duplicating it in all its detail, and in this mode it had another kind of beauty, as great in its fashion as the original had been.
The frogs completed it, and were silent. They waited.
Mach knew he was on the spot. In his ignorance he had affronted the frogs, without cause. He owed them an apology.
He faced Fleta. “In fact, your horn does sound like the croaking of frogs,” he said loudly. “Beautiful!”
Fleta smiled. “I thank thee for that compliment.”
The frogs considered that. Then the leader jumped into the pond. After that the others followed. In a moment the mud was clear.
“I think they have forgiven thee,” Fleta murmured. Then she embraced him and kissed him, in the midst of her laughter.
She changed back to ‘corn form and played a new melody. This time Mach joined her, singing counterpoint. And from the pond the croaking resumed, providing a melodic background. It was as though an entire orchestra were performing.
There was a rumble. The ground shook. Fleta stopped playing, alarmed.
The pond abruptly drained away, its water disappearing into the ground beneath. The frogs scrambled desperately to escape. The mud bubbled and slid into the deepening hole.
The flower garden caved in around them. Fleta blew a startled note, bracing her four feet. Mach, realizing that something was seriously amiss, leaped for her, scrambling to her back as his footing gave way. “Get out of here!” he cried.
She leaped—but the entire garden collapsed under her hooves, dropping them down into a forming sinkhole. Fleta kept her feet, but slid to the bottom.
Now smoke showed, issuing from forming vents. “It’s a caldera!” Mach cried, jumping off her back. “Change to bird form and fly out, Fleta!”
But she did not; she would not leave him in this danger.
The ground shook again, and the volume of smoke increased, obscuring everything. It seemed to form a globe about them, closing in.
“Magic!” Mach cried. “I’ll try a spell!”
But in this pressure of the moment, he could think of neither rhyme nor melody. Fleta blew a note, trying to help him, but then the smoke closed in, chokingly, and they were helpless.
In a moment, it cleared—but they were no longer in the garden. They were in a chamber hewn from rock— and great ugly creatures surrounded them. The creatures pounced, grasping Mach by the arms, one of them clapping a rough and dirty hand over his mouth. Others flung themselves on Fleta, shoving her against the wall while one grasped her horn.
“Welcome, apprentice!” a man said, entering the chamber. “I am the Purple Adept, and these trolls be under my sway. As thou mayst know, I reside in the Purple Mountains, and I possess the magic of the movements of the earth. Now I want thy cooperation, apprentice, and I want thy word on that now.”
At a signal from Purple, the troll removed his hand from Mach’s mouth. Mach spat out gravel. “I’ll give you no such word, criminal!”
“Now I know thou canst not do magic without thy mouth, and my minion will clap his hand back o’er it the moment thou dost try to sing a spell. So thou canst not escape by thy magic.”
“But I won’t help you, either!” Mach said.
“But an thee give me not thy word, it will go grievously with thy steed here.”
“She’s not my steed!” Mach exclaimed.
“Aye, she be thy concubine. I saw as much when the two of you trespassed across my Demesnes. Now I ask thee, apprentice: how much music will that mare play, without her horn?”
Fleta renewed her struggles, but the mass of trolls overwhelmed her. She could neither escape nor change form, while her horn was held.
What would happen to a unicorn whose horn was amputated? Mach didn’t know, but the very fact that the evil Adept expected him to be cowed by this threat served the purpose. He had no faith in any good will by this man, and he couldn’t risk harm to Fleta.
“I will carry a message to Proton,” he said dully. “Release Fleta.”
“Release her? Nay, she will remain with us—unharmed pending thy cooperation.” The Purple Adept made another signal, and the trolls heaved and shoved the resisting unicorn from the chamber. “She will reside in an enchanted cell that be proof from her escape in any form. An thou cooperate fully, she will be well enough treated otherwise.”
Mach felt a private rage such as he had never experienced when he had been a robot, but he knew he had to control it. He just could not risk harm to Fleta! “What is your message?”
‘The first one will be to mine other self, Citizen Purple, just to let him know that contact has been reestablished. He will know what to do, and what message to return.”
The first one. When would this brute ever give over? Not as long as he had control of Fleta!
But perhaps there was a way out. Mach suppressed that thought, not wanting any hint of it to show here. “I have to overlap the spot my other self occupies,” he said. “I can’t do that if you don’t let me move about.”
“Thou shalt move about—in my presence,” Purple said. “And be thou advised, apprentice, that thy magic may be apt against ordinary folk, but cannot compare with mine own. An thou try something against me, not only will I balk it, I will let my minions at the animal’s horn. Trolls hate ‘corns; only the restraint I impose prevents them from making her scream.”
There will be a reckoning, Mach thought, then quelled his outrage.
He tuned in on Bane—and his other self was very close now. Apparently Bane had been able to follow him here. So it would happen soon—and then he would see whether his wild notion would work.
He experimented, discovering that he could tell the direction from which his other self was coming. He faced that way, ready to walk toward Bane—but he was in a tunnel underground, and the rock wall cut him off.
So he walked along the tunnel, angling toward the other self, while the Purple Adept paced him. “As I understand this,” Purple said, “thou art from Proton and have little power of magic. When thou dost exchange back, Bane will be here, and he has power. But thou must remember that any hostile magic practiced here will cost the horn of the animal, and perhaps more thereafter. So thou wouldst be best advised to deliver the message, and bring the return message—and to advise thine other self of the wisdom of this procedure. He may not care for the animal as thou dost, and will leave her to her fate otherwise.”
“Understood,” Mach said tightly. He kept walking.
