4 - Fleta

The world shimmered, and she felt an ineffable change.  Then things steadied, and she found herself still in Mach’s embrace.

But it was different. She looked up at him—and his face had changed. It was similar to its normal configuration, but somehow less flexible. His arms, also, were somehow less yielding.

She glanced to the side, and discovered that they were in a chamber. What had happened to the field? 

“The exchange has been accomplished,” he said. “We had better disengage.”

He still sounded like Mach! But this was definitely not the same body. Now she noticed that their clothes were gone, too, “Where be we?” she asked. 

“In an office maintained by a Citizen, he informed me. Citizen Tan, I think.” Then he drew away from her, surprised. “But you already know that. Agape.”

She was startled. “I be Fleta!”

His startlement mirrored her own. Then he laughed.

“Don’t tease me like that, Agape! I love her.”

“Tease thee? I tease thee not! What magic hast thou wrought, Bane, to conjure us so swiftly here?”

He gazed at her, evidently sorting things out. Then he spoke slowly and carefully. “This is the frame of Proton. I am Mach, a self-willed humanoid robot. Are you telling me you are not Agape, but Fleta of Phaze?”

“Aye, I be Fleta of Phaze,” she repeated. “If this truly be Proton-frame, and thou truly be Mach, then must I ha’ traveled here with thee. Be that possible?”

Again he considered. Then he touched his bare chest, and a door opened in it, showing odd wires and objects.  “I am the robot, as you can see; this is my own body, not Bane’s.” He closed the door, and his chest looked normal again. “Let me question you briefly. Who was the last person we met, on the way to the exchange?”

“Phoebe,” she said promptly. “The harpy whose hair thou didst ruin, and she takes it as elegance. But she be decent, especially for her kind. I have her feather in my pocket—“ But her hand found no pocket, for she had lost her cloak.

“And then we made love,” he said.

“Nay, we followed the delf till the glow was brightest, and only kissed, and then—“

“Then, as I sang the spell of exchange—“

“I spake thee the triple Thee, as thou didst do when—“

He stepped into her and crushed her in his embrace.  “You are my love!” he said. “I tested you, but no other person could have known—“

“This really be thy rovot form?” she asked uncertainly. 

“It really is. But let me prove myself to you, so that you know you can trust me. I came for you in a canoe I fashioned to float in air, with Suchevane, the most dazzling of vampires, and saved you from your suicide.  Then the Translucent Adept appeared, and offered us sanctuary, and the splash of truth supported him, so I agreed—“

She put a finger against his lips. “It be enough, Mach; I know thee now. Methinks in my desire to stay with thee, I worked a bit of magic of mine own, and came with thee to thy frame.”

“A double exchange!” he said, awed. “You are in Agape’s body.”

She looked down at herself. “Aye, this nor looks nor feels like mine! Let me see whe’er I can revert to natural state.” She tried to shift to her unicorn form, but nothing happened. “It happens not.”

“You cannot change that way, here,” Mach said.  “Magic doesn’t work in Proton. The laws of science are enforced; mass must remain constant. When Agape changes, she does so slowly, melting from one shape to another.”

“Melting?” Fleta asked, repelled.

He smiled. “I suspect Agape finds your method of changing form awkward, too!” Then he made a sound less whistle. “And she must be there, with Bane! Experiencing magic for the first time!”

“In my body?” Fleta asked, disturbed.

“I’m sure she’ll try to treat it as well as you treat hers,” he said with a smile.

She relaxed. “Mayhap ‘tis fair. But this body—I want to be locked not in human form fore’er! How does it work?”

“I can’t tell you directly, because I have had no experience in it, or in any living body other than Bane’s.  She just melted and reformed. Here, maybe we can do it small-scale first, so you can discover the technique.” He took her left hand. “Concentrate on this, and try to turn it into a hoof.”

She tried. Her instant change did not exist, but gradually the outlines of her fingers softened. Then they sagged into each other, and melted together. Then they assumed the form of a hoof, and the nails expanded and fused to make it hard.

She looked at the rest of her. “I be girlform—w’ one hoof!” she said, amazed.

“So you can do it,” he said warmly. “But for now, I think it is best to maintain your human form. I gather from what Bane thought to me that we are two serfs serving in this office, and the Citizen does not know our identities. We had best keep it that way, for if Citizen Tan is the same as the Tan Adept, we could be in serious trouble!”

“The Tan Adept,” she repeated, chagrined. “He o’ the Evil Eye.”

“The evil eye? That’s his magic?”

“Aye.”

“Exactly how does that work?”

“We know not, save that it makes others do his will.”

“I think we are lucky that magic is inoperative here; the Tan Adept cannot affect us that way. Still, we should take no avoidable risks. I had better drill you in office procedures—which I fear will make little sense to you, at first.”

“They make no sense to me already,” she admitted. 

“The first thing to do is conceal your Phaze mode of speech. That would give you away in the first few seconds. Can you speak as I do, if you try?”

She giggled. “I can try. But thou dost—you do speak so funny, mayhap—I may burst out laughing.”

“It isn’t funny for Proton. Look, Fleta, this may be a matter of life and death.” He paused, reconsidering. .  “I had better call you Agape, too, so I don’t give you away.”

“At times you are idiotic,” she said carefully.

“What?”

“Are we not in hiding? Call me Agape, and Tan will know instantly I be his prey.”

He knocked his head with the heel of his hand.  “There must be a gear loose in my circuitry! You’re right! We surely have artificial names!”

“Yes,” she said, in her measured way, resisting the urge to say “Aye.”

“Can we find out those names?”

“Have to.” He went out to the desk in an adjacent chamber. “There have to be records.” He activated the desk screen and spoke to it: “List authorized office personnel.”

Words came on:

PROPRIETOR: CITIZEN TAN

EMPLOYEES: TANIA—SUPERVISOR—HUMAN

AGEE—DESK GIRL—ANDROID

MAC—MENIAL—HUMANOID ROBOT

“There it is,” he said. “You are Agee, and I am Mac.  Evidently they set us up with names as close to our own as feasible, so we would identify more readily.” He smiled. “Your name means ‘One who flees’; that seems appropriate in the circumstance.”

But she was staring at the screen. “I am glad Bane taught me to read your language,” she said, with the same measured care. “This magic slate is fascinating. But—“

“It’s called a screen,” he said. “You simply tell it what you want, and read its answers. It is simple enough for an idiot to operate, because most androids are idiots.  When you encounter something you don’t understand, you should just smile and look blank, and it will be dismissed as android incompetence.”

“That, too,” she agreed. “But—Mac—what of Tania?”

“If she comes to the office, you just do whatever she tells you to do. Androids must always obey humans, outside of the experimental community. Evidently she doesn’t bother to come in much; this office must still be on standby status. We’re just caretakers.”

“Tania,” she said carefully, “is the Tan Adept’s daughter. Stile was minded to marry Bane to her, but feared she would dominate him with her evil eye.”

Mach stared at her. “And this is parallel!” he exclaimed. “Of course she has access to this office! If she comes in, we’re in trouble!”

“That were my thought,” she said.

He addressed the screen again. “Status of Tania.”

The screen answered: TANIA—SISTER OF CURRENT CITIZEN TAN, DAUGHTER OF FORMER CITIZEN TAN, RETIRED. EMPLOYED BY HER BROTHER AS RANKING SERF. DESIGNATED AS HEIR TO TAN CITIZENSHIP.

“That’s her, all right,” he said. “Her brother inherited the Citizenship, so she is the next in line, should he retire or die. That was evidently fixed by their father.  She will be very like a Citizen, in all but legality.” He glanced up. “Bane was going to marry her?”

“They want an heir to the Blue Demesnes,” she said.  “Tan wanted a suitable match, too. She is about four years older, but is pretty if you like that type.” Mach glanced at the picture of Tania the screen showed. The average man would like that type. 

“And if they married, the Blue Demesnes would have its heir, and the Adverse Adepts would have a permanent hold on Stile,” Mach said. “I can see why Bane balked!”

She smiled. “He never saw her. He refused to get close to her, because of the evil eye.”

“Smart person, my other self. Let’s just hope she doesn’t show up here.”

Mach drilled her on office etiquette. He evidently hoped that there would be no calls to this office soon, but at least she was minimally prepared.  She saw him looking at her. His body and features were different, as were her own, but she knew that look.  “Dost thou wish to make love, thy way?” she asked quietly.

He sighed. “I do. But it occurs to me that though it may be known that Bane and I have exchanged back, it may not be known that you and Agape exchanged also. Therefore it would seem that I am with the wrong female, and if I wish to be consistent, I will not make love to her.”

“But who will know?” she asked.

“That’s the irony: perhaps no one. But just as you must adopt the speech of this frame to conceal your identity, I think I must adopt a loyalty to an inapplicable principle, to further conceal your identity. We shall have enough trouble hiding from the Contrary Citizens, without adding to it this way.”

“But be they not the analogues o’ the Adverse Adepts, whom we have joined?” she asked.

“Yes. But we are now standing in for Bane and Agape, who have not joined them. The truce is a compromise that leaves us in the Adepts’ hands, and Bane and Agape in Citizen Blue’s hands. I’m trusting Bane not to interfere with that situation in Phaze, and I shall not interfere with it in Proton. I think that is the equitable course.”

“It all be too complicated for me,” she said. Then, reverting to the local dialect: “I need some rest.”

“Rest,” he agreed. “I don’t need it, in this body.”

“For my mind, not my body,” she clarified. “I deal not—I don’t deal in alien frames every morning.”

“I will see what else I can learn of our situation.”

“What will you do?”

“I will activate a circuit within myself to ensure that no electronic device can spy on me without alerting me, and another to give me access to a secret connection via the phone.”

“This must I—“ She broke off and tried again. “I must see this.”

Soon he had it. “This is Mach,” he said to the screen, and gave a code sequence that identified him. “What is my status?”

“Citizens are canvassing the city,” a self-willed ma chine replied. “They seek the alien woman, not you.  They have narrowed it down to this sector, and will close in on you within three days.”

“What is the contingency plan?”

“We have a chute with meshed valves, for liquid wastes; the alien must melt and flow down that, and we shall convey her to the Tourney, which commences in six days.”

“The Tourney? She is not qualified for that!”

“She must enter and lose. She will then be required to depart the planet, without interference.”

“Now I understand,” he said. “The Contrary Citizens cannot hire a Tourney loser, and cannot prevent that loser from departing the planet unless there is a question of a crime to settle. Any such charge against Agape would put her under the authority of the courts, which also would protect her from them. This is a practically foolproof way to get her safely offplanet and back to Planet Moeba, where the Citizens have no power. All that is necessary is to keep you hidden until the Tourney begins, and qualify you for it; thereafter you will be safe. Obviously Citizen Blue, my father, has taken a hand and acted effectively to save Agape and his own position.”

“What is the Tourney?” Fleta asked, confused.

“An annual tournament whose first prize is Citizenship. It is run by the Game Computer, by the rules of the Game. It is very popular with serfs, though all losers are deported.”

“Like the Unilympics?” she asked.

“The what?”

“A big contest for status. Each species has its own: the Werelympics, the Vamplympics, the Elflym pics—“

“Maybe so.” He frowned. “But the Citizens are liable to locate you in two days. That leaves a gap of three.  Also, you are unqualified for the Tourney. Theoretically you would have those three days to qualify; if you fail, or if the Citizens capture you in that period, all will be lost.”

She realized that Agape, with her lively intellect and special powers of adaptation, might have found a way to qualify. Fleta, in Agape’s body, would hardly have a chance. This unexpected exchange of the two females could prove to be extremely costly!

Still, now they knew the challenge: get her through to the Tourney, and get her qualified. If they accomplished that, she would be shipped to the completely alien Planet Moeba.

And what would she do there? She had only vague knowledge of Proton, and none of Moeba. Even success was disaster!

Mach pondered, and told her that he would have to modify the plan in one detail. He would have to get Fleta exchanged back to Phaze before she was exiled to Moeba. That meant he had to locate Bane, and intercept him, and catch him in the company of Agape, and bring Fleta in for another exchange. He was sure, the girls could not exchange unless the effort was made in the company of the boys. It seemed an almost impossible act of juggling, considering the pursuit by the Contrary Citizens and the demands of the Tourney, but somehow he had to manage it. Because however he might be constrained to act personally, Fleta was the creature he loved, and he could not allow her to suffer exile to a completely alien world, with no prospect of return to her homeland.

“Aye,” she whispered, loving his determination though she hated the threat that hung over her. 

“I have accepted sanctuary with the Adverse Adepts, in Phaze, for the sake of our love. If I had no other way, I would seek similar sanctuary with the Contrary Citizens. But integrity requires that I make every other effort first, before giving the Citizens the complete victory they seek.”

“Aye,” she agreed again. Now at last she could relax.  Except for another problem: food. This was morning, and her body was hungry. Fleta had no idea how to operate the food dispenser, and no idea how to make Agape’s body eat. Mach could operate the food machine, but when she took food into her mouth, she discovered that she had no mechanism for swallowing; indeed, she had no throat. The body possessed a bellows mechanism for the inhalation and exhalation of air, for which the amoebic body had a need similar to that of the human body. Thus her chest rose and fell naturally, and she could speak normally. But that was all; she had no internal digestive system.

“She dissolves herself and covers the food,” Mach explained somewhat lamely. “When she’s done, she reforms her head and face.”

“Yuck,” Fleta said.

“Maybe you could dissolve the inside of your mouth, so you could digest a bite of food there, and then reform tongue and teeth afterward.”

“If I can’t see it, I doubt I can get it right,” she said. “I had better stick to what I have.”

“Maybe your feet, then. Dissolve them over the food, where no one else can see, and take your time.” She tried that. He. brought a bowl of mush, and she sat at the desk and put her feet on the mush. Soon they melted into shapelessness, and spread over the mush.  Her flesh seemed to know what to do; she felt the effort of digestion and assimilation, and then the vigor of new energy traveling through her body. It was working!  When the mush was gone, she concentrated on re forming her feet, shaping them back into humanoid extremities. She had a fair idea how to do this, because of her practice in learning the human form as a unicorn.  In due course her feet had been restored, and it was even possible to walk on them again. It seemed that Agape’s body had a design for bones and flesh, or the equivalent, and this was what she was drawing on.  That problem had been solved. Now she should be able to function. She sat at the desk and began her day’s work.

They were fortunate: no one came to the office that day, and there were no calls. Mach was able to brief her on many further details, so that she was beginning to feel halfway competent. It was true: an idiot—or a unicorn—could fill this position. She also developed better facility in eating, and learned how to eliminate by forming a ball of wastes inside, then softening her flesh to let it pass outside at the appropriate time and location.

But the effort had wearied her. By day’s end, she was eager to sleep.

She lay down to sleep. But as soon as she relaxed, she started to melt. Alarmed, she reformed herself and approached Mach. “I’m melting! I can’t sleep— I might dissolve away!”

He smiled reassuringly. “That’s why there is no camera coverage in that chamber; the machines saw to it that Bane and Agape were sent to an office that did not yet have full equipment. Agape is an amoeba; her natural form is a blob of protoplasm. Only when she is awake can she maintain humanoid form. Do not be concerned; you can reform when you wake.”

“But I be not sure I can find this exact shape again!” she wailed.

“I think the body has memory devices that enable it to return to prior forms, just as you have them for your unicorn forms. I will inform you of any deviance.”

“But what if I melt into the bed?”

“I don’t believe that will happen. Your surface retains its skin, which contains the fluids. Also, I suspect that the amoeboid form does not relinquish consciousness completely; it probably shores up its surface at need, to prevent seepage. Human beings perform similarly in sleep, not falling off beds and not releasing urine during sleep. Maintenance circuitry.”

Moderately reassured, she returned to the bed and let herself dissolve. Sure enough, she neither flowed off the bed nor released fluids into it as she slept. She woke after a few hours, refreshed.

