Out of Phaze (30 page)

Mach activated this unit, then put it in the clawed grasp of a robot harpy. Then he used the console controls to animate the harpy, and sent her up the access shaft to the main Game-playing site. He watched through her eye-lenses as she came up into the site—and pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. This was imitation Phaze! There were trees all over the Purple Mountains, exactly as was the case in Phaze. He knew; he had recently crossed those mountains with Fleta!

Fleta. Abruptly his mood shifted. He was no longer in the living body, so his emotions were under control, but he had no desire to control this one. All that he had longed for, all his pseudolife as a humanoid robot, had been granted during his sojourn in Phaze. He had experienced the wonder of true life there—and the corollary wonder of true love. That wonder was muted, now—but his memory of both remained.

He wanted both, again. The existence he had in the frame of Proton had lost its luster for him. What future did he have here? Perhaps he would become the first robot Citizen—but what was the point, without Fleta? Better to be a common resident of the magic frame, with her!

But Bane was back in his own body, now, and surely understood the superiority of it. Bane had evidently dallied with Agape, here, but he had known, as Mach had known with Fleta, that it could not be permanent. Perhaps they could exchange again, for visits to each other’s frames, but Proton was the one Mach was stuck with for permanent residence. Paradise lost!

He sent the robot harpy napping into the sky with the signaling unit. He had her fly over an otherwise-inaccessible section of the mountain, swoop low, and

drop the unit in a crevice. That would make it hard to locate and harder to recover. Then he brought her back to the exit ramp and to the nether chamber. He positioned her exactly as she had been before, and turned off the control console.

He left the premises quietly. His luck had about expired; now he would have to hide in earnest.

He found a utility closet some distance removed and got into it. He concealed himself behind cleaning equipment that the serfs used, and tuned out.

Within the hour a commotion commenced. Mach came alert, but did not move; again he appreciated the fact that as a robot, he could remain absolutely still for an indefinite period. Since he was in the lowliest of places, it might be some time before they thought to look for him here.

Serfs hurried along the passage. Soon the Citizen himself huffed past, muttering. Mach attuned his hearing to the voice of the Citizen, so as to pick up what the man said when he reached Mach’s vacated cell. This should be fun!

The Citizen reached the cell. “How the hell could he get out?” he demanded. “The damned thing’s still locked!”

Evidently the response did not satisfy him. “Well, open it!” he snapped. Then, evidently to the guard-serf trapped inside: “You are fired!” The firing of a serf was a serious business; the chances were that that serf would not be able to get another position, and would have to leave the planet. This serf, of course, was mainly a victim of circumstance.

“He has to be somewhere on the premises!” the Citizen cried. “Our barriers are proof against any unauthorized departure!” Yet the glassed-in cell was supposed to have been secure, too. Mach was privately pleased that he had thought to remove his devices and close the cell. As a robot he should not ordinarily have had the originality for that, and evidently the Citizen had assumed that the normal tolerances applied. Thus Purple had departed to take his meal or nap, leaving Mach to his own devices—and was now paying the consequence. Had he been smarter, he would have realized that the son of Citizen Blue would have to be a rather special robot with the latest technology. And that a robot who had just returned from a genuine experience of life could have been inspired to a certain lifelike originality. Now that minor mystery of the locked cell was buying Mach invaluable time.

“A what?” the Citizen rapped. Then: “But no signal can get out either!” Which meant they had picked up the signal, and were about to trace it down. That would take them some time. When they finally located it, they would not know how the signal unit had gotten there.

“Check the alien bitch!” the Citizen said. “He’s bound to try to spring her!”

But of course Mach hadn’t done that, yet. Agape was supposed to wait till night, then make her break. Mach hoped to remain hidden until after she started her action; then he could relax. All this was only a distraction, to keep the Citizen and his minions occupied until Agape could escape.

The Citizen’s voice faded out; Mach could hear with preternatural acuteness when he tried to, but there were limits, and the Citizen had passed out of range. The commotion continued, as the serfs launched a methodical search for the signal-unit and for Mach himself. At first, surely, they would believe that he was in the vicinity of the signal generator, and comb through the Game region—which would be a tedious chore indeed! Once they ascertained that the generator was a separate item, they would go through the remaining premises with determination. He would inevitably be found— but probably not before Agape started her escape and enlisted the aid of the self-willed machines.

When they did catch him, he suspected, they would ask him about the signal he had been sending: what was its nature, and to whom was it directed? He would tell them that it was a phony signal, meaning nothing, merely random noise, that could not penetrate the Citizen’s

signal-barrier. And they would not believe him, because why would he have gone to such an extraordinary effort to put out that signal if it could not accomplish anything? So the quest would continue, and that distraction would give Agape more leeway for her escape. And once she escaped, it would be only a matter of time before Citizen Blue had news of Mach’s location. Then the real fun would begin!

He was only a machine. But he was a machine in love, just as his mother Sheen was; he understood her better than he had before. As far as he was concerned, the Experimental Project was a success; as part of it, he had become as human as any of his kind had ever aspired to be. And he found that he enjoyed making a fool of Citizen Purple. He hoped Bane was doing the same to the Purple Adept.

Now it was time to dream of life, and of Fleta, and what he wished might have been. Time for machine dreams.

Mach tuned out, waiting.

Bane, conscious of his agreement with Mach, gave no sign as he found himself in the passage lighted by magic-glow rather than scientific effects. He had been walking naked; now he was fully clothed, and that seemed strange after more than a week in the other state. He did not want anyone to know, yet, that the bumbling visitor had been replaced by the skilled native. “He is near,” he said. “I know I can do it. But show me Fleta first, in good health.”

“Do it now, or she shall lose her horn now,” Purple said sternly.

