Juxtaposition (37 page)

“So now they may seek to render me dead,” Stile said.
 
“I thought Citizenship would alleviate my problems some what, but they have only intensified. Very well—you get me to the Game Computer, and I’ll fill you in.”

“What do you want with the Game Computer?”

“It has the book of magic that will make me instantly more powerful than any person in Phaze has been before.
 
I’ll need it to protect myself from the massed power of all the other Adepts and to facilitate the transfer of Phazite across the curtain. Here it will be Protonite, with scientific energy instead of magical energy. Then the frames will separate forever, and the curtain will be gone.” She was quick to catch on. “Which world will you be in, then. Stile?”

Stile sighed. “You know I want to be in Phaze, with the Lady Blue. But I am of Proton, and there is a prophecy that tells me to get clear of Phaze. So I will be here.” He thought she would be pleased, but she was not.

“The Lady Blue is to be widowed again?” she asked sharply.
 

“I could bring her here to Proton. But she is of Phaze; I fear it would destroy her to leave it forever. I don’t think she would come here anyway, because here I am to marry you.”

“So it is my fault you have to widow her?”

How had he gotten into this? “It is the fault of fate. I simply am not destined to be happy after my job is done.” Then he bit his tongue. What an insult he had given Sheen!

“I will put in for reprogramming, so she can come here. You do not need to marry me.”

Stile refused to take the bait. It was surely poisoned.
 
Sheen might be less complicated than a living woman, but she did have depths. “I will marry you. It is the way it has to be.”

“Have you informed the Lady Blue of this?” she inquired coldly.

“Not yet.” There was a dreadful task!

They were silent for a while. Stile felt the weight of the harmonica in his pocket and brought it out for contemplation. “I wish you could come out,” he said to it.
 
Sheen looked at him questioningly.

“My other self’s soul is in this instrument,” Stile explained. “Clef’s Flute evoked it. Apparently the original Blue Adept conjured his spirit into his favorite possession.
 
It helped me play the harmonica beyond my natural ability, and maybe won a round of the Tourney for me. So he helped me—but I can’t help him. He’s dead.”

“This soul—you saw it in Phaze?”

“No. In Proton.”

“But there’s no magic in Proton.”

Stile nodded thoughtfully. “I’m getting so used to magic, I’m forgetting where I am. That Platinum Flute can’t evoke spirits in Proton—yet I swear it did. We thought maybe some magic leaked through, but that couldn’t really happen.”

“Unless this imbalance you talk of is getting worse. The fabric is starting to tear.”

“That could be. The Flute did reach across to shake the mountains of Proton and perhaps also to give me the dream-vision of Clef’s journey to the Little Folk. Juxtaposition of one kind or another is occurring; the boundaries are fogging. Which is why action is required now. I wish there were some way to restore my other self to life.
 
Then he could go back to Phaze, his job done.”

“Why not? All he needs is a body.”

“Like that of a robot or android? They can’t function in Phaze.”

“Perhaps a magic body, then. One that resembles you.

With his soul in it—“

“Ridiculous. You assume that such things can be assembled like the parts of a robot.” But Stile wondered.
 
What was a person, other than a body with a soul?

“If I had a soul, I’d be real,” Sheen said wistfully.
 

Stile had given up arguing that case. “The Brown Adept animates golems, but they’re made of wood. Robots are made of metal and plastic. Androids are living flesh, but imperfect; they are stupid and often clumsy. If it were possible to fashion a golem made of flesh, with a mind like yours and a human spirit—wouldn’t that be a person?”

“Of course it would,” she said.

Stile decided. “Have your friends look into the matter.
 
It’s a far shot, but if there were any way to restore my other self to some semblance of life, I owe him that. If he died to save Phaze, it is right that he be restored to it.”

“If you have any female souls floating around looking for a host, send one to me.”

Stile took her hand. Her fingers were as soft and warm as those of any living person. “I regard the soul as the essence of self. If you hosted someone else’s soul, you would become that person. I prefer you as you are.”

“But you can’t love me as I am.”

“I can’t love anyone other than the Lady Blue. When this business is done, I will accord to you whatever emotion I am capable of feeling for any woman, flesh or metal. You deserve better than this, I know.”

“Half love is better than none,” she said. “And if you restore your other self in Phaze, will he love the Lady Blue?”

“He’s her husband!” Stile exclaimed. “Of course he loves her!”

“Then why did he give her up to you?”

“To save Phaze. It was an act of supreme sacrifice.”

“I am a machine. I don’t appreciate the delicate nuances of human conscience and passion as a human being can.
 
To me it seems more likely that he found himself in an untenable situation, as do you with me, and simply opted out.”

“That’s an appalling notion!” But it also carried an insidious conviction. Suppose the Blue Adept, aware of the approaching crisis, knowing he had to make way for an other, and perhaps no longer in love with his wife—

“I wish I could meet your other self,” Sheen said.

“You are a creature of science, he of magic,” Stile said.
 
“Such meetings are difficult, even when both parties are alive. You are stuck with me.”

She smiled, letting it go. “And we do have more serious business than such idle conjecturing.” She put the holo on receive, and a call was waiting.

It was from Citizen Merle. “Ah, so you’re back, Stile! Let me show you me in serf-guise. Private line, please.”

“Merle, I’m with Sheen—“

“She knows that,” Sheen said, setting up the nonintercept coding.

Merle stripped away her clothing with elegant motions.