Next day the worst happened: Tania stopped by the office. She was a buxom woman of about twenty-one, her somewhat plain face enhanced by an artful framing of luxurious hair. She was technically a serf, so was naked, but she carried herself as if clothed.  Mach stood absolutely still, a machine out of action, in an alcove in the wall. Fleta was at the desk, where she belonged; it was her duty to handle whatever tasks were required, such as providing information about the location of her employer, Citizen Tan. Fleta was of course aware of Tania’s identity; the woman had given it for admission to the office, and she matched her picture.

Tania eyed Fleta. Her eyes possessed a peculiar intensity; obviously in Phaze that would manifest as the evil eye. “Any news?” she asked curtly. 

“No, Tania,” Fleta said, as Mach had told her.  The woman eyed her. Her eyes were the color of her hair and nails: tan. “Android, you will address me as Tan.”

“Yes, Tan,” Fleta said obediently. Mach had warned her that this woman might be imperious, and that though she could not, be addressed as “sir” she probably wished she could be. She knew from her own knowledge of Adepts in Phaze that the utmost caution was in order.  “Stand, android,” Tania snapped. “Come in front of the desk where I can see you.”

Fleta stood and went around to the front. Serfs were not supposed to answer Citizens unless an answer was called for, and Tania was to be treated like a Citizen.  “Turn around.”

Fleta turned, while the woman’s eyes probed her body. “You aren’t very intelligent,” Tania remarked.  Fleta was tempted to reply that most animals weren’t, but stifled it. Mach had explained that she was passing for an android, and that few androids approached the human level of mental performance.

“What is the nature of ultimate reality?” Tania asked.  Fleta stared at her, needing no effort to feign confusion. She smiled and looked blank in the approved manner.

“Should I ask the screen, Tan?” she asked at last.

“Don’t bother, android.” Tania glanced around the office. “Robot, come forth,” she commanded.  Mach stepped out from his alcove, silently. She eyed him as she had Fleta.

“Have you kept this office clean?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Did you hear me tell the android to call me Tan?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

Mach didn’t answer. Fleta had to suppress a giggle; he was playing dumb. Tania had not asked a comprehensible question, so he hadn’t answered.  “Address me as Tan,” she said coldly. “Is that a functional penis?”

‘In what manner, Tan?”

‘Sexual.”

‘Yes, Tan.”

‘What’s it doing on a menial?”

‘Whatever my employer directs, Tan.”

‘Android,” Tania snapped without turning. “Put in for a replacement menial robot. This one’s too smart.” Oops, trouble! If they replaced Mach, how would she get by? But she had no choice. She returned to the desk, sat, and addressed the screen. “Requisition replacement menial rovot for Citizen Tan, this office,” she said, perversely pleased that she had managed the strange formula without hesitation.

“Requisition entered,” the screen replied. “Allow forty-eight hours for delivery.”

Tania was already on the way out. In a moment they were alone again.

Mach said nothing. He simply marched back to his alcove and resumed his inert stance. By that signal Fleta knew that it was not safe to talk. He knew when they could be overheard; she depended on his judgment.  She had passed Tania’s inspection, but Mach had not!

What an irony! Then she had to stifle another giggle: irony for a metal man! But she was not happy.  But as she pondered the matter further, she realized that the Contrary Citizens were closing in, and so there would be trouble within two days anyway. This might make no difference. They would have to get away from here before Mach’s replacement came.

She finished out the day, answering the occasional incoming calls in the routine manner: Yes, this was Citizen Tan’s office. No, the Citizen was not available at the moment. Yes, she would enter a message for the Citizen, and he would return the call if he wished to.  When she was hungry, she ordered Mach to fetch her food from the food machine. As an android she ranked the robot, and naturally used every bit of what little authority she possessed. This nicely concealed the fact that she still had no idea how to use the food machine.  Mach had set that up, too. She wished she could hug him. Instead she set some food on the desk, and took a careful bite, so as to seem to be eating normally; the rest she put on the floor, so she could melt her feet over it.

Proton was a dreary frame! No wonder Mach liked Phaze better!

In the evening, when the office officially shut down for the shift, Mach came out. He checked to be sure they were not being spied on, then opened his arms.  She hurled herself gratefully into them. “Methinks the boredom be the worstest torture o’ all!” she whispered. 

“You did well,” he murmured. “I only hope Tania didn’t notice your one slip.”

She felt a chill. “Slip?”

“You referred to me as a ‘rovot.’ The screen has an interpretation circuit, so passed it through because of the context; you were merely echoing her command, which it had heard. But if she noticed—“

“Ro-bot,” she said. “Ro-bot, ro-bot. I can say it if I try. But is that an error Agee would make?”

“No. Since there should be no suspicion that you are here, instead of Agee, and that is not typical of her speech, it should pass unnoticed. Actually, you passed the real test: Tania knew that if you had any emotional attachment to me, you would have had trouble putting through that requisition. You showed no hesitation.”

“I dared not hesitate,” she said. “But oh, Mach—“

“This may have been a routine verification,” he said.  “But the Citizens are looking for us, and we were as signed within the key period. It could have been a preliminary to the pounce.”

“The pounce?”

“If you were looking desperately for a person, and suspected that that person was already in your power, would you alert that person?”

“Nay.”

“The threat to replace me could even be a diversion.  They want me with them, not away from them. But you are the real target; if they have you, they have me.  You must be the one to escape. I must show you how to incapacitate a human being, and how to melt and reform.”

They worked on it. He pointed out the vulnerable places on the human body, male and female: the spots that could be pressured to bring pain or unconsciousness or death. “If I give the word, you do that to whoever bars your way,” he Said. “Then get to this waste chute and melt into it as fast as you can.”

They drilled on melting, until she could do it with fair swiftness. She practiced moving in the melted state: flowing like goo across the floor, then reforming into something that could climb. “The self-willed machines will help you at the other end, but you have to get through that screen yourself,” he said. “Remember: wait for my signal, then act without question when I give it. Have no concern about me; I am not threatened.  Trust the machines. Their forms vary widely, but they are with me. I am a self-willed machine.”

“Aye,” she agreed, frightened.

Next day Citizen Tan himself stopped by, in the voluminous tan cloak or robe that identified him as a Citizen: a member of the only class privileged to wear clothing in Proton. He was the same age as his sister—they were twins—and similar of feature, especially in the eyes. Their tan irises and intensity were eerie. Fleta was afraid of him. Did he suspect her nature, either as Agape or as Fleta? If so, they were lost!  The Citizen asked a number of routine questions. He seemed gentler than his sister, but there was a sureness about his manner that continued to strike alarm in her.  What was he up to?

Then, abruptly, she found out. He reached out to catch and squeeze one of her breasts. “Android, I like your look,” he said. “Enter the sleeping chamber with me.”

She followed him into the chamber where the bed was.

“Lie supine, spread your legs,” he said, as he opened his robe. Then, to Mach in the other room: “Robot!  Come here and take my robe.”

Mach entered the room and took the robe. He stepped back, watching the proceedings, showing no expression.

Serfs had no rights with respect to Citizens; she had known that as a bit of otherframe folklore all her life.  Just as animals had none with respect to Adepts. Power made the only law. But how could she tolerate this?  He was going to use her sexually!

If she protested, she would give herself away. If she did not, what would Mach—or Bane—do?

But Mach had told her to wait for his signal before acting. She had to rely on his judgment. She lay down on her back and spread her legs.

It was another irony, she thought, that the sexual act as human beings performed it had no inherent meaning for either her or Agape. She normally would indulge in it only when in heat, for the sole purpose of breeding; only her association with Mach had educated her to the joys of sex as an act of entertainment or of love. Agape, with her completely alien body, would neither breed nor entertain herself in this manner; she surely did it only to please Bane. But now it was a matter of principle: this act should be done only with the one she loved. That, too, was the human way.

Naked, Tan sat beside her, running his hands along her body and up between her legs. “If you like it, I will make you a household serf,” he said. “Your body has a certain distinction from that of other androids. I am not sure exactly what it is. That is what intrigues me about you. Would you like to be a household serf?” This was a direct question, and required an answer.

“No, sir,” she said.

A tan eyebrow elevated in supposed surprise. “Why not? It is an exceptionally easy life, for an android.”

“I am not that kind of android.”

Now his gaze became so intense that she was sure; he had penetrated her disguise. “Exactly what kind of android are you, Agee?”

She had no answer she could give to that without giving herself away, so she did not answer.  “Well, let’s give you more experience on which to base your attitude,” Citizen Tan said. He climbed onto the bed, on hands and knees, his body above hers.  “Now you will, regardless of whatever personal reactions you may or may not have, smile and emulate delight as I proceed.” He lowered himself.  Mach stepped forward, starting to speak. He froze.  “Ah yes, the robot,” Citizen Tan said. “Tried to act on its own, and got zapped by the shorting field I just turned on. So it’s self-willed, and quite possibly the one we seek.” He glanced down at Fleta. “But are you the female we seek? If so, this will be a special pleasure for me. I have never before indulged with an alien creature.” He resumed his positioning, about to proceed with the act.

Fleta decided that Mach must have been about to give the signal, before the field enchanted his body.  That meant it was time for her to act.

She melted the flesh of her central region. In fact, she had started to do this before consciously making her decision, for the process was well along now. The Citizen’s probing member encountered only mush.  Then that mush rose up and gripped adjacent and very vulnerable flesh.

Tan opened his mouth to scream, as that grip closed.  But Fleta slapped a hand across his mouth, and melted it to cover the lower part of his face. “An thou dost say anything, Adept, then will I squeeze, hard,” she whispered, and gave him a small sample. This was a pretty good body, for special effects!

Tan’s eyes glazed with pain. Fleta continued to melt.

“Lie down, roll over,” she said.

He dropped on her and rolled over, carrying her around so that she was now on top of him. As she melted, her flesh spread across and around him. Only her head remained humanoid. “Turn off thy magic field.”

When he hesitated, she began to squeeze again.  “I’m free,” Mach said. “We’re off-camera here, but those in the front chamber remain operational, and you must pass through that. Form into his robe and make him take you there.”

She obeyed without question, knowing that only he understood the nature of the magic that surrounded them. She spoke once more to the Citizen: “I will be come thy robe. Carry me to the waste chute and dump me there. Else will I squeeze. An thou do it right, thou willst be free o’ me. An thou balk, then will I kill thee, caring naught for my fate thereafter, for it be anyway sealed. Dost understand?”

The Citizen nodded. Then she melted her head, and spread herself over Tan’s body, and changed her color, becoming tan. She was getting good at this!  “Longer, with folds,” Mach murmured.

She thinned herself and lengthened herself, until she matched the length of his original robe. Then, as the man sat up, she flowed around to fill in the back. But she never released her constriction around his generative parts. Her freedom and life were at stake, and this was the other self of an Adept; she knew she could afford no error at all.

Tan walked to the other room. Fleta could no longer see or hear, because she had melted her eyeballs and ears, but she could feel the orientation and motion of his body, and she knew that Mach was following, a nominally servile robot, actually making sure nothing went wrong. She had to trust that the Citizen dumped her correctly.

Tan reached down and lifted the hem of her substance. She let herself be lifted, like flexible material.  She finally had to relinquish control of his nether anatomy, but she tightened her closure around his neck so that he could feel it. She could still hurt him, and he knew it.

She was being stuffed into the hopper; she could feel its cool metal. She melted, letting her substance flow down inside it. She had a head start, because of the form she had assumed; the melting was swift. When all of her was in the chute except the neck circlet and one “sleeve,” she released the neck but tightened about the arm, sliding down to encircle and grip the fingers, bracing them apart. She could break them if she chose. This body was completely malleable, but when it formed bonelike sections, they were strong enough to exert considerable force.

Finally there was nothing left of the connection except the hand. All the rest of her was a liquid string.  She had already negotiated the mesh; it was no trouble in her present state. She let go the hand and slid down and away.

If the Citizen then sprang into action, she didn’t know. Mach remained in his power, but she knew that without her as hostage, they could not make him cooperate, they could only kill him, or whatever it was they did to golems. To rovots. Ro-foots! She hoped he was correct that they would not do that.  Now she was in free fall down the chute. It became a pipe, with a blast of air to carry its contents along. If it led to a furnace to burn the garbage—

Then she slurped into a tub. The moment she was all in, something moved it, carrying it elsewhere. She was being loaded into a motorized vehicle; she felt the vibrations. Then she accelerated; it was taking her very swiftly to somewhere else.

Mach had told her to trust the machines. She was trusting them, but she hoped there was no error!  The acceleration eased, but vibration continued; she was still traveling. It was hard for her to judge time while in this state, and she didn’t dare shape into an other form until told to; she knew that the machines were hiding her from what was bound to be a deter mined search by the Contrary Citizens. She did form a masked eye, so she could perceive light and vague out lines, and a masked ear, so she could hear somewhat, in case the machines addressed her.

The tub slowed, then stopped. It lurched, evidently being loaded somewhere. Then it was still.  Was it time to emerge? How could she know? She formed a pseudopod—this body was really quite versatile, as she learned its capabilities!—so that she could peer out.

She made an eyeball on the end of the pseudopod, and peered through a vent in the top of her container.  All she saw was other containers, similar to her own.

She started to extend her eye farther, so as to see more.

“Unsafe,” a voice said immediately. “Wait. Hide.” She dissolved the pseudopod and settled down. If the Citizens were tracing the possible routes of her shipment from the waste chute, it would be dangerous to manifest now. They must have her stored in a warehouse, until the search passed. She would be lost among all the sludge containers. That was good.  She had nothing to do, so explored her own parameters further. She discovered that there were patterns in her memory for a number of set forms, and that she could fairly readily modify these for specific effects.  Thus she could emulate a human being, the pattern being for the form she had found herself in when she exchanged to Proton, but could also change that form so that she remained human but did not resemble the original form. She could become almost anyone, if she had a representation to copy from.

Agape was very like a unicorn, slower in her changes, and limited to a fixed mass, but more versatile within that mass. Of course Fleta preferred her own body—but here in Proton, the amoeba body might be better.  Time passed, and nothing happened. She grew bored, and then sleepy. This was actually the sleep format of this body, and this time she didn’t have to worry about melting off the bed.

She was awakened by the resumption of motion. She started to stir. “Remain quiescent,” a machine voice ordered.

She did so, but was alert. Her container was loaded onto another vehicle, which then moved a short distance and stopped. She was unloaded and wheeled to yet another chamber.

Then at last the directive came: “Form into humanoid semblance.”

She invoked the process of human body formation, which included the hardening of columns of flesh into the equivalent of bones and joints and the development of the key apparati of perception and communication, as well as the humanoid skin tones. Agape must have worked hard to develop this pattern, and had done an excellent job! Fleta never would have been able to do it, had she had to develop the pattern herself. Soon she stood as Agee, the office android.

She was in another warehouse chamber, much like the prior one, alone.

“Modify to male,” the speaker said. It was a grill set in the ceiling.

Fleta spluttered as the import registered. “Male?”

“Affirmative.”

She had never thought of such a thing! But she realized that probably the pursuing Citizens had not thought of it either. She discovered that there was a pattern for humanoid male, so she invoked it.  Her breasts shrank, until they were mere nipples set in her chest. Her hips melted and reformed, contracted.  Her genital region became jelly, then drooped. It formed a penis and scrotum, neither functional, but similar externally to those of male serfs. Her shoulder length mane shrank into briefer tonsure.  “Modify to this image,” the grill said. An image formed in the air before her, of an unfamiliar man.  She studied the details of the man, changing her configuration to match. The hair was yellow, the body slender and tall, the chest hairy, the eyes blue.  “Less buttock,” the grill said.

Oh. She worked on that region, shrinking the dual masses further.

“Follow the line to the Game Annex,” the grill said.

“But where is Mach?” she asked. “I need his advice!”