Rage flared in Bane. They were going to dehorn Fleta? That would deprive the unicorn of all her magic power and most of her will to live! The Adverse Adepts had done that to her uncle Clip, before Bane was born, and only Stile’s total magic had been able to mend that horn. Any chance that Bane might have worked voluntarily with these Adepts dissipated with this news. Fleta was hardly his love, but she was an old friend, and such a threat against her alienated him instantly.

He did not need to conceal his emotion, for Mach felt as strongly about the mare as Bane himself did, if in a different manner. The propriety of Mach’s relationship with the unicorn was questionable, but since Mach was now back in his own frame, that didn’t matter. It would be ironic if Fleta were mutilated to punish a person who might never see her again anyway.

‘Thou hast made that threat before,” Bane said grimly. “How can I know that thou hast not already done it?”

“So now thou dost affect native speech?” the Purple Adept remarked contemptuously. “Forget it, alien; thou canst not fool anyone.”

Oops—it seemed that Mach had maintained his own dialect. Well, Bane had been in Proton long enough to pick it up. “I thought it was close enough,” he muttered, as if disgruntled. “Anyway, show me she’s all right, or I’ll know she isn’t.” Indeed, he had no respect for the word of this man, and realized he would be foolish to deliver the message from Proton without ensuring that the terms were met.

The Adept scowled, but yielded. “One time, then— but try not my patience further.”

They went to the cell where Fleta was confined. She was in her natural form, and an amulet had been tied to her horn, nullifying it. She was also in a halter, with her head tied in place so that she could not move it to scrape off the amulet, and trolls kept watch.

Appalled, Bane approached the cell—and felt the presence of an invisible magic barrier. He knew its nature immediately; it was a standard Adept spell that was used to confine animals or ordinary folk. This was a strong one, that could restrain a unicorn despite the antimagical powers of the species. Even with her horn free, Fleta could not penetrate this barrier; she would merely be able to change her form in her cell.

But he knew what to do, now. He had to provide her with a spell for spot nullification without alarm. “What holds me?” he demanded, as if he didn’t know.

“Never mind,” Purple said, and the barrier dissolved. Bane approached the tied animal. He put his mouth to her ear, as if whispering an endearment. ‘This spell, new role,” he sang quietly. “Make horn-sized hole.” And the powerful magic of his will reached out to change the amulet on her horn.

Her near eye widened, showing white momentarily. He knew she felt his spell, and knew that Mach could not have performed magic of this level. She realized that the amulet no longer locked her into her present form; it had been turned to his purpose. She would know what to do, and when.

He turned away. Without a word he walked out of the cell, feeling the magic barrier snap back into place behind him, and proceeded back down the tunnel toward the point of rendezvous.

At the proper place he paused, overlapping Mach and verifying that the robot had done his part. Then he changed his expression. He touched his clothing. ‘Then I be back!” he exclaimed.

“Contact!” the Purple Adept said.

Bane turned to him. “I bear a message from thine other self: Contact be established, and the next move be thine.”

“But that’s the message I sent him!”

Bane shrugged. “He be thine other self.”

Purple’s visage clouded suspiciously. “How do I know thou hast really made the change? Thou couldst be the same one I captured!”

“Perhaps thou willst believe it by this,” Bane said. Then he sang: “Make a funnel to a tunnel.”

The floor of the passage opened up in a circular depression, deepening in the center. It did indeed soon come to resemble a funnel. Below it there was evidently a new tunnel: one leading out from this fastness.

Without delay, Bane jumped into the funnel and slid down into the tunnel. He landed on his feet and started running along it.

But in a moment shapes loomed up ahead of him. Trolls! The Purple Adept had summoned more of his minions, and they were blocking him off.

Bane halted, knowing that he could not pass these nefarious creatures of the underworld. They could tunnel naturally as fast as he could by magic, and they could move more rapidly here than he could. He backed to the funnel, and hiked himself up, scrambling up its slope until he stood again before the Adept.

“Then perhaps this,” he said. He sang: “Let me fare, through the air.”

The ceiling opened, revealing open sky above. Bane spread his arms and sailed up, quickly leaving the structure of the Purple Demesnes. But from the horizon came a monstrous flock of harpies, that quickly converged on him.

Bane looked at the ugly half-birds, and reversed course. He plunged down again, and in a moment stood again before the Purple Adept.

“Or this,” he said. Then he sang: “Make me most like a ghost.”

Nothing changed in appearance—but now Bane walked directly into and through the wall, and on through the rock, as if he had no more substance than a ghost. No troll or harpy could touch him now.

Then something manifested that could touch him. A genuine ghost! It was in the form of a worn old man, but it paced him through the rock, and closed on him, and when the withered old hand closed on his arm, it had the grip and force of the supernatural. Bane was a pseudoghost; he could not stand up against the real thing. Thus he found himself a third time back before the Purple Adept. His attempts to escape by using his magic had been foiled. He was only an apprentice Adept; he was unable to match the power of a mature Adept. He could not get away this way.

Purple nodded. “Aye, I believe thou dost make thy point. Thou art the apprentice.”

But Purple had also made his point: Bane remained captive.

A serf hurried up. “Master—the mare be gone!”

The Adept wheeled on him. “She cannot be!”

“She—one moment she was tied. The next, her harness fell to the floor, and there was only a tiny bird, and it—

The floor of the tunnel opened up beneath the serf. The luckless man fell in, screaming. The floor crunched closed on him. The Adept wheeled and strode back toward Fleta’s cell. Bane followed, keeping his face straight. He knew that the unicorn had acted while the Adept was distracted by Bane’s attempts to escape. She had changed to hummingbird form and used the remade amulet to make a hole in the magical barrier the diameter of her horn—which was just large enough for the hummingbird to squeeze through. She had flown so swiftly and carefully that they had quickly lost track of her.