The awareness of his other self grew steadily stronger. Mach realized that the two would overlap very soon. He resolved to accomplish the exchange without giving any outward sign. That was part of his wild plan.
The tunnel curved, allowing him to proceed directly toward his target—and suddenly it happened. Overlap! But Mach did not stop walking, and in a moment the contact slipped; he had not grasped the opportunity when it had come.
Then he felt his other self approaching from behind. Wait, it thought.
I cannot, Mach thought back, as the other paced him for a moment. I am in enemy power.
So am I, the other returned.
Mach quailed. His wild hope had been dashed. He had wanted to get help through Proton, arranging some counter pressure there that would nullify the hold Purple had oh him. If he could have made the exchange without Purple knowing, and arrange the counter-action, and exchanged back—
He kept walking, and the other phased in again, this time maintaining it. Fleta is hostage; I am helpless.
Agape be hostage here.
Quickly they compared situations—and realized that they had a chance after all. Satisfied, they made the exchange.
Mach found himself in the same tunnel, only now it was a passage, lighted by electricity instead of magic-glow. He was naked. The one who paced him now was Citizen Purple, a man he knew by reputation. Obviously he had taken Agape hostage in much the same fashion as his other self, the Purple Adept, had taken Fleta hostage. And Bane must have developed a close relationship with the alien female. Well, it was perhaps no stranger than his own with Fleta.
He turned to the Citizen. “Contact be near, now,” he said. “What be thy message, again?” He hoped he had the language down well enough to fool the man.
“Stop stalling, boy!” Purple snapped. “You know the message!”
Mach stopped walking. “Let me see her again.”
“You aren’t in any position to bargain!” the Citizen said.
“An what if I go—an thou hast dispatched her already? Must I needs know she be well, now.”
Purple grimaced. “You push your luck, machine. This one stall I will allow; then you will do it, or see her in the pot.”
In the pot? What could that mean?
They took a side passage, and came to the cell where Agape was confined. “Let me go in with her,” Mach said.
“It’s your last damned smooch; make it a good one,” Purple said.
The serf guard let Mach in. Agape stood to meet him. “Bane! Didn’t it work?”
He took her in his arms. He had not realized what a luscious creature she was! It was evident that she had learned much about human interaction since his brief contact with her.
He kissed her—and felt her stiffen. She realized that something was wrong. But before she could speak, he put his lips to her ear and whispered, “I am Mach. Give no hint. Melt your way out at night, go to the nearest maintenance service outlet, and tap this pattern.” He clicked his teeth three times quickly, then three times slowly, then three times quickly again, in the ancient SOS signal he had discovered when researching for a game. He had set it up as a code to the self-willed machines: one that only he would think to send.
‘Then trust the machines; they will get you out. Tell Citizen Blue. I will try to distract attention from your cell tonight.”
He kissed her again, then separated. “An I see thee not again, think kindly of me,” he said, loudly enough for others to hear.
“Oh, you’ll see her again,” Purple said. “Right here, when you return with my message from Phaze.”
“Thou art a hard man,” Mach muttered.
They returned to the key section of the passage. “It be very close here,” Mach said. “I feel his presence.”
“Well, merge!” the Citizen said impatiently.
Mach tuned in, and felt Bane approaching. He stepp up to meet him. They overlapped.
Did you do it? Mach thought.
Aye. And thee?
Yes.
Then it be time. Time, Mach agreed.
They separated. Mach remained in Proton; they had not tried to exchange frames this time. They had just needed the news of their success to be delayed until now. For Mach had no compelling personal reason to visit Agape, and Bane had none to visit Fleta; the enemy forces would keep the females securely isolated after the exchange. Indeed, this was the only safe policy—as the strategy he and Bane had formulated should show. Mach looked around, feigning confusion. “Where am I?” he asked.
“Proton,” the Citizen replied.
“Then I am back! The exchange worked!”
“That’s right, robot.”
“Then I have a message for you.”
“A message? But I just sent your other self with one!”
Mach smiled. “It seems your opposite number had the same notion you did. His message is this: Contact has been reestablished.”
“I know that!” Purple snapped. “What else?”
“Nothing else. He said you would know what to do, and what message to return.”
“That’s the message I sent him!”
“Evidently great minds run in similar channels,” Mach said.
“Don’t get cute with me, robot!”
Mach smiled grimly. “How can I be cute with a person for whom I have no respect?”
“I’ll have you dismantled and fed into the refuse recycler!” the Citizen snapped.
“And lose your only contact with Phaze? Whom do you suppose you are fooling, Purple?”
The Citizen began to assume the color of his name. “You play a dangerous game, machine.”
“Listen, you idiot—this isn’t Bane you’re talking to! You can’t deceive me the way you did him. I am the son of Citizen Blue, and Blue will grind your meaty posterior into hamburger when he finds out what you have done. How long do you think you can keep it secret?”
Purple asserted some control over himself. “Do you forget that I have your alien girlfriend hostage to your cooperation?”
“What alien girlfriend? I broke up with Doris the cyborg before I went to Phaze; I have no girlfriend in this frame.”
The Citizen took stock, realizing that he had lost that aspect of his leverage when Bane and Mach returned to their own frames. Then he saw his avenue. “So you do have a girlfriend in Phaze. And if I know my other self— as I surely do—he has that girl in his power. If you don’t bring back a message from me, he will take it out on that girl. And that you wouldn’t like. Am I correct, machine?”
Mach grimaced, answer enough.
“So you will cooperate—and when Bane returns here, he will cooperate, because I have his girlfriend. We’ve got you, robot.”