“Mach is being watched. You must qualify alone.  You will be secure as long as your identity is not suspected. If you qualify for the Tourney, you will be secure until you are eliminated.”

And thereafter, if she returned directly to Moeba.  Theoretically. She hoped Mach intercepted her before that happened!

She walked along the line. It led her from the warehouse and through a passage and into a concourse where other serfs walked. They were following lines too; it seemed that this was a standard way to show them where to go, as they went to the Game Annex.  She remembered the Lympics of Phaze, in which the various major species competed for honors. She had hoped to enter the Unilympics, for she was fleet of foot, and also could play her horn well. She had been working on a duet with herself, accompanied by an intricate hoof-tap pattern, that she thought could be a contender in the marching music division. But now, in Proton, in an alien culture and an alien body, none of that applied.  If she won entry to the Tourney, she would in time find herself confined to the alien planet. If she lost, she could be caught and tortured by the Contrary Citizens, to make Mach do their will. Or Bane, because they thought she was Bane’s love; they already had Mach’s cooperation, if they but knew it. What a complicated confusion!

She arrived at the Annex. Her line led to a console.  A young man stood at the other side: her assigned opponent.

He reached over, extending his hand. “Hi! I’m Shock. My hair, you know.” He gave his dark mass of head hair a shake, so that it fell across his face, then nipped it back out of the way.

She took the hand, remembering how human beings clasped digits in greeting. She concentrated on the correct dialect, so as not to give her origin away. “Hi. I’m Fleta.”

Then, stunned, she realized what she had said.  But the other seemed not to have noticed. “Welcome to the Leftover Ladder. I’m second from the bottom.  I love the Game, but I’m no good at it, so I’m easy to beat.”

“Ladder?” she asked, still appalled by her slip.

“Oh, you new here? From another world?”

“New,” she agreed. “From another world.” Both quite true, but not the way he would take it. 

Shock grinned. “Say, that’s great! I’m a Koloform myself. Well, I mean my folks came from Kolo, so it’s my blood. I was born here, but I can only stay till I’m twenty-one, next year, you know. Then I’m either a serf, or I have to go to Kolo. What’re you?”

“A unicorn,” she said.  She had done it again!

“I never heard of that planet!” he said cheerfully.  “But what do I know? There’s thousands of planets.  Well, c’mon, let’s play before the next pair need the console.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

Her screen had words printed:

SHOCK OF KOLO

FLETA OF UNI

PLAYER ONE:

PLAYER TWO:

Below was a sample grid. He had the numbers, she the letters. Mach had explained this, but still it was confusing. She had to pick something she thought would get her into a game she could win.

Her choices were A. NAKED B. TOOL C. MA CHINE D. ANIMAL.

That was easy enough! The only thing she really understood was ANIMAL: being one herself. She touched D.

Shock was still making up his mind, for though her column highlighted, none of his numbered rows did.  That gave her a chance to look around.

She hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings; she had just followed the line in. She saw that she was in one of a number of open chambers, each of which contained a console, and most of the consoles had players standing by them. Many folk were playing this peculiar game! But that might be because they were doing what she was supposed to do, qualifying for the Tourney.  Mach had said that only the top ten in each age group, among the males and the females, would qualify. So now they were trying to get into the top tens.  She realized that that must be what the ladder was for. Shock had mentioned a ladder, that he was near the bottom of. A ladder was a thing that human folk used to climb up onto higher places. So she was trying to get on the ladder, starting near the bottom, which was the way with ladders.

But how was she to get to the top, if she had to win games against experienced players to climb each rung?  The Tourney was only a few days away, and even if she could win every game, there would hardly be time for them all!

A row illuminated. Shock had finally made his choice.  It was 1. PHYSICAL. The two highlights overlapped at ID.

Then the ID square expanded to fill the screen. ANIMAL-ASSISTED PHYSICAL appeared across the top, and new sets of choices appeared. This time she had the numbers, and he had the letters.  She looked at her choices: 5. SEPARATE 6. INTERACTIVE 7. COMBAT 8. COOPERATIVE. She wasn’t certain how these applied, but the safest seemed to be the first, because it seemed to mean that she could do her own thing. She touched it.

Again she had played ahead of Shock. That encouraged her, though it might be that he was making more intelligent choices. His options were E. EARTH F.  FIRE G. GAS H. HzO, whatever those meant.

When he chose, it was E: EARTH—FLAT SURFACE. So that was it: Earth, as in a plain someone could run on. That was fine with her; unicorns under stood running room.

The 1D5E square expanded to fill the screen, and a new, slightly smaller lattice appeared, with nine squares. Down the right side was a list of activities.  Shock whistled. “I don’t know how to do any of these things!” he exclaimed. “Well, let’s see where it goes.” The words BRONCO-BUSTING appeared in the top left box.

Fleta realized that he must have touched one of the words at the side, because it had disappeared from the side when it appeared in the square. So she touched her favorite: HORSEBACK RIDING. It wasn’t that she liked riding horses, but that she, being a related animal, understood them better than any of the others listed, and in her human form certainly could ride one of them.

He put BULLDOGGING in the third square, so she put GOAT MILKING in the fourth one. There were not many goats in Phaze, but they were easy enough to get along with.

They continued with DOG TRAINING, COW MILKING, CAMEL RIDING, BULL FIGHTING and CHICKEN SEXING. “That’s not what it sounds like,” Shock explained. “It’s telling the chicks apart, you know, male or female, so they know who’ll grow up to lay eggs. A good chicken sexer can make a pile, on a farm planet. Well, let’s choose up; this is it. I got the last placement, so you get choice of numbers or letters.”

She chose the letters, and touched B, the center column, because that had the horse riding in it. She was lucky; he chose 1, and the highlights overlapped at HORSEBACK RIDING. She had her first choice, which meant a good chance.

ADJOURN TO RIDING AREA, the screen said. FOLLOW THE LINE.

She looked at the floor. A new line showed, leading away from the console.

They followed it. It brought them to a corral where a number of people were riding horses. It terminated at a check-in office.

The bored attendant glanced up. “Whatcha into—easy, rough or show?” he asked.

“I don’t mind losing, but I don’t want to get dumped,” Shock said candidly. “I bruise easily.”

 “Easy,” the attendant said. “Saddle or bareback?”

“Your turn,” Shock said.

So they were still taking turns on choices. “Bare back,” Fleta said.

In due course they found themselves on two sedate horses, bareback, with reins. The one who guided his horse most accurately along a set course would be the winner.

Fleta didn’t like reins, so she dismounted, went to the horse’s head and removed the bit and the reins.  The man who had brought the horses looked surprised, but did not comment.

She remounted, and they proceeded along the course. Shock was evidently barely familiar with horsemanship; had the course not been long familiar to the animal, he would soon have been lost. Fleta leaned low, embraced her horse with legs and arms, and spoke to it in its own language: a low whinny. Her body might be alien, but her nature was equine, and now it came strongly through. She felt a sudden surge of homesickness for her homeland, and knew that this captive horse felt the same.

The horse’s ears perked. She stroked its neck, reassuring it, explaining by pressures of her legs how it should react. Soon she had it responsive, and the horse obeyed her commands when they were neither verbal nor visual. She really did understand horses.  Thereafter, the horse stood tall and proud, and moved so precisely along the course that others stopped to look. One of the keepers, alarmed, challenged this:

“You do something to that animal? No tether, no halter, no bit, no reins—you drug it?”

“No drug,” Fleta said.

“Bring it over here; I want the vet to see.” So they had to interrupt the contest, while the horse walked to the side where the robot vet rolled up. The machine ran sensors across the horse’s skin and flashed little lights in the animal’s eyes and mouth. “This horse likes this rider,” the robot said, and rolled away. 

“You sure have the touch!” Shock said. “Or did you just get a happy horse?”

“We can exchange horses if you wish,” Fleta said.

“Yes, let’s do that!”

So they dismounted and exchanged. Fleta addressed the new horse as she had the first, and removed the bit and reins, and soon it was as cooperative, while the first, feeling the ignorance of the new rider, became surly.

By the time they finished the ride, there was no question of Fleta’s victory. “Serf, you’re new on the register,” the corral manager said, hurrying up. “You looking for employment? You’ve got a touch with those animals I never saw before!”

Fleta dismounted, put her arm up around her mount’s head, and kissed it on the nose. “I do relate well to animals,” she agreed. “But I am trying to qualify for the Tourney.”

“But once you enter that, you’re gone, unless you win!” the manager protested. “Look, this spread is owned by a pretty savvy Citizen. If he sees how you are with his animals, he’ll give you good employment and treat you right. It’s a lot better risk than the Tourney!”

It surely was—for an ordinary serf. But Fleta knew that she could not remain in this guise indefinitely with out being discovered, and then she would be in instant trouble. “I wish I could do it,” she said with genuine regret. “But I am committed. I must enter the Tourney.”

They left the corral. “I think you should have taken it,” Shock said. He shrugged. “Well, you bumped me down a rung on the ladder; you’re number one-four two on the Leftover Ladder.”

“Why is it called the leftover? I thought there was a ladder for each age group.”

“There is, and the top ten of each ladder qualify. But some don’t fit well, being underage or overage or alien or handicapped or whatever, so there’s a special ladder for us. I guess they sent you here because you’re too new to know the ropes.”

That was not the reason, Fleta realized. It was be cause she was an alien creature masquerading as an android of the opposite sex. She could not qualify for a regular ladder without giving herself away, so the self willed machines had set her up with this all-inclusive one. They did know what they were doing.  But she was on the 142^nd rung! How could she ever make it to the top ten rungs?

Shock showed her where to verify her ranking: the Game Computer had a special screen that would show the placement of whomever approached it. Sure enough, FLETA was now listed 142 on LEFTOVER.  SHOCK was 143. He shrugged and departed, satisfied.  “Report to alcove for special instructions,” a low voice murmured from the speaker.

Surprised, she went to an alcove, where there was slightly greater privacy.

“Challenge the player on the eighth rung,” the speaker said.

“But don’t I have to climb step by step?” she asked. 

“Not in this case. You are permitted two free challenges: one in the lowest ten, to register on the ladder, and one elsewhere, to establish your regular position.  Thereafter you can ascend or descend only rung by rung, and need accept only a single challenge each day.  If you win Rung Eight, and limit subsequent challenges to one a day, you can lose on the following two days and still qualify for the Tourney. You must achieve the rung now; pursuit is closing, and you will be protected while you remain at the qualifying level.”

She felt like melting. She had almost forgotten the danger she was in. “How do I challenge?”

“We shall enter it for you. Follow the line.”

She looked. The new line was there on the floor.

“Thank you,” she said, but the speaker did not respond.  She hadn’t known that the Game Computer itself was cooperating with the self-willed machines; probably it could get in serious trouble itself, if the Contrary Citizens learned of its part in this. That had to be why her double slip in naming herself and her nature had not given her away: the computer already knew her identity, and was covering for her.

She followed the line, still intrigued by the magic of this realm. It led to another console, where an older woman stood. She had only one arm. This, it seemed, was Number Eight on the Ladder.

“Fleta of Uni,” the woman said disapprovingly. “You breeze here from offplanet at the last minute and want to enter the Tourney and maybe win Citizenship, just like that?”

Fleta looked at the name on the screen. This was Stumpy of Proton. A cruel name for a long-time serf.  “Citizenship?” she asked, alarmed. If the Citizens were already closing in ...

Stumpy looked at her with open incredulity. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Fleta asked, confused.

“Oh—you’re an android,” Stumpy said.

Fleta did not argue, as she was impersonating an android. A reputation for stupidity was an asset, for her. She smiled and looked appropriately blank.  “Well, let’s get this charade over with,” Stumpy said.

She slapped her hand down on her screen.  Fleta had the letters again, so she took D. ANIMAL again. Immediately the screen showed Stumpy’s choice, 3. CHANCE. The square expanded.

Instead of a new grid, there was a message: BETTING ON ANIMAL CONTESTS. SELECT AN INCIPIENT CONTEST. ONGOING LIST FOLLOWS.

Below was a grid in which many animal contests were listed: races, fights and performances, between horses, dogs, fowl or other creatures.

Bemused by this approach, Fleta touched the column that contained horses, but immediately the chosen square brightened, and it was 1D7E: DOG FIGHT.  Well, she had watched werewolves fighting each other for status. Because she was the foal of Neysa, the friend of the entire local Pack, she had been privileged to witness rites that were ordinarily barred to outsiders.  That was how she had become friends with Furramenin; she had been a foal and the werewolf a pup together.  Dogs were similar creatures, though inferior; they bore about the same relation to werewolves as horses did to unicorns or monkeys to human folk. She should be able to judge a dog fight.

Now the screen became a picture, startling her. It showed a pit, with two snarling dogs being held by trainers. Fleta saw at a glance that one dog, though slightly smaller and leaner, had a more savage temperament; it would be more serious about the fight than the other.

SELECT VICTORIOUS DOG, the screen directed.  Fleta touched the screen where that dog was portrayed. But in a moment a message appeared: BETTORS SELECTED SAME ANIMAL. SELECT TIME OF DECISION: CLOSEST MARK.

A scale of times appeared, delineated in seconds and minutes and hours.

Fleta judged that the larger dog would quickly be cowed, and try to break off. Would the fight be halted at that point? Since the horses were owned by a Citizen who wanted them treated well, perhaps the dogs were similarly owned, and the fight would not be allowed to proceed beyond the point of evident advantage. That would keep it short. She touched the scale at one minute, ten seconds.

Stumpy’s mark showed: four minutes even. Now they had a viable bet.

The picture of the dogs reappeared, With the scale retreating to the bottom of the screen. Both bets were marked, and a pointer pointed at 0: the elapsed time of the fight.

Then the dogs were released. They sprang at each other, the larger one confident of the advantage. Indeed, for a few seconds he had it. But then blood flowed from grazing gashes, and the smaller dog went berserk.  He attacked with such ferocity that the other was first surprised, then dismayed. Suddenly the other tried to break free—and nets came down, incapacitating both animals, and the fight was over.

The time was fifty-four seconds.

Stumpy looked at Fleta with new appraisal. “You weren’t guessing,” she said flatly.

“I understand animals,” Fleta said.

Stumpy turned and walked away.

Fleta walked back to the Ladder screen. There was her name, on the eighth rung, with Stumpy Just below it. She had qualified for the Tourney.

5 - Spy

Bane felt the girl in his arms sag. He steadied her, realizing that Fleta had been in Mach’s embrace, just as Agape had been in his own embrace, at the time of his exchange with Mach. Fortunately this had not disrupted the process.

Bane looked out over the grassy plain. It was good to be back in Phaze, after the horrors of the pursuit by the Proton Contrary Citizens! Mach had told him briefly of the discovery by Stile, his father, that their exchange was causing a dangerous imbalance, so they had to spend more time in their own frames. Thus he was back for that reason—but the love of his home frame smote him, and he knew he was glad that this need had developed. It was early morning, just as it had been in Proton, but here it was beautiful.

Except for his separation from Agape. He loved her too, and wanted to be with her—and could not, here.  The girl blinked, recovering equilibrium. “We have exchanged, Fleta,” he told her. “I be not Mach.” There was a little pop behind him, and a trace of vapor passed, evidently lingering from the mist of the dawn.

She stared at him. “You are alive!” she breathed.  “Aye, filly.” Then he asked her about the nature of the truce Mach had told him about, but she seemed confused.

“Where are we?” she asked.

He laughed. “Where thou hast always been, mare! In Phaze, o’ course.”

Still she seemed perplexed. “Please—do some magic,” she said.

He realized that she had suffered some kind of shock, perhaps because of her proximity to the exchange ‘he had made with Mach. He conjured a basket of oats for her.

“I am not the unicorn,” she said. “I am Agape.”

“Be thou joking, mare?”

She claimed she was not. There followed some confusion, as each doubted the other’s identity, but soon she convinced him that she was indeed Agape. He could not, however, convince her that he was Bane. Finally they compromised: he gave her a spell she could invoke for protection and left her. He would know if she used the spell, so he could check on her, for it was his magic.  Then he conjured himself to the Blue Demesnes.