“Until Citizen Blue learns. Then you may not like the reckoning that comes.”
“By the time Blue learns, there may have been a shift in the balance of power. Then I may like the reckoning well enough.”
Mach realized that the cunning Citizen had big aspirations. He was going to use the contact with Phaze to increase his own power, making himself invulnerable to retribution. He could do that only with Mach’s cooperation. Therefore the sensible thing to do was not to cooperate. But Fleta was indeed hostage, and until he knew she had been freed—and Bane knew Agape had been freed—they did indeed have to cooperate.
But his resources were not yet exhausted. He needed to distract the Citizen’s attention from Agape for about twenty-four hours.
“I’ll play you a Game,” Mach said. “I will break out of this captivity within twenty-four hours. Then you may do with the alien female what you wish—but my father will settle with you for interfering with the Experimental Project and generating an interplanetary incident. I suspect he will simply ship you to Moeba for alien justice.”
“I’ll play no Game with you, robot!”
“You can’t avoid it, Purple. You have already established it: you have taken me captive. My challenge is to break out. If I fail, I will have to cooperate with you. If I succeed, you will be finished. So it’s your gain against your loss. But I’ll offer you a draw at the outset: free me and the alien now, and there will be no retribution for what you have already done.”
“You try to dictate terms to me, you inanimate contraption? I already hold the winning cards! There’ll be no deal but this: you will deliver the message I send, or you will remain locked up forever!”
“So you decline the proffered draw,” Mach said calmly. ‘Then let the Game proceed. Twenty-four hours.”
“There is no Game! No time limit!”
“Keep repeating it, and you may even come to believe it.”
“You will cooperate! You have no choice!”
“You assume I will deliver the correct message?”
“Don’t try to bluff me, machine! You always tell the truth. If you take a message, you will deliver it accurately.”
“Yet you assume I’m lying when I tell you the Game is on?”
“You can imagine any Game you want, in your cell! That’s all in your circuits.”
“We shall see.”
A serf conducted Mach to a cell, and he was locked in. Three walls were solid stone, the fourth of transparent glass, too thick and strong to break. He had no privacy, and a serf stood guard on the other side of the glass. This was a tighter cell than the one in which Agape was confined; the Citizen knew Mach was more dangerous than the alien female.
Mach sat on the bare bench and crossed his arms. He tuned out, remaining motionless for half an hour while he planned the details of his action, preprogramming as much as he could. When he was satisfied with his plan, he allowed himself to think about Fleta, back in Phaze. He was back in his robot body, and had control over his emotional circuits, but now he released that control and simply felt. He discovered that his feeling for Fleta was just as strong now as it had been in Phaze. A machine could love, for he did.
All too quickly his preset time was up. Mach came alert again.
The serf still guarded the cell, but was no longer paying full attention. In fact, the serf was snoozing on his feet. That was what Mach had counted on. It was easy for a machine to remain alert indefinitely, but difficult for a living person. Faced with Mach’s complete immobility, the guard had quickly grown bored and careless.
Mach did not move his hands, but he did twitch the fingers of his right hand, where they were covered by his left upper arm. His middle finger pressed a stud in a private pattern, and a section of pseudomuscle slid aside to expose an access to the internal circuitry of his torso. Robots had always been constructed with access-panels, but Mach was of the most advanced type. His brain was the most sophisticated yet devised for this purpose, and his body was as competent and reliable as any machine could be. The interaction of the two gave him potential that perhaps his own designers had not anticipated.
The fingers quested within the circuitry, dislodging certain fastenings, until a small subunit was loose. Watching the serf-guard to be sure the man did not turn his head, Mach removed that subunit, sliding it out and down his body to the bench. Still watching the guard, Mach now used both hands to adjust the tiny unit.
Mach’s body was hierarchically organized, with a number of self-powered subunits contributing to the performance of the whole. The particular unit he had removed related to the verification of pressure-feedback from his left arm. It was redundant, and he could operate without it for a time. He closed up the aperture, so that his body seemed unchanged, and made adjustments to the separate unit. It was of a standard design, and could be adapted for several purposes. Now he was adjusting it not for internal feedback, but for external broadcast. He set the unit on the bench beside him and turned it on. It began emitting a signal. The signal passed through the glass wall and bathed the serf-guard. It was not a strong or far-reaching signal; it just induced a lethargy bordering on sleep. The serf would not even be conscious of it; he would simply not feel inclined to move or react unless strongly prodded.
Now Mach touched the skin under his right arm, keying open a chamber there. He unmade some connections and set up a bypass for a subunit whose normal purpose was to enhance the strength of his motor actions when an emergency arose. The living human analogy was a shot of adrenaline; his robot body had it under conscious control. He removed this unit and adjusted it, converting it, too, into a miniature broadcaster of a signal. Then he took it to the glass panel.
The panel was locked by a mechanism controlled by a computerized identification system. It was supposed to respond only to the presence and command of an authorized person. If anyone else attempted to open the cell, an alarm would sound. But Mach’s device sent an override signal that nullified the normal recognition circuit and released the lock. This trick, like the one to immobilize a living person, he had picked up as a child when playing with others. Many of the humanoid robots knew such things, but by tacit common agreement they did not advertise them to nonrobots. It was like the short-circuit route to sexual pleasure: only for their own kind.
He brought the unit near the locking mechanism, and tuned it, seeking the particular band for the override. Suddenly he found it; the glass panel slid open.
Mach emerged, approached the nodding serf, and led him by the hand into the cell. He sat him down on the bench, picked up the pacification unit, then left the cell again, closed the glass panel, and turned off the second unit. The locking mechanism clicked back into force. Mach adjusted the units, then opened his underarm apertures and wired the units back in. There was now no evidence of how he had done what he had done. With luck it would be some time before the serf woke, and longer before he was able to gain the attention of anyone else.
Now he set off down the hall, alert for sensors or alarms. He had some time to pass before he could afford to be actively pursued. Where would be the best place to hide?
It took only a moment to decide: the nearest Game Annex. He could lose himself pretty thoroughly in the right aspect of the Game.
Evidently the Citizen and his staff were occupied elsewhere, though it was midday. Probably this was a forbidden area, to keep the prisoner isolated. Would it be possible to go to the cell where Agape was confined and free her? Maybe, but not worth risking; he intended to stay well away from there.
He found an alarm beam, but didn’t even need to nullify it; he simply stepped over it. Then he came to the Game Annex. This was a simple Game pedestal, with a door beyond that would open on the Game chambers. Many Citizens had private annexes, as the fascination of the Game extended to every level of the Proton society, and to every species within it. In fact, that had been perhaps the major lure for the status of serf, for the self-willed machines: the right that status conferred to play the Game. Within the Game, there was no distinction between Citizen and serf; only a player’s individual skill counted. The annual Tourney allowed serfs of all types to compete on equal footing for the prize of Citizenship. But even serfs like Mach himself, who had no need for that particular route to Citizenship, were fascinated by the Game. Perhaps, he thought, it represented the expression of man’s eternal need to gamble—a need that had been passed on to man’s more sophisticated’ machines.
Mach bypassed the grids, as he knew that any attempt to turn them on would alert the Citizen. He opened the door beyond, and stepped into an elevator. He guided it down, seeking the basement level where the main supplies should be.
He emerged into a chamber in which a number of robots were stored. There was one that resembled a clothed hunter, complete with bow and arrows, and another like a goblin, and another like a harpy. There were also guided machines, such as small airplanes. A fancy Game setup indeed. The main Game Annex had everything, of course, but the small subannexes like this were generally limited to basics. Citizen Purple evidently liked to play in exotic settings. That surely told something about his character, but Mach wasn’t sure what. After all, he himself had found love in a most exotic setting. He sat at a control console and put the helmet over his head. He operated the controls, which were of standard type, and animated the goblin. The ugly little robot walked and turned at Mach’s direction. There was a speaker system, so that he could speak through the goblin’s head, but he didn’t use it. He was satisfied that he had a notion of the type of entertainment Citizen Purple preferred: vicarious participation in fantasy settings.
Well, to work. Mach opened a panel in his abdomen and removed another subunit. This one normally monitored his power usage. His main power source was a chip of Protonite, and it would last for a year if not expended wastefully. When too much power was being used, the monitor warned him, so that he could cut down. But that monitor, like the other subunits, could be turned to other purposes.
He adjusted it, again as with the others, to become a signal generator. It was simply a matter of amplifying and redirecting its normal output. But its new signal was not a normal one; the mechanisms had a feedback circuit, intended to shut down its signal when the monitored energy-use declined to tolerable levels, that in this circumstance had the effect of a random modulation. Both the strength and frequency of the signal would vary unpredictably.
Mach activated this unit, then put it in the clawed grasp of a robot harpy. Then he used the console controls to animate the harpy, and sent her up the access shaft to the main Game-playing site. He watched through her eye-lenses as she came up into the site—and pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. This was imitation Phaze! There were trees all over the Purple Mountains, exactly as was the case in Phaze. He knew; he had recently crossed those mountains with Fleta!
Fleta. Abruptly his mood shifted. He was no longer in the living body, so his emotions were under control, but he had no desire to control this one. All that he had longed for, all his pseudolife as a humanoid robot, had been granted during his sojourn in Phaze. He had experienced the wonder of true life there—and the corollary wonder of true love. That wonder was muted, now—but his memory of both remained.
He wanted both, again. The existence he had in the frame of Proton had lost its luster for him. What future did he have here? Perhaps he would become the first robot Citizen—but what was the point, without Fleta? Better to be a common resident of the magic frame, with her!
But Bane was back in his own body, now, and surely understood the superiority of it. Bane had evidently dallied with Agape, here, but he had known, as Mach had known with Fleta, that it could not be permanent. Perhaps they could exchange again, for visits to each other’s frames, but Proton was the one Mach was stuck with for permanent residence. Paradise lost!
He sent the robot harpy napping into the sky with the signaling unit. He had her fly over an otherwise-inaccessible section of the mountain, swoop low, and
drop the unit in a crevice. That would make it hard to locate and harder to recover. Then he brought her back to the exit ramp and to the nether chamber. He positioned her exactly as she had been before, and turned off the control console.
He left the premises quietly. His luck had about expired; now he would have to hide in earnest.
He found a utility closet some distance removed and got into it. He concealed himself behind cleaning equipment that the serfs used, and tuned out.
Within the hour a commotion commenced. Mach came alert, but did not move; again he appreciated the fact that as a robot, he could remain absolutely still for an indefinite period. Since he was in the lowliest of places, it might be some time before they thought to look for him here.
Serfs hurried along the passage. Soon the Citizen himself huffed past, muttering. Mach attuned his hearing to the voice of the Citizen, so as to pick up what the man said when he reached Mach’s vacated cell. This should be fun!
The Citizen reached the cell. “How the hell could he get out?” he demanded. “The damned thing’s still locked!”