His mother, the Lady Blue, welcomed him, of course.

It was his father Stile he was concerned about.  He need not have been. They met privately in Stile’s office, protected from observation by a careful spell. “I made a mistake in judging you,” Stile said, speaking in his original dialect, as he was apt to do when serious.  “Or perhaps in judging your other self, Mach the Robot. I should have remembered how Sheen was—and how Neysa was. Their offspring—“ He shrugged.  “I shall not err like that again.”

There was a faint ripple in the air. Bane was startled.  The statement had seemed incidental, but that was the splash of truth. Stile was deadly serious.  “As you may know, Fleta sought to kill herself,” Stile continued gravely. “And Mach rescued her in a manner reminiscent of my own Oath of Friendship to Neysa, proving his love and his nascent power. Were you aware that he overrode an Adept’s spell in the process?”

 “I had not much time for news,” Bane said. “Trool’s spell?”

“Trool’s spell. He always was too decent for his own good, and when he couldn’t talk her out of suicide, he gave her what she asked, reluctantly. It was incidental magic, for him—but no ordinary person overrides any Adept magic! The doing of it shook the frame, and suddenly all of us knew that a new Adept was in the process of coming into being. Translucent pounced on the opening, and won Mach’s trust, leaving us in a very bad situation.”

“Aye,” Bane agreed. “Dost know that I have found love in Proton-frame?”

“The parallelism of the frames made that likely. We were so blinded by our concern for the continuation of our line that we lost sight of other realities. Our opposition to your union as such is at an end. Do what you must do; I’m sure you have found a worthy companion.”

“As such?”

Stile laughed. “We still must oppose it—for different reason. You cannot remain in Proton without aggravating the deadly imbalance.”

“Ah, aye,” Bane agreed. “So it be the same.” He grimaced. “I sought not love there,” he continued. “I knew not I was going there, when first it happened. But e’en as thou didst find love across the frames, so did I.”

“I was concerned about the future,” Stile said. “Now I am concerned about the present. The Adverse Adepts are marshaling their forces, seeking to use their advantage to achieve complete victory. If they can establish communication between the frames, merging Proton analytic techniques with Phaze magic, they can dominate this frame. You and Mach are the key; if you cooperate in that, the power is theirs.”

“I seek not to give them that!” Bane protested.

“But if they take possession of your woman?”

“Aye, they tried,” Bane said. “We seek to return her to her planet of Moeba, then she will be safe. But it be difficult; the Contrary Citizens be alert.”

“You will accept separation from her?” Stile asked, surprised.

“Aye, because though I love her, so also do I love the frame. I would not take her at the cost of all else I value. So I am with thee, my father; I know our romance can be not permanent.”

“I had thought you would oppose me in this,” Stile said. “But if you give her up, will you then—?”

“Aye, I will find a woman of Phaze and make an heir,” Bane said. “An she be amenable to the knowledge that I love her not.”

Stile, not normally the most demonstrative of men, simply extended his hand. Bane shook it. Again a faint splash was evoked. There was no quarrel between them.  “I thought to give up my own love similarly,” Stile said, “for the good of the frame. But I got her back—and if there is any way I can find to do the same for you, I will do it, regardless of the heir.”

Bane smiled. “But there be a development they know not: Agape be now here in Phaze.”

“She crossed the curtain with you?” Stile asked, amazed.

“Aye. She was embracing me, and Fleta embraced Mach as we exchanged, and methinks we carried them with us.”

“But where is she now?”

“In Fleta’s body, girlform. She feared a trick by the Citizens, and they have been most devious before. She be seeking her answer alone.”

“But there is danger for the uninitiate in Phaze!”

“Aye. I gave her a spell. More can I not do, an I wish to keep mine agreement to let her be. When she accepts Phaze, then can we be together again.”

“This is apt to aggravate the imbalance,” Stile said.  “I sent word to Mach and Fleta. Trool identified it; your exchange is wreaking mischief of a cumulative nature. The Adverse Adepts verified it, once we identified it; they know that both frames can be pushed to destruction, if we ignore this imbalance. We can halt it only by returning you to your own frames.”

Bane sighed. “And our loves be in the opposite frames! Mischief indeed!”

“Mischief indeed,” Stile agreed. “But it does not solve the problem of dominance in the frames. The two of you can continue to communicate from your own frames, and if you do it for the benefit of the Adverse Adepts, they will prevail.”

“And if the Contrary Citizens gain power o’er Agape, I can promise not that I will not do their bidding,” Bane said.

“And the same for the Adverse Adepts,” Stile said.

“You don’t want them to catch on to her presence here.  As long as they believe she is Fleta, they will leave her alone, so as not to give Mach cause to change his mind.”

“Aye. That were in my mind as I left her: that she be in no danger from them, only from natural creatures.”

Stile walked around the chamber, his blue robe swinging out as he turned. “I do not trust the Adverse Adepts to wait passively for you to fall into their hands.  They seem to be honoring the truce, perhaps because they fear that any violation here will bring a counter move in Proton, or will alienate Mach. But as Mach discovers that the Lady Blue and I have withdrawn our opposition to their union, and realizes that he no longer needs sanctuary with Translucent, the Adepts will seek to consolidate their advantage by more forceful means.  It would facilitate my preparation if I had a better notion what they might be planning.”

“And thou canst not simply go and ask!” Bane said with a wry smile.

“They keep aware of me as I do of them,” Stile agreed. “They know where I am at any given moment, just as I know where they are. I fear they use their minions for their dirty work, but I don’t want to seem to be spying on the goblins or ogres or demons either, lest I alert them to my suspicions.”

“But if I were to use similar magic to do some spying—“

“I could cover for you,” Stile concluded. “They surely have a tracer on you, too, but I could enchant a humanoid golem to resemble you and divert their awareness to it. Then you would be unsuspected.”

“Aye,” Bane agreed, liking the challenge. “But e’en so, I could go not in mine own form.”

“You have been studying blue magic for several years. I think you’re ready for full Adept-level techniques, such as form-changing. I have long since used up most of the best forms for me, and cannot assume them with the same spells. But those spells will still be good for you, and perhaps it is time for you to use them.”

“Aye,” Bane said, gratified. This was a tacit promotion to adult status. He realized that his decision to favor the welfare of the frame over his personal love had won his father’s respect, and this was an immediate result.

“The main problem with form-changing is the reversion,” Stile said. “Blue magic is spoken, or sung, and other forms cannot duplicate the human sounds. What is required is a translation of the spells to the language of the other form. Once you have that, you can always revert to human form. But then that form is done for you; the magic will not work a second time.”

“Aye.”

“Therefore you will need a form that the Adverse Adepts will not suspect, that you can remain in until you are done, and will not need again. It is true that there are many available forms, and a variant of the original spell will work as new for changing into similar species. Still, caution is best.”

“Aye.” Bane was really pleased; his father had never before trusted him with magic of this nature. 

“Select a form that you find suitable, and when you assume it, I can conjure you to one of the Adverse Demesnes,” Stile said. “Thereafter you will be on your own. If you get in trouble, you will have to revert to your natural form, then conjure yourself back here.  You should be able to handle that.”

“Aye,” Bane agreed. He had devised many conjuration spells, so that he could jump from one spot to another at any time, as he had done to come here from the region of the harpies. “But—methinks a trial run first?”

Stile laughed. “A sensible precaution! We’ll try something innocuous, and complete the full process; then you will know what to expect. What form would you like to try?”

“I think for observation, something small and unnoticed. An insect, perhaps a bee.”

Stile had the spell. He spoke it, and it had no effect on him because he had already used it for himself. Then he described the reversion spell in bee-buzz, making sure Bane understood it. “If you confuse it, you could change back into the wrong form,” he warned. “I could devise a spell to correct the error for you, but I think it best that you handle it yourself.”

“Aye.” For when Bane became the Blue Adept, there would be no one to rescue him from his own errors.

Agape, Agape, Agape!

Bane jumped. “She invoked the spell I gave her!” he exclaimed. “She be in danger!”

“Your spell should protect her,” Stile said. “But you don’t want to interfere before she is ready. Still, you want to be sure she is safe.”

“How canst thou know my thought so perfectly?”

“I knew it when I first loved your mother. Change now, and I will conjure you to her vicinity; this is an ideal test situation.”

Bane realized it was true. He wanted, in effect, to spy on Agape, to be sure she was safe without intruding on her presence. He sang the bee spell, and in a moment was crashing to the floor, unable to fly.  “Think bee,” Stile said, looking down at him. “Rev up your wings gently, until you have the technique and the balance.”

Bane followed directions, and in a moment was hovering somewhat unsteadily, a few inches above the floor.

“Now I will conjure you to her vicinity,” Stile said.  He sang a spell—and Bane was back at the open plain, still struggling to maintain equilibrium in air.  He flew in a wobbly circle, and ascended. His bee senses informed him that this was indeed the proper region. A bee wasn’t smart, but did have excellent positional awareness.

Not far distant a dragon was snorting. That was reason enough for concern! He put forth more energy and buzzed toward it, gaining proficiency in flight.  There was no sign of Agape. That was as it should be, for his spell made her undetectable by ordinary means. It was really a rhyming invocation, her name rhyming with itself as the inflections differed, and it was not her magic, but his; her speech triggered his performance. It was one of the useful devices he had mastered in his years of study: the Blue parallel to the Red amulets or the Brown golems, operating away from the creator. Most Adepts could do similar magic; only the forms of it differed.

The dragon was casting about, trying to find its vanished prey. Soon it flew away, frustrated. Bane relaxed;

Agape was safe, and after a while the spell would wear off.

Then another shape winged in. It was a harpy! That was another kind of danger. But how did the harpy know where Agape was? For the ugly bird was definitely orienting on something. “Who calls? Who calls?” she screeched. “I smelled thy signal, but I see thee not!” Smelled her signal?

“Damn!” the harpy fussed, mildly enough for her kind. “Mayhap the dragon got him, ere the smell o’ my burned feather reached me!”

Now Bane remembered. Mach had made friends with a harpy! There had been a passing thought about it.  The harpy must have come to help.

“Here I am.” That was Agape’s voice. The spell a lowed her to make herself known when she chose, and of course it was fading anyway.

Bane hovered nearby long enough to verify that the harpy was called Phoebe, and that she was helping.  While it was true that the harpies were among the most dirty and vicious of flying creatures, it was also true that hardly any other creature sought to interfere with one. Agape should be safe enough for a time in the company of Phoebe.

He flew to a reasonable distance, then buzzed out the spell for the return transformation. He got it right; in a moment he was a man again. He stood in his normal clothing: part of the magic was the transformation of apparel into fur or skin, in the fashion of the unicorns or werewolves. Quickly he conjured himself back to the Blue Demesnes.

“She be safe for now,” he reported, vastly relieved. “She has a harpy friend.”

“Fleta made that friend,” Stile agreed. “I think I learned from my experience with Trool the Troll that any species, no matter how vile seeming, can have good representatives, if correctly approached.”

“I think I be ready now to spy on the Adepts,” Bane said. “The test was a success.”

“First rest a day,” Stile said. “Then we’ll send you out in the morning.”

Bane realized that much had happened recently, and he was tired. “The morning,” he agreed.  Thus it was that the next day he found himself in butterfly form—the flying mode of this creature was easier to relate to than that of the bee—near the Orange Demesnes. He had taken the precaution of becoming well adapted to his form before being conjured to this vicinity, so that he would not nutter about inadequately and perhaps call attention to himself. But in getting that practice he had used energy, and now in the presence of the many exotic blooms of the Orange Demesnes he was hungry. So he flitted from flower to flower, sampling as many as he could and thoroughly enjoying himself.  However, he did not forget his mission. He wanted to spy on the Orange Adept, and learn if he could what mischief the Adverse Adepts were plotting. Stile was not paranoid; if he suspected trouble, then trouble was surely in the making.

The Adept lived in a tiny shack in the center of an overgrown vale in a jungle forest. Bane fluttered closer to the shack, but it showed no sign of life. The Adept was either asleep or absent. In either event, Bane was not accomplishing much. It had not occurred to him that spying would be this dull!

Then a bird swooped down. Oops! Bane plunged for the tangled ground, avoiding the predator. But the bird swerved to follow, with marvelous accuracy. It had far more speed and power than Bane did, and was evidently determined to snap up this morsel.

Bane could not do other magic in this form. As the bird took his body, he invoked the conversion spell in butterfly language, and became a man.

The bird, startled, winged immediately for distant parts. Bane was safe—except that he now stood in his normal form in the heart of the Orange Demesnes. That was dangerous!

He took a step—and encountered ferocious brambles the butterfly hadn’t noticed. Indeed, they were coiling about his legs, nudging their thorns into position for best effect. No easy way out of this!

There was no help for it: he would have to conjure himself out, and hope that the Adept was absent, be cause magic of this magnitude would surely alert him otherwise. That could make him, and therefore all the Adverse Adepts, aware that they were being spied on by someone, and it would not take them long to guess whom.

He conjured himself to the center of the Purple Mountain range. He hoped that if Orange were aware of the conjuration, and traced it, he would assume that another Adept had stopped by. This might not be the best of ploys, but it was all he could think of in the pressure of the moment.

He was tempted to check on Agape and the harpy, if they remained together, but resisted the impulse. If an Adept were tracing his course, he hardly wanted to lead that hostile man to Agape!

He conjured himself to the White Mountain range, and finally home. He had expended a number of valuable spells, but it seemed a necessary precaution, doubly hiding his true destination.

“I think he was asleep,” Stile said. “My magic indicates he is at home; he seldom leaves it. I don’t think you alerted him. What happened?”

“A bird,” Bane said, disgruntled.

“Next time make it a poisonous species.”

“Aye.” Bane grimaced. “I be not much good at spying, methinks.”

“Who among us is? Evidently there was not much to be learned there.”

Bane resolved to do better next time. That afternoon he transformed into a brightly colored, highly toxic species of butterfly, whose blue and yellow wings advertised its nature; no sensible bird would touch it. Stile conjured him to the Tan Demesnes.

He fluttered near a monstrous banyan tree, whose branches spread so far horizontally that they could not support their weight and dropped new trunks to the ground as buttresses. Thus this single tree seemed rather like a forest, with lesser plants growing in the shadows and arches of it. Bane studied it with his butterfly senses, but could not fathom its extent; it was a labyrinth!

Odd that the Adept whose magic related to plants lived in a wilderness hovel, while the one whose magic related to people lived in the most elaborate vegetative structure. The Adepts as a whole seemed to honor no sensible pattern.

He fluttered into the shadows of the tree, seeking flowers, but there were few here; the light was too dim.  He flew up to see whether there was more above the lower branches, for he needed flowers as a cover for his presence.

There was a pavilion above, built into the upper sections of the tree. A woman was reclining there, sunning herself in the nude, or perhaps merely enjoying the breeze. Her eye fell on him.

“A blue-striped zinger!” she exclaimed. “I need a pair of those!” She jumped up and fetched a net from a hook on a trunk-post.

It was Tania, the Adept’s daughter—and it seemed she was a butterfly hunter! This was a bad break.  He fluttered down and away, but the woman pursued, the net poised competently. He barely managed to get out of its range beyond the pavilion; Tania could not follow, because she was ten feet above the ground.  “Damn! I’ll have to use magic,” she muttered.

She gazed intently at him, and the evil eye struck.  Bane was abruptly paralyzed. He fell to the ground, unable to fly. Because he was an insect, not a man, he landed lightly, unhurt. Because he was a nascent Adept, the effect did not last; Adepts could seldom hurt each other seriously by their magic, being naturally immune.  Had he been in manform, she would have had to work much harder to achieve the same effect. He could fly away before she descended a ladder to the ground.  But if he did, she would know he was more than an ordinary butterfly. He did not want to arouse suspicion.  It was better to play the role, and let her capture him, and escape when he could do so in the natural butterfly manner. If no opportunity came, then he would have to do it in an unnatural manner.