Evidently the response did not satisfy him. “Well, open it!” he snapped. Then, evidently to the guard-serf trapped inside: “You are fired!” The firing of a serf was a serious business; the chances were that that serf would not be able to get another position, and would have to leave the planet. This serf, of course, was mainly a victim of circumstance.
“He has to be somewhere on the premises!” the Citizen cried. “Our barriers are proof against any unauthorized departure!” Yet the glassed-in cell was supposed to have been secure, too. Mach was privately pleased that he had thought to remove his devices and close the cell. As a robot he should not ordinarily have had the originality for that, and evidently the Citizen had assumed that the normal tolerances applied. Thus Purple had departed to take his meal or nap, leaving Mach to his own devices—and was now paying the consequence. Had he been smarter, he would have realized that the son of Citizen Blue would have to be a rather special robot with the latest technology. And that a robot who had just returned from a genuine experience of life could have been inspired to a certain lifelike originality. Now that minor mystery of the locked cell was buying Mach invaluable time.
“A what?” the Citizen rapped. Then: “But no signal can get out either!” Which meant they had picked up the signal, and were about to trace it down. That would take them some time. When they finally located it, they would not know how the signal unit had gotten there.
“Check the alien bitch!” the Citizen said. “He’s bound to try to spring her!”
But of course Mach hadn’t done that, yet. Agape was supposed to wait till night, then make her break. Mach hoped to remain hidden until after she started her action; then he could relax. All this was only a distraction, to keep the Citizen and his minions occupied until Agape could escape.
The Citizen’s voice faded out; Mach could hear with preternatural acuteness when he tried to, but there were limits, and the Citizen had passed out of range. The commotion continued, as the serfs launched a methodical search for the signal-unit and for Mach himself. At first, surely, they would believe that he was in the vicinity of the signal generator, and comb through the Game region—which would be a tedious chore indeed! Once they ascertained that the generator was a separate item, they would go through the remaining premises with determination. He would inevitably be found— but probably not before Agape started her escape and enlisted the aid of the self-willed machines.
When they did catch him, he suspected, they would ask him about the signal he had been sending: what was its nature, and to whom was it directed? He would tell them that it was a phony signal, meaning nothing, merely random noise, that could not penetrate the Citizen’s
signal-barrier. And they would not believe him, because why would he have gone to such an extraordinary effort to put out that signal if it could not accomplish anything? So the quest would continue, and that distraction would give Agape more leeway for her escape. And once she escaped, it would be only a matter of time before Citizen Blue had news of Mach’s location. Then the real fun would begin!
He was only a machine. But he was a machine in love, just as his mother Sheen was; he understood her better than he had before. As far as he was concerned, the Experimental Project was a success; as part of it, he had become as human as any of his kind had ever aspired to be. And he found that he enjoyed making a fool of Citizen Purple. He hoped Bane was doing the same to the Purple Adept.
Now it was time to dream of life, and of Fleta, and what he wished might have been. Time for machine dreams.
Mach tuned out, waiting.
Bane, conscious of his agreement with Mach, gave no sign as he found himself in the passage lighted by magic-glow rather than scientific effects. He had been walking naked; now he was fully clothed, and that seemed strange after more than a week in the other state. He did not want anyone to know, yet, that the bumbling visitor had been replaced by the skilled native. “He is near,” he said. “I know I can do it. But show me Fleta first, in good health.”
“Do it now, or she shall lose her horn now,” Purple said sternly.
Rage flared in Bane. They were going to dehorn Fleta? That would deprive the unicorn of all her magic power and most of her will to live! The Adverse Adepts had done that to her uncle Clip, before Bane was born, and only Stile’s total magic had been able to mend that horn. Any chance that Bane might have worked voluntarily with these Adepts dissipated with this news. Fleta was hardly his love, but she was an old friend, and such a threat against her alienated him instantly.
He did not need to conceal his emotion, for Mach felt as strongly about the mare as Bane himself did, if in a different manner. The propriety of Mach’s relationship with the unicorn was questionable, but since Mach was now back in his own frame, that didn’t matter. It would be ironic if Fleta were mutilated to punish a person who might never see her again anyway.
‘Thou hast made that threat before,” Bane said grimly. “How can I know that thou hast not already done it?”
“So now thou dost affect native speech?” the Purple Adept remarked contemptuously. “Forget it, alien; thou canst not fool anyone.”
Oops—it seemed that Mach had maintained his own dialect. Well, Bane had been in Proton long enough to pick it up. “I thought it was close enough,” he muttered, as if disgruntled. “Anyway, show me she’s all right, or I’ll know she isn’t.” Indeed, he had no respect for the word of this man, and realized he would be foolish to deliver the message from Proton without ensuring that the terms were met.
The Adept scowled, but yielded. “One time, then— but try not my patience further.”
They went to the cell where Fleta was confined. She was in her natural form, and an amulet had been tied to her horn, nullifying it. She was also in a halter, with her head tied in place so that she could not move it to scrape off the amulet, and trolls kept watch.
Appalled, Bane approached the cell—and felt the presence of an invisible magic barrier. He knew its nature immediately; it was a standard Adept spell that was used to confine animals or ordinary folk. This was a strong one, that could restrain a unicorn despite the antimagical powers of the species. Even with her horn free, Fleta could not penetrate this barrier; she would merely be able to change her form in her cell.
But he knew what to do, now. He had to provide her with a spell for spot nullification without alarm. “What holds me?” he demanded, as if he didn’t know.
“Never mind,” Purple said, and the barrier dissolved. Bane approached the tied animal. He put his mouth to her ear, as if whispering an endearment. ‘This spell, new role,” he sang quietly. “Make horn-sized hole.” And the powerful magic of his will reached out to change the amulet on her horn.