Tania arrived. She slid a bit of paper under him and picked him up, carefully. “Come on, you pretty little prize,” she said. “I have just the place for you.” That did not sound good. Should he have bolted?  She carried him to a garden set within the far fringe of branches that was entirely surrounded by fine netting.  Within it were scores of butterflies. She opened a small section and set him inside. “You will recover in a moment, zinger,” she said. “Just find yourself a perch; I’ll find a mate for you as soon as I can.” She withdrew.  He waited a suitable period, then righted himself and flapped his wings. He flew to a spot on a thick bush and perched there, as directed.

Tania returned to the pavilion and resumed her sunning. But she faced the caged garden, and she was watching him; it was probably because she was pleased to have come this providently on a rare acquisition, but it meant he could not do anything contrary to butterfly nature. He was still captive.

He just did not seem to be very good at spying!  Since he had nothing else to do, he watched her. He had known her occasionally as a child; she had been about ten when he was six, and the Tan Adept had brought her when he came to the Blue Demesnes to confer on this or that. Stile had not gotten along well with the Adverse Adepts, but they were Adepts and had to be accorded the respect due that status. Tania had seemed insufferably snotty from the vantage of his youth, but he learned that it was in Tan’s mind that he, Bane, might make a suitable match for her, when he became adult. He had rejected that notion out of hand; he would have no truck with any of the Adverse Adepts or their ilk.

But in Proton, and now in Phaze, he saw from the vantage of his sexual maturity that Tania was an attractive young woman. Her body was tanned all over, and her matching hair and eyes had their own peculiar appeal. Physically, she was now a creature he could have been attracted to.

Then a wren appeared, a tiny bird flitting along a lateral branch, checking it for edible insects. Tania’s eyes moved to follow it, as it reached the edge of the pavilion. She concentrated—and the bird gave an anguished peep and flopped onto its back, its legs kicking frantically.                                            “Suffer, creep, before I kill thee,” Tania said, watching it with satisfied malice. “Didst think to prey on my butterflies?”

But the bird had not been after the butterflies. Bane thought. It had been looking for crawling bugs in the bark of the huge tree and could not have gotten into the garden cage anyway. She was torturing it without proper reason, evidently enjoying the process. Indeed, she licked her lips as she watched the wren, and her face seemed to glow.

After a time the wren showed signs of recovering from the effect of the evil eye. Its kicking and fluttering slowed and stopped, and it started to right itself.  Then Tania got up, fetched her butterfly net, reversed it, and smashed the handle down on the hapless bird.  When she was sure it was dead, she nudged the body off the edge, so that it fell to the ground beyond.  And that completed the picture on Tania: he could never have been attracted to her mind. She was a true example of the nature of the Adverse Adepts.  In due course her brother arrived. “How goes it, Tannu?” Tania asked.

“Indifferently,” he replied, plumping into another deck chair. “The rovot and the unicorn traveled to the Harpy Demesnes, where he switched with Bane. Then Bane went to the Blue Demesnes, leaving the ‘corn.”

“He sported with animals, but does no more,” she remarked. “Bring him to me, and I will bind him to our cause.”

“Can’t, under truce,” Tannu said.

“Truces exist only for convenience,” she said disdainfully.

He grimaced. “Needs must someone inform Translucent o’ that,” he said. “After Purple botched the job, Translucent won o’er the rovot, and his word governs.  Methought Translucent was crazy and would hang himself, but he did not.”

“Yet,” she said. “He has hanged himself not yet. He were lucky, but his luck will turn. It be crazy to let Bane run loose.”

“We be preparing for the time Translucent comes to his senses,” Tannu said. “The ogres, goblins and demons be alerted; they be marshaling their forces.”

“For what? Bane can be held not by goblins!”

“But the ‘corn can,” he replied. “An the rovot return and change his mind, we want that unicorn captive.”

“Where be she now?”

“We know not. She set out afoot in girlform for the mountains, but vanished.”

“Belike she took birdform and flew away,” Tania said. “An she come to me in that form, I know how to deal with her!” Her gaze flicked to the butterfly net. 

“Save thy strength for Bane,” he advised. “It will require it all to make him do thy will.”

She shrugged, her breasts moving. “He be a man. I have practiced the Eye to stun the higher functions. An I hit him with that, he will not know he be changed; he will see only a body he lusts to possess. By the time he spend himself on that, he be mine.”

“Just make sure he is, an that time come,” Tannu said seriously. “Meanwhile, we marshal the animals.”

“Speaking of which—there be a bird below. Do thou get it away from here before it stinks.” He shook his head. “Thou must cease wasting thy power on nonentities, Tania.”

“Well, bring me something worthy of mine effort!” she snapped. “Like Bane. Methinks I could have amusement of him; he be a fair young man now.”

“All in good time,” he replied, and got up, evidently to take care of the dead bird.

Bane realized that he had scored as a spy after all.  By being made captive, he had remained close enough to overhear the enemy dialogue. Now he had confirmation of the treachery of the Adverse Adepts—and some notion of their interest in him, too. Could Tania really use her evil eye to enchant him? He would have thought no, before, but now he was not sure. She seemed too confident, and her approach was insidious.  Stun his higher sensitivities, and tempt him with sex. If he succumbed to that, it would play havoc with his relationship with Agape, as perhaps Tania intended.  More likely, she merely wanted the challenge of taming an apprentice Adept, and of fashioning a sexual plaything.

He did not think she could do it. But he wasn’t sure, and did not care to take the chance. He would stay well away from her!

The day slowly passed. Bane flew to a number of flowers in the cage, satisfying his hunger, but did not dare try to escape. He was sure he could get away by reverting suddenly to manform and immediately conjuring himself away, but that would give away his identity and ruin the validity of the information he had gleaned. It was important that he escape without being suspected.

At night, when Tannu and Tania had settled for sleep elsewhere in the tree, he made his move. He flew to a firm spot in the garden, and reverted to his natural form.  Then he walked carefully to the fastened flap of netting that Tania used for her own entry, opened it, and stepped out. Then he climbed a branch overhanging the garden and broke off a dead projection. He brought this down to the net and used it to tear a small hole in the fabric, directly below the spot from which the branch had been taken. He set it down just beside the net. In the morning, when Tania found her prize butterfly gone, she would discover the hole evidently made by the falling branch, and realize how the insect had escaped. She would be annoyed, but not suspicious. He hoped.

Then he climbed down a trunklet to the ground, and made his way out of the tree. He walked some distance into the night, putting distance between the sleepers and his conjuration, making it less likely that they would be aware of it. Then, finally, he conjured himself home.  In the following days he spied on the goblins, ogres and demons that Tannu had mentioned. Sure enough, they were organizing as for battle. But where did they plan to strike, and when, and with what forces? The break he had had at the Tan Demesnes turned out to have been his best; butterflies could not get close enough to the decision makers at the right times to spy out anything critical.

Then he learned that the Adverse Adepts were suspicious of the unicorn. They had managed to trace her to the Red Demesnes, and saw little reason for the unicorn to go there. But if it were another person in her body, who needed help learning the magic, that could account for it. So they were alert for her, in whatever form. They knew their strongest possible hold on him, Bane, would be through the creature he loved, just as it was with Mach.

“I must go to her, to protect her,” he told his father. 

“No,” Stile said. “They aren’t sure. If you do that, they will be sure, and her danger will be increased. Let Trool handle it; he can protect her readily enough.” Bane knew that his father was right. So, reluctantly, he continued his spying missions, hoping for the break that would give them the rest of the information they needed. In time he would be reunited with Agape. That was what he lived for.

6 - Amoeba

Mach found himself naked in a chamber, embracing the alien female, Agape. “The exchange has been accomplished,” he said. “We had better disengage.” For Bane had conveyed to him that this was the office of one of the Contrary Citizens. What a place for them to hide! 

“Where be we?” the woman asked.

He started to explain, then realized it was pointless, because she had been here all along. “But you already know that. Agape.”

“I be Fleta!” she said.

“Don’t tease me like that, Agape,” he said. “I love her.”

“Tease thee? I tease thee not,” she protested.  They discussed the matter, and soon she satisfied him that she really was Fleta, who somehow had managed to exchange with him, and was now in the body of the alien female. What a development!

“This really be thy rovot form?” she asked.  He was glad to have his love with him, however unexpectedly, but this was decidedly awkward. Fleta had no notion of the ways of Proton, or even of the management of her strange body. She would quickly give herself away, if he didn’t indoctrinate her immediately.  Her language alone . . .

They worked on it. Fleta adapted to the language fairly readily, and with some difficulty learned how to reshape her amoebic body. Learning how to cope in the frame of Proton would be a longer task; he had to settle for the minimum.

In the course of their discussion, he learned from her that Tan was the Adept of the Evil Eye, and that he had wanted to marry his daughter to Bane. How fortunate that Bane had resisted!

Teaching Fleta to eat the amoebic way was a challenge. Getting her through the night was another, be cause Agape’s body melted when it lost consciousness and puddled on the bed. But they squeaked through it, and in daytime Fleta was at the front desk as Agee, the android receptionist.

Meanwhile he researched their situation, and learned that the self-willed machines were helping, and had a plan to enter Agape in this year’s Tourney, which was about to begin. That would protect her from the Contrary Citizens until she washed out, when she would be shipped back to Planet Moeba, no interference brooked. Good enough; all she had to do was hide for three days, and she would be safe.

Except that it wasn’t Agape with him now, it was Fleta, and Fleta knew nothing about the Tourney, and less about Planet Moeba. It would be complete disaster to ship her there.

He would have to get her exchanged back to Phaze before she went to Moeba. That could be difficult. He would have to think about ways and means.  Tania stopped by the office: the very thing he hoped would not happen. She was striking in her fashion: a face that was removed from the ordinary by its tan eyes and framing of tan hair, and a well-developed body.  Obviously she could be a beauty when she chose to be.  At the moment she was too cold and Citizenlike despite her nakedness to be attractive, however. Serfs learned early to treat the bodies of Citizens as objects of veneration, not of interest, unless directed otherwise.  She reviewed Fleta in a cursory manner, then Mach.  She wasn’t satisfied. She curtly ordered Fleta to requisition a replacement menial robot. Then she was gone. Perhaps it was a test; if so, Fleta passed it nicely, except for the single error of referring to him as a “rovot.”

Then Tania’s brother appeared. In Phaze it seemed that this young man had not yet assumed the office of the Adept, but in Proton he was evidently Citizen Tan.  Parallelism was approximate, not perfect; otherwise Mach and Bane could not have been alternate selves.  Did the Citizen suspect? Mach watched with increasing apprehension as Tan questioned Fleta, then handled her, then took her to the sleeping chamber for a sexual exercise. Obviously a true android serf would be thrilled to have such attention from her employer, while an alien female in love with a robot would not. Could Fleta tolerate this intimacy for the sake of concealment of her nature? He feared she could not, and tried to interfere on a pretext.

And his body was abruptly shorted out. Now he knew, too late, that Tan suspected; he was helpless.  But Fleta, primed to act when he gave the word, decided it was time. She wrapped her amoebic flesh about Tan’s more sensitive parts and forced him to obey her. She made him free Mach, then deposit her in the waste disposal chute. The self-willed machines would guide her from there. She had escaped.

Leaving Mach with a hurting and humiliated Citizen.  It would not be smart for Tan to do anything to Mach, because Mach was the key to communication between the frames that the Contrary Citizens so very much desired. But Mach wasn’t sure that Tan was in a. mood to be smart at the moment. He made a hasty retreat from the office, and with a speed that only a machine in a frame whose details were run largely by machines could manage, became lost in the service network. He knew Tan would not give the alarm; this would be a private grudge. Citizens did not take lightly to depradations on their dignity.

He consulted his brethren, the machines. He learned that there was indeed a search on for Agape (Fleta), and that it would be dangerous for her if Mach were to try to approach her before she was safely qualified for the Tourney.

Yet she would want and need his support. How could he provide it, without putting her in peril? How could he resist the natural urge to go to her prematurely?  He knew how. He requisitioned a unit and programmed a dialogue. He dictated an opening statement that would satisfy her as to his authenticity, and left the rest to interactivity. It would seem just like him, and give her comfort. He left it with the self-willed machines, who would use it when appropriate.  But when he set foot in the halls, and sought to lose himself among the walking serfs as he made his way to the estate of Citizen Blue, an android turned abruptly and threw an object at him. Mach dodged it, and it struck the wall beyond him, detonating in a flash and report like that of a small bomb but doing no harm.  Apparently it was a toy, a mock explosive.  Mach took off after the android, who was trying to duck around a corner. He wanted to know who had sent him, and what the mock-bomb was supposed to do.

The android, like most of his species, was clumsy.

Mach reached him easily, catching him by the shoulder.  The man whirled, flipping another bomb toward Mach’s face. Mach intercepted it with his left hand, his reactions much swifter and better coordinated than the android’s.

The bomb exploded in his hand, and the pieces of it fell away. It might have harmed a flesh hand, but not his. “What are you trying to do?” he demanded. 

“Mark you,” the android said.

Suddenly Mach understood. That had not been a damage-bomb, but a marker-bomb! It had impregnated his hand with radiation that would enable him to be traced.

“Who sent you?” he asked.

“Citizen Tan.” The android was not even trying to evade; evidently his attempt to flee had been part of a ruse to get Mach close.

Mach let him go and ran on toward his destination.  But he saw suggestive motion ahead, and realized that others were already closing in. They knew his destination, and his location, and would intercept him before he reached safety.

He had been right about Citizen Tan: the man was angry. Tan intended to capture Mach, regardless of the Contrary Citizens’ desire to get him to work for them.  Injured pride was more immediate than long-term power. Fleta was safe because Tan could not find her—but Tan could get at her through Mach, reversing the ploy.

This situation had developed so quickly that Citizen Blue was not aware of it. Mach needed to get back to the self-willed machines, who would alert his father.  But the minions of Tan were cutting him off from that-contact too. Also, his contact with them now would serve as proof of their complicity. He had to find some other avenue of escape.

Mach charged back the way he had come. This happened to be the hall leading to the spaceport; he had entered it from a service aperture, which he did not dare use now, as the tracer radiation would betray his private contacts.

The spaceport? That was a dead end! They would close in on him there, and spirit him away before he could alert his side. Unless—

Why not? Their tracer would do them no good, if he were offplanet!

He hurried to the waiting shuttle. Ships did not actually land in the dome city; the shuttle conveyed passengers to the orbiting station, where they boarded the interplanetary vessels. He stepped in just as the port was starting to close; the shuttles departed on a rigid schedule every few minutes. He was safe from pursuit—for those few minutes.

He checked the screen for the imminent listings.  Ships arrived and departed from and to a dozen planets every hour. There should be somewhere convenient, from which he could alert his father. It was ironic that they had been having so much trouble getting Agape offplanet, while he was doing it on the spur of the moment!

The name leaped out at him from the list: MOEBA.

The very planet!

Mach laughed, internally. He would visit Planet Moeba.

Mach had been on interplanetary flights before; it had been a deliberate part of his education. He understood about the temporary blackout of Feetle (FTL—Faster Than Light) travel and the necessary adjustment of time to synchronize with that of the planet being approached. But he was surprised by the passengers.  It seemed that they were all from other planets; Proton had merely been a mail-stop, and he was the only new traveler. One individual resembled a molding green cactus. Another seemed like a living plate of spaghetti with olives for eyes. A third was rounded and furry, with half a dozen whistle-pipes poking out. The others were somewhat stranger.

Mach ran through his geography program, identifying the various species and cultures. They were all legitimate; the surprise was in finding such a varied assortment on a single ship. Their languages were all different, too, and he had no programs for these, so could not communicate.

He did have a program for Moebite, because of his association with Agape. He had never used it, but he automatically set up for likely eventualities. He had thought that Bane might find it useful; in the rush of events, he had neglected to inform his other self. How fortunate he had it now!

That jogged a little alarm circuit. His acquisition of that program was on record, which meant that Tan must know about it. Tan would not have known that it was for Bane; he would have thought it was for Mach him self. Tan might have concluded that Mach planned to go to Moeba at some time in the future.  Why, then, had Tan not acted to prevent it? Tan’s minions had tried to intercept Mach on the way to Citizen Blue’s estate; they had left an avenue to the space port open. That was the kind of error Citizens seldom made.

The timing had been remarkably convenient. Tan’s minions had struck just when the next ship out was the one to Moeba.

Mach had no further doubt: Tan had wanted him on this ship. That meant that there would be a welcoming party on Moeba. Away from Proton, Mach could not turn to his father for help. Perhaps a trap had been set for Agape, so that if she succeeded in departing Proton safely, she would still be taken captive. Now Tan had elected to use it on Mach. It could have been serendipitous for the Citizen: a trap set for one used to catch the other.

Now he was on the way to that trap, and he could not detour. The ship terminated at Moeba; it would undergo inspection and preparation for its next voyage, and only service crews would be permitted to remain on it. Mach would have to go to the planetary surface—where he would be vulnerable to whatever the Citizen had in mind. How could he escape it?

He smiled. There were ways. Bane, in this body, might have been helpless, but Mach was not.  First he had to eliminate the marker. He knew that his left hand was hopeless; once impregnated with radiation, it would remain so until the radiation faded, which could be years. So—

He opened his chest cavity and brought out a small tool. He used this to pry under the pseudoflesh of his left wrist and access the circuitry there. He nulled it, and separated the physical locks. Soon he removed the hand and sealed over the wrist.

Another passenger noted this procedure. “Most interesting,” the creature murmured. It was a serpentine form, with a dozen handlike projections along its sides.  Perhaps its interest was professional.

Mach realized that the creature had spoken in Moebite. It must have learned the language for its visit. He held out the hand. “Would you like to borrow it?” he asked in that language. “I must warn you that it has been impregnated with marker radiation: harmless to living flesh, but a beacon for the party seeking it.” He held out the hand.

The creature took it. “I would like to study this. I regret I cannot detach one of my own. May I proffer some other item or service?”

“Perhaps a service. I believe that some party on Moeba intends to take me captive, identifying me by this hand. Would you care to lead that party astray?”

“I would be delighted!” the creature said.  Thus expeditiously was the deal made. Mach was gambling that the party would use the radiation to do the identification, not considering the physical appearance of the subject at all. It was evident that many strange creatures visited the planet, so appearance meant little.

He would have to do without his hand, but that seemed a necessary price for his freedom.  Now all he had to do was decide on a legitimate mission, since he would have to remain on the planet at least until another ship traveled back to Proton—and until he could safely return. That might be a while.  Actually, he had a mission: to learn how a robot might breed with a Moebite. This was the occasion to investigate the prospects.

In due course the ship arrived at the planet of the Amoeba and established orbit. The passengers were shuttled down on a winged craft that swooped onto a dark marsh. A submersible bubble took them to a chamber some distance below the surface.  It turned out that the other passengers were Moe bites, returning from their various interplanetary missions. They had maintained their discrete disguises as a matter of principle while away from home, but now dissolved with relief into their natural jelly forms. They had assumed that Mach was another Moebite, and were evidently surprised when he did not melt.  The individual with the marked hand went immediately to another chamber, as if trying to escape detection. There was no immediate sign of pursuit, but Mach was sure some would soon manifest. There was no chance of losing track of that hand!

A Moebite formed into a vaguely human outline and approached him. “You have business here?” it inquired in its own language; Mach understood it only because of his language program.

“I have come to inquire about your nature and culture,” Mach said. His actual words were only approximately analogous to the ones he would have used on Proton.

“We are always glad to exchange information,” the Moebite said. “Do you wish a cultural tour?”

“Yes.” His preliminary research had indicated that this was the proper mode of introduction.  “I shall summon a guide.”

“Thank you.”

In a moment the guide appeared, in the guise of a naked human being, except for one distinction: it was neuter. “A greeting, man-being,” it said in Moebite.  “I am Coan. Have you a preference?”

Mach considered. The creature was sexless, and could assume the appearance of either sex, just as Agape could. Agape had chosen to be female, and had then conformed psychologically to that image. He decided not to get involved with any other alien female.  “Male, if you please. I am Mach.”

Coan’s midsection melted, then shaped into penis and scrotum. His hips thinned down slightly. He had made the requisite cosmetic adaptation.

“Our habitat is dry, but we handle wet well,” Coan said. “These are melt channels through which travelers normally pass.” He indicated several holes in the floor.  As Mach looked, he saw one in use: semi-fluid substance was squeezing up from it and pooling around it.  Soon the Moebite was through, and sliding toward a waiting region, evidently early for its ship.  “I hope there is an alternative exit,” Mach said. “My body is not flexible in this manner.”

“Our facilities for aliens are limited, but sufficient,” Coan said. “We shall utilize a capsule.” He showed the way to a port that could accommodate a man. He touched it and it opened, revealing the small transparent bubble beyond. They climbed in and sealed the bubble’s lock. Then the little craft moved through the water, dropping slowly to the sea floor and extending fibers that traveled along its nether side, moving it gently forward.

“What was the business of the other travelers?” Mach inquired.

“They are representatives to other planets. They assume the forms of the creatures whom they visit and learn their modes of communication. We are studying the galaxy, and wish to know as much as we can learn about the ways of other sapient species.”

“Because you have no technology of your own,” Mach said.

“True. We had no need of it until we made contact with other species. Now we realize that we are retarded in this sense, and we wish to make progress. We prefer not to be entirely dependent on other planets for our interplanetary contacts.”

Mach could appreciate why. Any aggressive planet could exploit Moeba unmercifully, and surely in time that would occur. “So you are studying technology, and trying to learn sexual reproduction, so that your species will evolve as effectively as others do.”

“You have an unusual comprehension of our effort,” Coan remarked.

“I am not a normal individual of my species,” Mach said. “I am a machine—“

“I had noted that. But you are self-willed.”

“Who is in love with a living creature of another species.”

“I begin to perceive the nature of your empathy,”

“I also represent, in a manner, the interest of another individual who is in love with a Moebite, and who I believe would like to breed with her.”

Coan considered a moment. “I believe we have some common interest. We must explore it in greater detail.”

“Agreed.”

The bubble reached the shore and crawled onto land, then stalled; its fiber-propulsion was unable to sustain the weight on land. The port opened, and they climbed out.

Coan escorted him to a building that appeared to have been constructed by natives of another planet.  That made sense; the Moebites had had no technological culture of their own. This was the limitation they were trying to surmount.

“In the beginning, our culture was without form and void,” Coan said, showing a setting of deep water. “We were amoeba, but small, floating in the current. We were victim to other species, and to each other. Predator species were dominant.” And in the setting, little amoeba were engulfed by larger ones.

“We retreated to the least hospitable realms, the shallows and the rivers,” Coan continued as they moved to the next exhibit. “Conditions were more extreme here, and we had to develop tougher membranes and tougher protoplasm. But the predators did the same, and followed us. We retreated to the fresh water, developing membranes to contain our vital solutions, and finally to the land itself.” The settings showed this progression.  “But here the climate was truly savage. No amount of fleshly adaptation could sustain us against the alternate desiccation of the summer sunlight and freezing of the winter. But we discovered how actually to shape our environment somewhat for our comfort, by crafting deep pools in hollows on the land that the predators could not reach, or by walling off sea inlets so that predators had difficulty passing. Food was a serious problem on land, but we learned to cultivate simple cells and feed on them.

“The most important breakthrough was the development of linguistic communication. It enabled us to form, in effect, a larger entity, that was better able to cope with inclement conditions. We now dominate our planet, and no other species preys on us. But when the first shuttle from an alien planet landed, we realized that a great deal more remained to be mastered.”

“But how do you reproduce?” Mach asked. 

“By fission. We grow to sufficient size, then divide into clone entities, each the same as the original.”

“But this should result in the continual fragmentation of the species,” Mach protested.

“No. When two of us have need, we flow together, and the dominant genes establish a new entity with traits of each of the contributors. Then we fission, and the clones are similar. This process maintains a unified species.”

“But each individual loses its identity when mergence occurs,” Mach protested. “A new individual is formed, a compromise creature.”

“Yes. This is why our leading scholars avoid mergence as long as possible. Unfortunately, mergence is our nature; aging and weakening occur if it is postponed too long. Thus we are unable to maintain a truly discrete intellectual stratum in the fashion of the creatures of other planets. This, we now perceive, is a liability.”

“Sexual reproduction allows individuals to reproduce in a species-unifying way without sacrificing their individuality,” Mach said. “That is an asset.”

“Yes. That is why we seek to master this style of reproduction. We are devising a mechanism of uneven fission, so that the clones are not of the same size.”

“But the merging entities must still form new individuals,” Mach protested. “The size should not affect that.”

“True. But it enables one of the clones to retain identity.”

“I am a machine. My thinking may be limited. I don’t follow this.”

Coan showed him to another exhibit. This was an expanded view of two amoeba. “Each adult fissions unevenly,” he explained. As he spoke, the models divided, each forming one large and one small daughter cell. The amoeba, of course, were single-celled, despite their size. “But this is contrary to our nature; the smaller individuals cannot survive alone, being too small to sustain the sophisticated processes of our advanced state. They must merge immediately, while the larger ones are able to survive independently.” The two small ones merged, forming a new individual of about the size of the parent amoeba.

Now Mach understood. “The two parents survive unchanged; together they have generated a new individual, without sacrificing their identities!”

“Yes. This is our analogue of sexual reproduction.  By this device we can retain our memories and culture, without sacrificing succeeding generations. But problems remain. The fission into uneven clones is not natural to us, and there is little individual incentive to do it. We need to make it sufficiently rewarding so that every one of us has an incentive to do it this way instead of the old way.”

“And so you are studying the other species of the galaxy, seeking the secret of sexual attraction and fulfillment,” Mach said. “That was what Agape was doing, when she encountered—“ He hesitated, then continued. “Me.”

“Yes. It appears that she was successful.”

“I believe so. Not only did she learn the physical pleasure of sexual union, she learned the emotional pleasure of love.”

“We have had difficulty with the latter concept.”

“I am sure you have! But Agape will try to explain it to you when she returns to this planet. Meanwhile, if I might offer a suggestion—“

“We are seeking suggestions from all sources.”

“I am a robot. I have no natural emotions or pleasures. All that I am is unnatural: the result of programming for specific effects. Yet I do have pleasure, and I do love. Perhaps you need to program artificial inducements for your artificial process of reproduction.”

“How can you, as you say a machine, know that your feelings would have meaning for living creatures?” Coan asked. “You have had no living experience.”

Mach decided to be open. “I have had living experience. My identity has crossed over into the body of a living male. I found the sensations and emotions more intense, but of the same general nature. I had not under stood them before that experience, but when I returned to my machine body, so did the emotions, and I know they are the same, only reduced somewhat in strength.  Enhancement of my programming could correct that.  If you could arrange for genetic programming of similar emotions—“ Just then two others barged into the chamber.

“My pursuers!” Mach said. “I must flee or fight!”

“But there can be no violence here!” Coan protested.  Mach ran for the far exit—and encountered a third intruder, a Moebite in the form of a giant legged ball, with two tentacles at the top holding the poles of what he recognized as an electronic shorting device. One touch of that, and he would be turned off. They had come prepared!

But they were amoeba, not robots. They lacked his strength and ferocity of reflex. He dived below the dangerous tentacles and slammed into the ball-body. It squished. He reached up to grasp the insulated handle end of a pole and ripped it out of the flaccid grasp. He jammed the point against the opposite point.  There was a flash. That shorted out the shorter; it was now useless. He dropped it and scrambled on out of the chamber.

Soon he found himself outside, on land. But the others were following, and he knew they would not be careless again with their shorters. He had to get farther away.

The water! He could handle it, and the shorter could not. He would be safe there. He ran for it, and plunged in.

In a moment he was in the wilderness of uncivilized Moeba. Life was thick, here in the sunlit shallows, and he discovered to his surprise, also beautiful.  Some shapes were like yellow ferns, waving gently in the warm current. Some were like patches of blue gelatin, spread across the warm rocks. Some were like pink puffballs clinging to vertical surfaces, and others like the thick brown bristles of scrub brushes. Some were like flowing syrup, and some like puffy white mold—which they just might be. Many were like large ant eggs standing on end, and many others were like dewed spider webs.

This was the realm from which Agape had sprung.  He made a file of photographs of it, so that Bane would be able to recall this information and see it all, exactly as Mach was seeing it now, when Bane returned to this body. Mach knew that his living other self would be pleased.

He was safe, now, walk-swimming through the water.  But how was he to return safely to Proton? By this time Citizen Blue would have secured things there; all Mach needed to do was get there, and see how Fleta was doing.

He decided to wait a reasonable interval, then return to the museum, where the Moebite authorities should have dealt with the intruders. As Coan had said violence was not tolerated there; they would do whatever they did to criminals. Then he would be able to return to the space station in the normal manner and take the next ship for Proton. It should be straightforward now that he had triggered the trap and escaped it. Agape too, should be safe, when she came here; the Contrary Citizens’ fangs had been pulled, at least on this planet Meanwhile, he would explore this realm further re cording as much of its beauty as he could for Bane

7

When she recovered full consciousness, she was in a cage. She scrambled up in alarm.

Immediately a bat leaped into the air beside her cage.  The bat became a woman of extraordinary beauty, wearing a light cloak resembling the folded wings of the bat. “Adept!” she exclaimed. “She wakes!”

An extraordinarily ugly man appeared. “Aye,” he agreed. “The amulet restored her somewhat. Now must thou teach her to change her form.”

The woman reached up and opened the cage. “Come to me, hummingbird,” she said. “I be Suchevane, and I did promise my bitch friend to help thee. She says thou art not Fleta, but her other self, unable to use her body well.”

So this was Suchevane! Bane had been right; there could be no lovelier creature than this! Agape hopped onto her hand.

“The Red Adept caged thee with an amulet to restore thy strength, but thou must also eat,” Suchevane said.  “Now shall I revert to my natural form. Do thou take my paw and change back to girlform with me. Dost thou understand?”

The routine was becoming familiar. Agape nodded agreement.

The woman set her down on the floor. Then the bat reappeared, beside her. Agape touched the bat’s paw.  Then she willed herself to change when the bat did.  The room reeled. She found herself being supported by the bat-girl. She was human again!

“I thank thee, Suchevane,” the Red Adept said. “Now can I help her, and thou be free to return to thy flock.”

“Will she be well, Adept?” Suchevane asked anxiously. “She be—her body be my friend too.”

“She will be well,” the Adept assured her. “It will take time for her to recover completely, for much vitality was lost in the birdform, but I will see to her recovery.”

The bat-girl smiled at him. “Much do I appreciate this. Adept. An thou dost need me for aught else, thou needst but ask.”

“For naught but dreams,” the man muttered. Then, with ordinary volume: “Thou has done more than enough. I must not hold thee longer.”

“Then do I take my leave,” Suchevane said. She became the bat, and flew away.

The ugly man turned to Agape. “I be Trool the Troll, otherwise known as the Red Adept. I see thou art repelled by mine appearance, as all normal damsels be.  But fear not; I gave up trollish ways when the Blue Adept befriended me. I mean thee no harm, but only to restore thee to proper health and the use o’ thy body, so that thou mayst go thy way without danger. It was needful to convert thee to thine human form so that thou couldst eat normally.” He walked to a chest and brought out an armful of fruits and breads. “Do thou eat thy fill, and then I will show thee where thou mayst rest. The cage were but to protect thee from injury, an thou shouldst wake and be affrighted.”