Her near eye widened, showing white momentarily. He knew she felt his spell, and knew that Mach could not have performed magic of this level. She realized that the amulet no longer locked her into her present form; it had been turned to his purpose. She would know what to do, and when.
He turned away. Without a word he walked out of the cell, feeling the magic barrier snap back into place behind him, and proceeded back down the tunnel toward the point of rendezvous.
At the proper place he paused, overlapping Mach and verifying that the robot had done his part. Then he changed his expression. He touched his clothing. ‘Then I be back!” he exclaimed.
“Contact!” the Purple Adept said.
Bane turned to him. “I bear a message from thine other self: Contact be established, and the next move be thine.”
“But that’s the message I sent him!”
Bane shrugged. “He be thine other self.”
Purple’s visage clouded suspiciously. “How do I know thou hast really made the change? Thou couldst be the same one I captured!”
“Perhaps thou willst believe it by this,” Bane said. Then he sang: “Make a funnel to a tunnel.”
The floor of the passage opened up in a circular depression, deepening in the center. It did indeed soon come to resemble a funnel. Below it there was evidently a new tunnel: one leading out from this fastness.
Without delay, Bane jumped into the funnel and slid down into the tunnel. He landed on his feet and started running along it.
But in a moment shapes loomed up ahead of him. Trolls! The Purple Adept had summoned more of his minions, and they were blocking him off.
Bane halted, knowing that he could not pass these nefarious creatures of the underworld. They could tunnel naturally as fast as he could by magic, and they could move more rapidly here than he could. He backed to the funnel, and hiked himself up, scrambling up its slope until he stood again before the Adept.
“Then perhaps this,” he said. He sang: “Let me fare, through the air.”
The ceiling opened, revealing open sky above. Bane spread his arms and sailed up, quickly leaving the structure of the Purple Demesnes. But from the horizon came a monstrous flock of harpies, that quickly converged on him.
Bane looked at the ugly half-birds, and reversed course. He plunged down again, and in a moment stood again before the Purple Adept.
“Or this,” he said. Then he sang: “Make me most like a ghost.”
Nothing changed in appearance—but now Bane walked directly into and through the wall, and on through the rock, as if he had no more substance than a ghost. No troll or harpy could touch him now.
Then something manifested that could touch him. A genuine ghost! It was in the form of a worn old man, but it paced him through the rock, and closed on him, and when the withered old hand closed on his arm, it had the grip and force of the supernatural. Bane was a pseudoghost; he could not stand up against the real thing. Thus he found himself a third time back before the Purple Adept. His attempts to escape by using his magic had been foiled. He was only an apprentice Adept; he was unable to match the power of a mature Adept. He could not get away this way.
Purple nodded. “Aye, I believe thou dost make thy point. Thou art the apprentice.”
But Purple had also made his point: Bane remained captive.
A serf hurried up. “Master—the mare be gone!”
The Adept wheeled on him. “She cannot be!”
“She—one moment she was tied. The next, her harness fell to the floor, and there was only a tiny bird, and it—
The floor of the tunnel opened up beneath the serf. The luckless man fell in, screaming. The floor crunched closed on him. The Adept wheeled and strode back toward Fleta’s cell. Bane followed, keeping his face straight. He knew that the unicorn had acted while the Adept was distracted by Bane’s attempts to escape. She had changed to hummingbird form and used the remade amulet to make a hole in the magical barrier the diameter of her horn—which was just large enough for the hummingbird to squeeze through. She had flown so swiftly and carefully that they had quickly lost track of her.
The Purple Adept swung his angry gaze around to bear on Bane. ‘Thou hast wrought this deed!”
Bane shrugged. “If thou dost say so.”
“Then learn the consequence of thy defiance!” The ground shook, and began to crumble beneath Bane. There was tremendous magic in the air. He realized that the Adept, in his fury, meant to kill him. Bane sang a spell to protect himself, but he was after all only an apprentice; the force of the magic being brought to bear against him was overwhelming. Then a new face appeared.
“Hold thy malice, Purple!” Bane recognized the face, as it hovered in the air between himself and the Purple Adept in three-dimensional detail within a watery bubble. It was the Translucent Adept, as strong as any but not as malicious as some. Yet this man was allied against Blue; why should he act on Bane’s behalf?
“What business be this of thine?” Purple snapped at the face.
“I made the first offer for this lad’s service,” Translucent replied. “I braced him, or his other self, in the Brown Demesnes.”
“And got nowhere!” Purple retorted. “I took effective action.”
“And blew it,” Translucent pointed out. “Now the mare be gone, and thou hast no hold on the boy. What will it gain any of us, an thou destroy him, other than the warfare of Blue?”
“Fornicate Blue!” Purple swore.
Translucent smiled grimly. “Easier said than done. He will have thine entrails strung across the landscape of thy Demesnes, and thy minions transformed to toads. And for what? For vengeance against thy rashness that should ne’er have been started! Thou didst ne’er have a chance to coerce that lad into serving thy will; thou didst only interfere with the job I was doing correctly.”
“Oh, thou couldst have bought cooperation from the apprentice?” Purple demanded unbelievingly.
“Assuredly, an thou hadst not interfered.”
Purple got canny. “Thou couldst accomplish it now— without the hostage mare?”
“That be more challenging, after thine alienation of the lad. But yes, methinks I can.”
“Wouldst wager on that, Trans?”
Translucent’s face hardened. ‘Thou dost desire it thus? Then wager me this: an I succeed, the leadership of this enterprise be mine for the duration.”