Agape gazed at him, becoming reassured. “You like her, don’t you.”

The Adept paused, taken aback. “Does it show so much? I wish to make not a fool o’ myself.”

“No, not at all,” Agape said quickly. “She is stunningly beautiful, and I—I am an alien creature who loves a human man. I think I tune in to this sort of thing, now.”

“An old troll has no business dreaming,” he said.  “Now do thou eat, for thy present well-being is but temporary, the result o’ mine amulet. I will leave thee now; do thou snap thy fingers when thou wishest aught.” He turned away.

Agape realized that she was ravenous, but she had a doubt. “Adept, if you will—if it is not an imposition—would you stay?”

“Stay? I thought to relieve thee o’ my presence whilst thou dost eat.”

“Your presence is no affront to me. I recognize that for a man you are ugly, but I realize that you are not a man, and in any event, my standards are alien. I am not certain I can eat, here, so may need your further help.”

“The food be good,” he said quickly. “The vamps provide it—“

“I am sure it is good. It is that my normal mode of eating may not work, here, and I am not sure I can eat the human way.”

“Thou dost become more interesting by the moment,” the Adept said. “Do thou make the attempt, an this suit thee not, I will fetch other.” Agape made the attempt. She put her face over a chunk of bread and tried to melt into the digestive format. Nothing happened.

Trool fetched a chair and sat opposite her. “Exactly how dost thou eat, in thine own fashion?” Agape described the process.

“But thou dost know how human beings eat?”

“I have seen it happen;” she admitted.

“Thou art now in human form, and not merely in external emulation,” he said. “Do thou imitate me, step by step.” He took a chunk of bread, and brought it to his face.

She imitated him. He opened his mouth, baring his teeth, and bit into the bread. She bit likewise. He tore free a piece of bread and closed his mouth over it. She did the same. He closed his mouth and masticated, and she did too. Finally he swallowed, and she copied him as well as she could.

The sodden mass of chewed bread went down inside her neck and into her main torso.

“That be it,” he said. “Thy body will take care o’ it from here. Do thou continue eating.” He took another bite.

“You mean—that’s all?” she asked, amazed by the revelation. “I don’t need to melt into it?”

“That be all,” he agreed. “Thy digestive processes be now entirely within thy body.”

“I—I thought it was like—would be the way it is with Bane—with Mach’s robot body. He can eat, but not digest, so must open a panel and remove the food before it spoils.”

“That be one fancy golem body!” Trool remarked.  “Nay, it be not that way for thy present body.” Then he angled his head, struck by another thought. “Hast thou had experience with elimination?”

“Only of my own type, which is not the same.”

“It be not meet for me to try to teach thee that.  Suchevane can instruct thee, when she comes to practice thee on form-changing.”

Agape practiced her eating, finishing the chunk of bread, then tackling a large pear. Juice slopped down her chin; this was a new challenge! But gradually she learned to do it more neatly and efficiently. She even managed to drink a cup of grape juice without spilling very much down her front.

Finally, her stomach full, she stopped. She lay on the bed the troll had provided, and slept.

In the afternoon Suchevane arrived. Trool explained briefly the need, and the bat-girl escorted Agape to a shed that smelled of manure. “Do thou sit on this hole and let it go,” she said.

“Let what go?”

Suchevane cocked her head. “Thou has truly done this not before?”

“Nor seen it done,” Agape agreed. “Human beings are secretive about the details, and Bane—the robot had no need. He showed me sex, but not elimination.”

“He showed thee sex,” the girl repeated. “Aye, and he showed that me, too; men be eager enough for that.”

 “Bane showed you sex?”

“We were young, and curious. He had no human female friend, so he played with us animals, and we be friends since. Fleta, Furramenin, me—we told not the adults, o’ course.”

“He played with me too,” Agape said. “In the frame of Proton. But why didn’t he marry one of you?”

The girl laughed. “The son o’ an Adept marry an animal? That were never in the cards! Nay, it be play only, and long o’er now.”

“Did he tell you that he loved you?” Agape asked, concealing the tightness she suddenly felt. 

“Nay, o’ course not! Bane ne’er deceived others; he spoke only truth.” Then she looked sharply at Agape.  “He told thee that?”

“Yes.”

“And Mach told Fleta!” Suchevane shook her head.  “Oh, did he e’er tell her! He spake her the triple Thee.  I was there, and ne’er saw the like! The air, the cliffside, indeed all the world it seemed turned sparkling clean, and she—“ She shook her head. “I envy both!”

Agape remembered the way the Red Adept had reacted to this young woman. “Adepts don’t marry non humans?”

“Ne’er! Why should they, an they have anything they want o’ us anyway? They marry seldom at all, and then only human women, as did Blue.”

“Forgive me if I am speaking inappropriately—but would you marry an Adept if he asked you?”

Suchevane shrugged. “That be entirely theoretical. Any animal would marry any Adept, an he asked her.  Or any decent human man. I would have married Bane, an he e’er wished. But an Adept ne’er would.”

“But what about a nonhuman Adept?”

“There be only one, and he be Trool the Troll. He be separated from his own kind since he adopted human ways, and he be kind to my folk. An he wish to take one o’ us for play, she would do it readily enough.”

“Even you, the most beautiful of creatures?”

“Aye, especially me! I tired early o’ handsome males; fain would I settle with one like him, with decency and power. But he has no interest.” She looked at Agape.  “But this be a diversion. I must show thee how to eliminate.”

True enough. Agape was suffering some discomfort but was unable to relieve it in her natural fashion. “Is it like eating?”

“Nay, not precisely. Here, mayhap I can show thee. Let me take the hole.”

Agape moved off, and Suchevane moved on. She lifted her cloak out of the way to reveal her bare posterior. “Here do the solids come out, and here the liquids.”

“Oh—either side of the—“

“Aye. The major functions be set close together, for convenience.”

“I recognize it now; I have seen anatomical illustrations. I made surface emulations, with only the aperture required for the sexual congress. On Proton, I mean.  I suppose the others are functional now. I should have realized.”

“It be hard at first to learn the nuances o’ a new form,” Suchevane agreed. “I had trouble learning the human way, when I had practiced only the bat way as a cub. Now there be muscles here, and thou dost normally keep them tight, but now thou must let them relax. See, when I do, it comes out.” A stream of yellow liquid jetted from her, down into the darkness below the hole.

“Let me see, that muscle should be about here,” Agape said, lifting her own cloak and touching her body.  “If I relax it—oops!”

Suchevane leaped from the hole, put her hands on Agape’s shoulders, and swung her around and down on it. Liquid splashed on the board. “Thou hast it now!”

“But there is substance in the other—“

“Let that out too! This be the place for all o’ it.”

Agape let it all out, and her body felt much relieved.  Then the vampire showed her how to use paper to clean herself up, and how to wash where necessary. The process took some time, but now she had learned what she needed to. She would be able to handle it herself in the future.

Suchevane also showed her how to change forms from human to flying, and back. There were a number of misstarts, but when Agape finally got it straight, she realized that she could have done this at any time, had she only known how. It was a matter of concentrating on the right form in the right way: a talent which, once learned, she knew she would never forget, as with the elimination. Now she could change freely from girl to hummingbird, and from birdform to girlform, as Suchevane put it.

But flying was more complicated. Agape could flap her wings, but this only resulted in disaster. They decided to leave this aspect for another day.  Suchevane went home, and Agape settled down to another big meal. Trool joined her, at her request; she realized that he was not a busy man, but a creature with time on his hands, and lonely.

“If I may say something personal ...” she said between mouthfuls.

“Speak, Agape,” he said. “It has been long since I have had company o’ any kind, other than momentary business.”

“I think that if you were to ask Suchevane to stay here, she would.”

He grimaced, and on him this was a phenomenally grotesque expression. “Aye, and so would any animal!  I crave that kind o’ company not!”

“Because you are an Adept?”

“Adepts be the leaders o’ Phaze,” he explained. “Each has his mode o’ magic, but each has power o’er any other creature. This power be easy to abuse, and I mean not to do that. I would not take a woman, human or animal, because she feared my power—and that be the only way a woman would come to me.”

“I think she might come voluntarily.”

“Aye, she would say that. But fear be the motivator, not preference. Look at me.” He spread his arms, his left hand holding a plumb. “I be ugliest o’ all Adepts, and unversed in manners. I deceive not myself on this.” Indeed, he spoke truly! He was catastrophically ugly, considered as a man. But not completely.

“You are ugly in appearance,” she agreed carefully. “But not in manner, and I think not in intent. Some women appreciate those other qualities.”

He shrugged. “So it would be nice to believe.” She realized that further pursuit of this subject would be pointless. Any overture would have to come from the other side. So she dropped it, and worked on her eating, and her elimination, and her form-changing, and grew steadily stronger and more talented in her use of this body.

Suchevane came daily to help her, and soon she mastered the intricate balancing and motions of flying, and was able to use this form too as it was made to be used.  But she could not assume the unicorn form; neither the vampire-girl nor the Red Adept could tell her the way of that.

She realized that somewhere along the way her doubt had faded. She now knew that this was Phaze—and that she was in love with Phaze, as she was with Bane.  So many of its folk had been kind to her, in such understanding ways.

“Thou’rt recovered,” Trool informed her in due course.

“Thou canst now go thy way. What dost thou seek?”

“I have found what I sought,” Agape told him. “I was in doubt whether this was really Phaze; now I know it is. Now I can return to Bane.”

“Dost know his location?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Mayhap thou shouldst go to the Blue Demesnes; he will surely be there soon or late.”

“Yes. I would like to meet his folks.”

“They be a piece distant from here. Best that thou not go alone.”

Agape now appreciated the wisdom of such advice!

“I might fly, if Suchevane were willing to fly with me.”

“Aye, that seems best. There be a matter thou shouldst know: the Adverse Adepts be looking for thee.”

“They are? Why?”

“We know not. But it be known that Mach and Fleta took sanctuary with Translucent, which gives the Adverse Adepts half o’ what they need to establish contact between the frames, to their advantage. An they discover that now Bane and Agape be here, they might wish to offer further sanctuary.”

“But we support the existing order!” Agape protested.

“Aye. Therefore it be a stalemate, till Mach return to us or Bane join the Adverse Adepts. If they possessed control o’ thee, that might be a lever ‘gainst Bane.”

“That’s why I was leaving Proton!” she cried. “The Contrary Citizens were after me! We were hiding when Bane and Mach exchanged back—only Fleta and I exchanged too!”

“Aye. Stile noted that the imbalance is abating not, and knew that either the boys had exchanged not, or that other had exchanged. Bane went to him and proved his identity, so then it was known. Now the Adverse Adepts be searching, and we think this be their likely reason.”

“I must exchange back, and get away from Proton!” Agape exclaimed. “But I can’t do it by myself! I think that only with Bane, and with Mach and Fleta to gether—“

“Aye. But methinks the Adepts be watching. They cannot molest thee here, and I think know not thy location, for Fleta’s friends would not tell. But they may intercept any unusual traveling. Therefore, let me give thee an amulet thou canst invoke at need, to protect thee from revelation o’ thine identity, and mayhap from molestation an it be suspected.” He went to a cabinet and brought out a fine silver chain with a small foggy stone.

Agape accepted it. “This—how do I—“

“Merely hold it and say ‘I invoke thee’ and it will mask thine identity. No one will know thy nature. But use it not except at need; it be an unpretty spell, and it wears off not swiftly.”

She remembered Bane’s warning about his spell of undetectability. This seemed similar. Indeed, she would not use it unless she had to! “Thank you, Adept. I appreciate all you have done for me.”

“Thou hast been good company,” he said deprecatingly.

He was also a good person, she knew. She resolved to do him a singular favor, when the occasion presented itself.

Suchevane readily agreed to travel with her. The two changed to their flying forms and set out, heading south west toward the Blue Demesnes. Agape’s practice and restored health stood her in good stead; she now flew well and swiftly.

But a hummingbird was no hawk, and a bat was no dragon. They were unable to make the full distance in one day, and had to descend, to revert to human form and eat and rest for the night. They could have remained in their winged forms, but these were relatively small and weak, and it seemed safer to assume the more massive human forms for sleeping. They landed in an oasis, a clump of trees near a spring, and plucked fruit for their supper.

“I thought vampires ate human blood,” Agape remarked.

“Nay, not ordinarily,” the girl demurred. “Only for special occasions, such as the onset o’ flying. Then we seek not human beings, but animals o’ the unintelligent variety.”

“Something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Agape said. “Trool thinks that no attractive woman would associate with him voluntarily, and he doesn’t care for anything involuntary. If you were to ask him—“

“Ask an Adept?” Suchevane exclaimed. “I would not presume!”

“You do like him?”

“Aye. But that has no bearing.”

“You showed me how to do the things I need to do to survive,” Agape said firmly. “Now let me show you how to do this. You must find a pretext to approach him, and then say, ‘Adept, I would stay with thee and be thy companion, an thou not be offended.’ I tell you, he will not be offended.”

“But I could ne’er—“

“I couldn’t fly, either.”

Suchevane paused. “Thou really dost think—?”

“I don’t think, I know. If he expresses doubt, tell him that you came to him because you have come to know him and respect him, and would like to share his life until he finds some better woman. I assure you, he will not find that, or even look for it. But if he declines your company, what have you lost? How can it be wrong to speak honestly of your desire? I am an alien, but I do not think the way of the folk of this planet differs that much from that of mine.”

“Thou dost make it sound so easy!” Suchevane said. “But he be an Adept, and I an animal!”

“He is also a lonely old troll, and a decent person.  He helped me substantially, and now I would like to help him—by sending him something I know he would really like. You.”

Suchevane stared into the closing night. “I cannot believe—“

“I couldn’t believe this was Phaze, either. But now I do, for I have come to know it. Reality is similarly waiting for you, if you care to grasp it—and it would be a shame not to. You risk only a little pride, and stand to gain so much.”

The woman’s face turned toward her. “I think now I see how Bane came to love an alien creature.”

“Alien creatures can love, too.”

“Aye, aye! They can! And animals too!”

“And animals too,” Agape agreed. “And trolls.” Then they leaned into each other, and hugged each other, and wept together.

Agape woke to discover herself enmeshed. Lines were closing around her, and suddenly there was yelling and scrambling, and weight on her as something small and awful pounced. Earth-smelling hands clamped on her head, and more of them clamped on her breasts. “Got her! Got her!” someone screamed, almost in her ear.  “Get the other!”

Agape tried to change to hummingbird form, but couldn’t. The transformation spell just didn’t work.  Suchevane’s form beside her vanished, and the bat was scrambling out through the netting. “Hey, I told you to hold her!”

“I did, but she changed!”

“A ‘corn can’t change with a hand on her horn!”

“She’s not a ‘corn, she’s a bat!”

Then Suchevane was up and away, flying into the moonlight. She had escaped, but Agape was captive.  Because, it seemed, the button in her forehead was the vestige of her unicorn horn, and that had to be unfettered for its magic to operate.

“Well, this one’s a ‘corn,” a voice said. “Come on, let’s have at her before the chief comes.” Hands pulled up her cloak, exposing her body. Agape struggled, but there were too many hands on her, grasping her head, her arms, her breasts, her legs and her bottom.

They were little men, no, goblins, with huge ugly heads and big hands and feet and small, twisted, knobby bodies.

They worked the net off, and the rest of her cloak, their hands taking new and more intimate holds. They held her spread-eagled, while one came at her with bared member.

“Hey, who said thou dost go first?” another goblin cried. “I be first!” He shoved the other aside.  “No way, Snotnose!” the other returned, shoving him back.

Snotnose punched him in the belly. The two exploded into a fight, landing on Agape’s exposed torso. Three other goblins hauled them off, while a fourth made ready to rape her. But this left nobody holding her legs.  She brought them up kicking, scoring on the face of the would-be rapist.