“And if thou dost fail, domain o’er the watery East Pole be mine!” Purple said.
Translucent paused, evidently wary of such a risk. Then he nodded. “The East Pole,” he agreed. “Now give me the apprentice.”
“Take him, then,” Purple said.
The floating face shimmered as if dissolving; then the liquid bubble expanded, almost filling the passage. “Step in,” the face said to Bane. “An thou prefer my company to his.”
Bane knew what kind of treatment to expect from Purple! He did not like to remain a captive, but certainly Translucent was more civilized than his present captor. He stepped into the shimmering bubble.
The surface tension of the globe pressed against his face and form, then traveled around his body and snapped into place behind him. He was inside, and though it seemed like liquid, he had no trouble breathing.
Then the globe shimmered, and the scenery outside it was lost in the play of distortion. When the bubble firmed, the exterior had changed. Now it was a deep sea, with fish swimming and seaweed waving.
The globe dissolved, but there was no change; Bane still stood and breathed normally. The water surrounding him seemed illusory, though he knew it was not. Translucent’s magic enabled him to survive.
“Come, we must talk,” the Adept said, and walked along the floor of the sea, showing the way.
Bane followed him, knowing that he could no more escape the power of this Adept than he could the other. Translucent could cause the water to become unbreathable at any time, forcing Bane to try to swim for the surface before drowning, or could summon a water monster to consume him. True, Bane could use his own magic to protect himself—but how well would his spells work, when garbled through water? He would do best to treat Translucent with respect, at least until he knew what the man intended.
Translucent brought him to a bower in the water, a palatial cave guarded by a water dragon. Surprisingly comfortable stones were sculpted as chairs, and large fish hovered in the manner of servants. A mermaid brought a platter of sea delicacies: nutlike and fruitlike treats, and seaweed very like salad vegetables. They ate at leisure, and even had wine to drink; the fluid remained in its goblets despite the environment. Bane had never been here before, and he found it most interesting. Translucent had always been a somewhat shadowy figure to him, seldom participating in the interactions of Adepts.
After the meal, the Adept got down to business. “Thou dost know my purpose be similar to that of the others who oppose thy father,” he said. “Merely my means be other.”
“What purpose be that?” Bane asked somewhat tightly.
‘To reestablish contact with our brothers of Proton. We had always thought it theoretically possible, but hitherto no avenue had manifested.”
“It be not much of an avenue,” Bane pointed out. “I can exchange places with mine other self, carrying with me my knowledge and memories. I cannot carry anything physical.”
“Messages alone suffice. Dost thou not grasp their importance, Bane?”
Now the Adept was calling him by name. The man was certainly being courteous, but as he had said, he was a member of the forces opposing the Blue Adept, and therefore hardly to be trusted. “What importance?”
‘There be information existing only in Proton, that we of Phaze could use to increase our power. Likewise, some exists in Phaze, that the Citizens there require.”
“What information?” This was new to him.
“When the frames separated, twenty years ago, the Oracle went to Proton, and the Book of Magic came to Phaze.”
‘The Book of Magic—that the Red Adept possesses?”
“The same. Dost think a mere troll could become Adept without it? The spells in that one volume be so apt that a common earth-borer, hardly human, be now, an he choose, the most powerful Adept of all. He supports Blue, who gave him the Book, and that makes Blue the strongest. Whoever possesses that Book holds the key to the governance of Phaze.”
“Aye,” Bane said. “But what would anyone of Proton want with it? Magic works not there.”
‘That be a matter of interpretation. What we call magic, they call science, and both be powerful tools. The formulae underlying the spells of the Book also underlie the scientific applications of the technology of Proton. If those spells be conveyed there—“
Now Bane grasped it. “Whoever has that information has a phenomenal advantage in his frame! Proton could have an Adept of science!”
“Aye. And whoever here in Phaze has access to the powers of the Oracle, called a computer there, can profit similarly- The combination can shift the balance of power.”
“So if you other Adepts had such contact, you could force my father to retreat, and you would dominate Phaze.”
“Aye, in time. But there be problems. The exchange of information be necessarily slow, perhaps one spell at a time, and must necessarily be through thee and thy opposite self. Without thy cooperation, nothing be feasible.”
‘That’s why Purple was trying to pressure me into working with him! To make me carry spells and things back and forth between the frames, so he could increase his power.”
“Aye. And make no mistake, Bane, I want the same. I merely oppose Purple’s method, not his design. And of course I prefer to have that added power for myself.”
“But it be to my interest to use that power for my father! And the Book of Magic be in the hand of our supporter, Red. How canst thou think I would give such power to thee?”
Translucent smiled. “That be why special mechanisms be necessary. Purple thought to coerce thee; I prefer to persuade thee.”
“How canst thou hope to persuade me to act against the interest of my father?”
“It seems, to save thy life, I have made a wager that I can do that thing.”
That set Bane back. It was true; he would have been dead, had not Translucent intervened. He did owe the man something.
Or did he? The Adepts could be devious; suppose they had set it up to make him seem to be beholden to Translucent? Purple could have made the threats, knowing Translucent was waiting to step in at the last moment. In that case, Bane would be doubly the fool to cooperate.
“I trust thee not,” he said.
“And why not, Bane?”
Bane explained his suspicion. “Canst thou deny it?” he demanded.
Translucent smiled. “Aye, I can.”
“With truth?”
Translucent looked about. “I do deny it,” he said gravely.
There was a ripple in the water and in the sea-floor, spreading out from the Adept. It passed through Bane himself.