Ouch! His head was like rock. He seemed not to notice the kick, while her toes were smarting in her slipper. He threw himself down on her, trying to get into place.

She hooked her feet behind him and applied a scissors squeeze. His body was relatively puny; now she was managing to hurt him! But other goblins were piling on again, and in a moment her feet were unhooked and her legs wrenched apart.

“What’s this?” a new voice cried.

All goblins froze. This was evidently their leader, the chief whom they wished to avoid until they got their business done.

“We are supposed to capture the ‘corn unharmed,” the chief said. “Remember, her body’s the same as the friendly one. Damage it, and we’ll alienate the friendly one, when she returns.”

“We weren’t going to damage her,” the goblin between her legs protested. “Just have a little fun with her.”

“Well, ‘corns have funny notions about damage,” the chief said sardonically. “Tie her—and don’t let go o’ her horn.”

Grudgingly, the goblins tied her, finally wrapping a strip of cloth about her head to cover her forehead.  Then they let her go, with a few final pinches at succulent portions of her torso. If she hadn’t known before why Bane hated goblins, her understanding was improving now.

Trool had warned her that the Adverse Adepts were searching for her. This was confirmation.  Then she remembered the amulet. Her hands were tied, but the chain remained around her neck; the goblins hadn’t noticed it, having been paying too much attention to the flesh of her body.

“I invoke thee,” she said to it, hoping it didn’t have to be actually in her hand.

Nothing happened.

She felt a surge of dread. If the amulet couldn’t help her, then she was lost, for they had already made her captive. At least Suchevane had escaped. If only they had perched in their flying forms, out of reach of goblins! But had some hungry night-hunting hawk spotted them—

“Very well, ‘corn,” the chief said. “Who be ye?”

Agape didn’t answer.

“Speak, or hurt,” the goblin warned.

“Go soak thy snoot in a sewer,” Agape replied. Then she was amazed; she had not intended to say that, and it was not the way she talked!

“Speak, or we shall bite thee on the tender feet!” the chief said.

“Hear me well, fecal-face,” she said evenly. “An thou put one foul toothmark on my tender foot, the Adept’ll put sixteen handsome teethmarks in thy foul bottom. Thou canst not touch me!” What was she saying?!

“She talks like a harpy!” one of the other goblins said, impressed.

“An thou beest the creature we seek, that be true,” the chief admitted. “An thou turn out other, we shall chain thee spread o’er an anthill while we take turns raping thee to death. Now answer: what be thy name?”

“An I tell thee aye, I be the one thou dost seek, an thou dost take me to thy employer, an he know I be not, then willst thou rue the day and night that thou didst set thy smelly posterior on this globe,” she said grimly. “An I tell thee nay, and thou dost set thy minions at my body, an the Adept learn I after all be the one, then willst thou rue the very thought that sent thy sickly sire slumming to conceive thee on the stinking slut that bore thee.”

Even the chief took stock at this point. This was evidently not the precise language he had anticipated from the captive. Certainly it was nothing she had in tended ever to say to anyone! What had happened to her mouth?

Then it came to her: the amulet! She had invoked it, and it was working! Already she had talked the goblin into a situation in which he dared neither to take her in nor to maltreat her.

The goblin pondered. He grimaced. “There be no help for it except I take thee in,” he decided. “That be the lesser gamble.”

“Not so, thou son o’ an infected slug,” she retorted.  “Thou canst save thy putrid skin only by releasing me unharmed and reporting that thou didst discover naught in these parts.”

He stared at her. “Truly, do I wish we had found thee not!” he exclaimed. “Yet an I free thee, and thou dost turn out to be the one, then there be no spot under the earth safe to escape the vengeance o’ the Adept!  So needs must I bring thee to him intact, and tell him thou art but a suspect, and my punishment then may be slight.”

“Until I tell him how thou didst have thy minions hold me whilst thou didst shove thy puny thing in me,” she said. “Then I think I had better be not the one thou seekest, for an I be the one, thou willst find thyself suspended by that thing from the nether moon.” She had not even realized that there was a nether moon!  This was obviously hyperbole, but nonetheless effective.

He looked glumly at her, not commenting.  “An if I be not the one, as it be needful for thy health that I be not, then why bring me in at all?” she concluded persuasively. “I be nothing but mischief for thee, either way.”

“I shall take thee to my superior,” he decided. “The decision be his. Let him free thee or ravish thee; it will be out o’ my domain.”

He had figured out a way to pass the buck, she realized. She was stuck with captivity. Still, the tainted tongue foisted on her by the amulet had bought her some time, and perhaps it would befuddle the superior goblin as readily as it had this one. She had never before realized what a weapon a tongue could be! Trool had warned her that this was not a pretty spell; he had known whereof he spoke.

They left her tied, and spent the remainder of the night in the oasis. Then, in the morning, prompted by her harpy-tongue, they gave her some bread and water and leave to relieve herself. Then they started on their way to the goblin headquarters. They gave her back her cloak, and some food, and did not molest her. But it was a wearying walk, hours in the rising sun, bearing north.

Then something appeared on the horizon to the southwest. The goblins looked back over their shoulders, alarmed.

And well they might be, for it was a huge wooden figure, striding rapidly toward them, its face fixed in an ominously neutral expression. Obviously it intended them no good.

“A golem!” the chief muttered. “We’ll have to fight it.”

The goblins lined up, drawing weapons: sticks, daggers, and the net. The golem strode up without pause.  What did this mean?

Then Agape saw the form of a bat perched on the figure’s head, and understood. Suchevane had brought help!

The golem arrived. The goblins attacked it. Their weapons had no effect; its wooden limbs were impervious. Then it swept its hands around in a double circle, at the goblins’ head level, and knocked over every goblin within range. Its wooden arms were like clubs!  Very quickly the goblins had had enough. They fled.  The golem stopped, the bat hopped down—and Suchevane stood there. “Agape!” she exclaimed, as she hurried to remove the bindings. “How glad I be that thou be not hurt!” She paused. “Or did—?”

Agape opened her mouth to reassure her friend.

“Whom dost thou think thou art talking to, guano brain?”

Oops! The spell was still in operation!  Suchevane looked startled. Quickly, Agape lifted off the amulet and threw it away.

The vampire smiled with understanding. “The amulet! Thou didst invoke it to befuddle them!” Agape smiled agreement. “And thee, thou quarter wit! Now let me be!” Then she closed her mouth, appalled.

But Suchevane understood. “Thou canst not abate a spell by throwing away its origin,” she said. “Needs must it pass of its own accord. Come, change form, and the golem will take us to the Blue Demesnes.” Agape was glad to keep her mouth shut and comply.  She became the hummingbird, and Suchevane the bat, and they both perched on the golem, who strode pur posefully for its home.

Before long the blue turrets of the castle appeared.  The Blue Demesnes! A lovely older woman, also garbed in blue, came out to meet them as they arrived.  They changed back to girlform. “This be Agape, Lady,” Suchevane said. “She whom I told thee of.” The Lady Blue extended her hand. “I am glad to meet thee at last,” she said graciously. 

“Well, I be not pleased to meet thee, thou harridan,” Agape snapped. Then, appalled anew, she slapped both hands over her mouth.

“She be under geis!” Suchevane said instantly. “The Red Adept gave her an amulet, to conceal her identity—“

The Lady Blue smiled with comprehension. “Mayhap my son can abate it somewhat,” she said. “I have heard much about thee, Agape.”

Agape’s mouth opened. She stuffed her right fist into it, stifling whatever it had been about to say.  Suchevane turned to Agape. “Mine alien friend, I must haste to my Flock before I be missed. I have business . . . and the Lady Blue knows thy situation and will keep thee safe till Bane return.” Indeed she had business! She wanted to go to Trool the Troll and speak her piece. Agape could not trust herself to talk, so merely nodded, then embraced the vampire tearfully.

Suchevane became the bat and flew to the northeast.

Agape gazed after her, abruptly lonely.

“Fear not for her,” the Lady said, mistaking her mood.  “I gave her a packet o’ wolfbane, which she can sniff when she tires; it will buoy her to complete the journey in a single flight, so that naught can befall her aground.” And that was the concern that Agape should have been having: for her friend’s safety after a tiring night.  She felt ashamed.

The Lady put her hand to Agape’s elbow. “Come into the premises, my dear. Thou surely dost be tired after thine experience, and will require food and rest.  My son be absent yet, but will return in due course, and then thou canst be with him.”

Agape suffered herself to be guided into the castle, but she glanced askance at the Lady. Didn’t Bane’s parents oppose this union?

The Lady laughed. “I see that thou dost have concern o’er thy status here. Agape. Do thou make thyself comfortable, and we shall have a female talk ere my husband return.”

Agape did that. She was glad that she had learned how to take care of this body, so that she was able to clean up and empty her wastes without complication;

In the afternoon, after a meal and a nap, she joined the Lady for their talk. The geis remained on Agape; the Troll had been right about its lasting effect! Thus it was pretty much a one-way conversation, with Agape merely nodding agreement at appropriate intervals.  “The opposition o’ factions o’ Adepts be longstanding,” the Lady said. “Adept ne’er liked Adept, till Stile came on the scene. Then he did what was necessary to separate the frames, for by their interaction they were being despoiled, and so he evoked the enmity o’ the despoilers. That be the origin o’ the Adverse Adepts; they liked each other not overly much before, and very little now, but they league in common interest. One did he befriend, Brown, and one did he replace, Red; all others be ‘gainst him, to lesser or greater extent. But Stile, who be also the Blue Adept, be strongest o’ Adepts, save for the one he promoted, Trool the Troll, who has the Book o’ Magic. So did he prevail, and the frames were parted.”

She looked at Agape, and Agape nodded. She had learned some of this from Bane, before, but knew that the Lady was merely establishing the background for her point.

“After the parting, the force o’ magic in Phaze was reduced by half,” the Lady continued. “Because o’ the transfer of Phazite to Proton, to make up for the Protonite mined there, that had caused the dangerous imbalance. But since the reduction was impartial, affecting all alike, it made no difference in the relative powers o’ Adepts, and things seemed much as before. But the Adverse Adepts resented this wrong they felt Stile had done them, and conspired ‘gainst him. They stifled his programs for better relations between man and animals, and wrought mischief in constant devious ways. Gradually their power increased, for they were many and we few. We knew that we needed new magic to hold them off, and our great hope was in our son, Bane, who showed early promise. An he grow, and marry, and have an heir like himself, belike we could hold off the Adverse Adepts indefinitely, and maintain a fair balance in our land, that evil not o’ertake it.” The Lady sighed. Agape wanted to speak, for she had known of this too, and understood, and intended to act to free Bane for that future his parents wished for him. But the geis constrained her, and she only nodded again.

“But there were no suitable young women,” the Lady said sadly. “The village girls were poisoned ‘gainst our kind; e’en I, a generation ago, would ne’er have married Blue an circumstances not been unusual. The only truly eligible woman is the daughter o’ the Tan Adept—one o’ the hostile ones. Bane played with animal friends, but o’ course these were not suitable for marriage. It be not that we be prejudiced ‘gainst the animals, for many be fine creatures, and we work closely with them and like them well. It be that they cannot breed with man. Therefore the future o’ our good works came into peril. It seemed we would have to deal with Tan, and be compromised accordingly; but the alternative was to lose all. It were not a happy position.” This was new to Agape. She kept her mouth shut and listened.

“Then the boys made their exchange, and Mach came to our frame, and Bane went to thine. We had not believed such possible, and were caught unprepared.  We saw that the exchange was but mental only, not o’ the bodies. Mach became attached to Fleta, the unicorn, and Bane to thee, the alien. We understand; there be not a finer person than Fleta, and we know our son would bestow not his love on an unworthy creature.  But we opposed such union, because it meant the loss o’ all we planned on, and incalculable damage to the frame, owing to the lack o’ the continuation o’ our line. 

“That were our error. We appreciated not how true Mach’s love was. Fleta understood our position, and resolved to disengage—but she knew what we did not, that only her death would accomplish it. So she arranged to die—and Mach came to her, and spake her the triple Thee, and such was the force o’ it he overrode Adept magic and saved her.”

The Lady found a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, for she was crying now. “We ne’er meant Fleta to die! Ne’er did we wish her ill! We thought their love but an infatuation that would pass. How wrong we were!  So were we cast as the villains, and they took refuge with the Adverse Adepts, and our ruin did we bring upon ourselves. Fain would we undo the mischief we did, but it be too late; the two be alienated from us.” As she spoke, there was a faint ripple of light in the air. Agape glanced about trying to fathom its curious nature, but it was gone almost before she was aware of it.

Then she realized that this was the splash of truth that she had heard about. The Lady Blue had not noticed it, but it authenticated her statement.  Agape did not dare speak, but she had to act. She stood, and went to the Lady, and embraced her, and cried with her, silently.

After a moment, the Lady continued. “We resolved to make not the same error again. We knew that the parallel o’ the frames meant that Bane would find similar love in Proton. Our cause be lost, but not necessarily our son. We accept his choice, and we accept thee. We can do not other. That be the root o’ thy welcome here. When Bane came home not long ago and told us more o’ thee, we knew it was right. Thou dost be the one we would have chosen for him, an the choice been ours. An our circumstance not blinded us—“ The Lady could not continue, but hardly needed to.  She had made her point.

But how awful it was, that the acceptance of the romances of the two boys had to come in the face of such a loss. Even for Agape, who faced not death but separation from Bane, it seemed hopelessly difficult.  What was the use in going home to Moeba, if Mach and Fleta remained together and the family of Blue was denied an heir? Was her sacrifice after all pointless?  “There be one other thing,” the Lady said after a fair pause. “Stile discovered that the exchange leads to new imbalance, so that the frames be headed for destruction, an the imbalance be not corrected. That be why we sent the messenger. E’en now, the Adverse Adepts be verifying it. So it may be that all else becomes moot. But I wanted thee to know that this be no device we made to deceive thee; we discovered it after accepting thee. We think the communication between the two can continue, but that actual exchange must be limited. What this means for thy future we know not.” Agape was satisfied at this point not to speak, because she had no answer either.

That evening, as the two of them were gazing out across the dark plain, and admiring the nascent stars and moons, there came another ripple in the air, a gentle passing glow from the east that slowly faded.  The Lady Blue glanced at Agape. “Methinks Suchevane reached the Red Demesnes,” she murmured.  Agape could only smile. How glad she was that she had spoken as she had!

Agape remained with the Lady for several days, and gradually the geis wore off and she was able to engage in halting dialogue. Now she loved Bane, and Phaze, and the Lady too—and knew she had to give them all up. Unless some accommodation were discovered that 1would enable her to remain with Bane, and even to visit Phaze again . . .

She had to cling to the faint hope that this was possible. But her dread was that it was not.  Then at last Bane arrived. He appeared just beyond the moat and called out: “Anybody home?” The two of them went out to meet him. Agape did not have to say a word; she stepped into his embrace.  He entered the castle with them, and had news of his own. “The Adverse Adepts be preparing for war. I spied on them and verified it; they be organizing their minions, the goblins and demons, ready to take by force what they may not accomplish by negotiation. They mean to have me join them, and to use thee as a lever against me, as the Contrary Citizens did.”

“I know,” Agape said. “I am not safe here either.”

“I would have come for thee sooner, but it be tricky spying on Adepts, and they were far more watchful than I expected. But news came to me that thou wast with Trool, and I knew thou wouldst be safe there.”

“I was.” It was so good to be with him again! 

“But we must exchange thee back, and get thee to thy home planet! I love thee, and would not have thee taken hostage. I will visit thee on Moeba, later, when I exchange.”

“But we are going together!” she exclaimed.

 “Nay. First must thou exchange, and I not, for there be much for me to do yet here. But ne’er doubt I will join thee when I can, nor Adepts nor frames will hinder me.”

He continued talking, reassuringly, but Agape hardly paid attention. She just hugged him forever.