Bane watched the ripple’s progress, amazed. “That be the splash!” he exclaimed.
“Aye.”
Bane spread his hands. ‘Then must I believe thee, Translucent. I apologize for my suspicion.”
“Be not concerned about that,” Translucent said. “I saved thee because I knew that all of us would lose, an Purple vented his malice on thee. I had to act for the benefit of all. My persuasion be not in the form of any debt thou mightst feel toward me, but in the form of common sense. Thou must agree that it be proper and best to do this; then will all be well.”
Bane regrouped his thoughts. This man had spoken truth—that could not be disbelieved, for the splash could not be feigned—but he remained an Adverse Adept. ‘To do it for thee—instead of for my father? I see no common sense in that!”
‘Thou must appreciate the larger picture. I suppose thou canst not be convinced that thy father’s side might be wrong—“
‘True,” Bane agreed grimly.
“But thou canst appreciate the practicalities of the situation. Like it or not, some you value be hostage.”
“Fleta escaped!”
“But what of those in Proton? Hast thou no interest there, in either thine other self or any other party?”
Shrewd guess! “Aye,” Bane agreed. ‘There be captives there.”
“Whether or not we approve of such tactics, we must deal with what exists, not with what we like. If someone there be held hostage against thy performance, thou canst not be free no matter what occurs in Phaze. And if thine other self be in the power of one like Citizen Purple, thou canst not exchange into Proton without going back into his power. In fact, thou wouldst have to return to the Purple Adept to overlap the location of thine other self.”
Bane nodded. “I’m not free at all,” he agreed.
“Therefore it behooves thee to cooperate, at least until thou canst discover the situation there. An I tell Purple thou hast changed thy mind, he will let thee return to his Demesnes without molestation. Otherwise, thou canst not do so.”
“But Mach might escape, and free Agape—“ Bane broke off, realizing that he had said more than he should have.
“Aye, he might, and come to exchange with thee in the Blue Demesnes, and victory would be thine. But dost thou care to take the chance, when by cooperating with me, at least for a time, thou canst be sure no harm will come to any?”
Bane realized that the Adept was making a disturbing amount of sense. As long as the situation in Proton was in doubt, he should not take any chances he didn’t have to.
“Let me think about it,” he said.
“Welcome to, Bane. There be no urgency here, now that thy friend be free. Go home to thy Blue Demesnes, and summon me when thou dost choose.”
“Thou art letting me go?” Bane asked, hardly daring to believe it.
“I told thee: I believe logic, not coercion, will bring
thy cooperation. Go talk to thy father, tell him all, and do as he advises thee. He and I have ne’er been close, yet do we respect each other’s discretion, and mayhap we can work to mutual benefit.”
Bane considered. This seemed too easy, but the lure of finally getting home with his full story of Proton was great. Once he did that, he could look for Fleta, to be sure she had made it safely back to her Herd. “Then that shall I do,” he said.
Translucent made a beckoning gesture, and a mermaid swam up. “Conduct Apprentice Bane to shore, and give him this token of safe passage from my Demesnes,” he said. He reached out and caught a small fish from the water, giving it to her.
The mermaid swam up to Bane, and smiled. She was a half-person, of course, but her upper half was as delightfully human as any man could wish. Her hair was as green as seaweed, billowing out behind as she moved, and her full breasts needed no external support because of the buoyancy of the water. But human interest ended at roughly the waistline, where the scales began. They were tidy scales, of course, tinted the same hue as her hair, but her nether portion could never be mistaken for anything other than a fish. That destroyed the better part of her appeal, for him.
He followed her out of the cave and through the water. He walked along a path that traversed the sea floor, while she swam above it. When the path ascended toward the surface, she halted, handed him the fish, and kissed him on the right ear. She pointed up, and waited while he made his way up and out.
As he broke the surface, the spell that had been on him abated, and he breathed air instead of water. Still waist-deep in the water, he turned to peer down and wave at her. He thought he saw her wave back, but it was hard to be sure.
Then he moved the rest of the way out, carrying the fish. There was a large serpent guarding the land-path; he showed it the fish, and it slithered away, letting him pass unchallenged. The Translucent Adept seemed to be as good as his word.
Bane’s clothing was completely dry, despite his recent immersion. He walked up the path, proceeding east. He knew that he was at the western coast of Phaze, not far from the West Pole; he had a long way to go to reach the Blue Demesnes. There would be no problem, of course; he would simply conjure himself there. He had not dared to try that, when in the Adverse Demesnes but now that he was free, it was feasible.
But he hesitated. He could go—but what of Mach, and Agape in Proton? What would his father, Stile, say to the news that he was in love with an alien creature of the other frame?
Love? Could that be true?
He thought of all the females he had known in Phaze, human and werewolf and vampire and other. He had liked a number of them, and some had been excellent playmates. Suchevane . . .
But none of them had moved into his awareness in the manner Agape had. She was more truly alien than any of them physically, and yet perhaps more truly human too, in her personality. He had not known her long, as his life went, but their acquaintance had been intense.
He wanted to be with her again. He wanted to share more experience with her, whether it was simply a walk down a hall or a talk about other frames or other planets. To be with her by day and by night, just to know she was beside him. She could be in human form, or in protoplasmic form; it hardly mattered. Just so long as it was her.
Was that love? He didn’t know. He simply knew that he wanted to go back to Proton, because she was there.
And he could do so, by returning voluntarily to the Translucent Adept. If he returned to his father, and told of this. . .
Bane shook his head, in deep doubt. He was not at all sure how Stile would react to this. Did he really want | to go home and find out?