She had an excellent body. “Stile, beware,” she murmured. “There are plots afoot to slay you.”

Stile was startled by the contrast between her actions and her words. “I thought you had seduction in mind, Merle.”

“I do, I do! I can’t seduce you if you’re dead, however.”

There was that. “Merle, I don’t want to deceive you. I’m not interested in—“

“I understand you have business with the Game Computer.”

How much did she know? “Do you intend to blackmail me?”

“By no means. You happen to be unblackmailable. But I might help you, if you caused me to be amenable.”

“If I were amenable to your design. Merle, my fiancee here might get difficult.”

“I suspect she would rather have you alive, well, and victorious. You see, some Citizens have the notion that you represent a threat to their welfare, so they have instituted a push to have your Citizenship revoked.”

“Revoked! Is that possible?” Stile felt his underpinnings loosening. He had assumed his Citizenship was irrevocable.
 

“Anything is possible, by a majority vote of the kilos attending the evening business meeting. You will be on tonight’s agenda. You will need whatever help you can get.”

Stile glanced at Sheen. “This is news to you?”

“I knew something was developing, sir, but not that it had progressed to this extent.”

“Citizens have avenues of communication not available to machines,” Merle said. “I assure you the threat is genuine, and the vote may well go against you. Citizens, unfortunately, have very narrow definitions of self-interest.” She smiled, turning her now-naked body suggestively. She had an excellent talent for display. “I will encourage my associates to support you, if you come to me. This could shift the balance. It is little enough I ask. Are you quite sure you can’t be tempted?”

Sheen, meanwhile, had been busy on another private line. Now she glanced up. “It is true, sir,” she said. “My friends verify that in the past hour a general disquiet has formed into a pattern of opposition. The moment news flashed that you had reappeared in Proton, momentum gathered. The projected vote is marginally against you.
 
Merle’s support could save you.”

“Listen to her. Stile,” Merle said. “The scales are finely balanced at the moment, but the full thrust of your opposition has not yet manifested. Sheen has more riding on this than her own possible Citizenship. If your Citizenship is revoked, your tenure will end and you will have to leave Proton. The prospect for her friends would decline drastically, perhaps fatally, incongruous as the term may be in that application.”

“How much do you know. Merle?” Stile asked tightly.
 

“Stile, I research what intrigues me. I have learned much about you in the past few hours. This enhances my respect for you. It is a thing of mine to take a piece of those I respect. This is a harmless foible, and I always give fair return. Come to me and I will help you.” She had him in a difficult spot. If she knew about the self-willed machines and possibly about Stile’s mission to restore parallelism in the separating frames, she could certainly cause him much mischief.

“Sir, I think you should go to her,” Sheen said.
 
Stile found himself athwart a dilemma. He had told Mellon to arrange a private bet, to the limit of his available finances, that he would not be seduced by Merle. He did not care to lose that bet, for such a loss would wipe him out. But if her support was all that guaranteed his continuing Citizenship, he could lose everything despite winning the bet. He was between Scylla and Charybdis, the devil and the deep sea, the rock and the hard place.
 
“I am frankly surprised you do not heed your metal fiancee,” Merle said. “She does seem to know what’s best for you.”

Stile’s flash of rage was stifled by Sheen’s imploring look. He decided to meet with Merle and try to explain.
 
Maybe he could win through. “Give me your address.” She gave the code, and Sheen changed course. The book of magic would have to wait a little.

There was another call. This one was for Sheen, from Mellon. “We have a delivery for you,” he said. “Cosmetics for our employer.”

“I don’t need—“ Stile started to protest. But he was cut off by a glance from the serf.

“Thank you,” Sheen said. “I’ll pick them up at the nearest delivery tube when we leave the capsule.” She gave him Merle’s code, and the connection broke.
 
“Do I look that haggard?” Stile asked plaintively. “I had a good night’s rest.”

“Mellon is not concerned about your appearance. Obviously something is afoot. Maybe the Lady Citizen has placed an order for an intoxicating or sexually compelling drug, and this is the counteragent.”

“Maybe,” Stile agreed morosely. “Sheen, Merle is pretty enough in her rejuvenated state, and I’m sure she has a good mind and lots of experience. But I’m simply not interested in the sort of liaison she desires. How do I get out of this one without imperiling my Citizenship?”

“What you are interested in is not very important,” she said. “Merle does not want any romance; she merely wants an act of sex to add to her collection. The practical thing is for you to give it to her.”

“And lose my bet,” Stile said.

Sheen looked startled. “Oh, my—I’m starting to think like a person! I forgot all about that! Of course you can’t oblige her.” She seemed relieved.

“If I oblige anyone in that way, it will be you.”

“Anytime.”

“After we’re decently married.”

“It’s not a decent marriage.”

The capsule arrived, sparing him further comment.
 
They got out at a small private terminal. From here there was access to three small domes, one of which was Merle’s.
 
Sheen went to the delivery chute and punched the coding for Mellon’s package. A small vial fell into her hand.
 
Her brow furrowed as she brought the item back. “This is no cosmetic, sir. It’s—“ She broke off. “Let’s move quickly, sir.”

Suddenly gas hissed into the room from barred vents.

Sheen launched herself at the entrance to Merle’s dome.

It was locked closed.

“I don’t have the facility to analyze this gas,” she cried.
 
“But I’ll bet it’s not cleaning fog. Breathe this, sir.” She opened the vial, holding it under his nose.
 
Vapor puffed out. Stile took the vial, sniffing it as the first waft of the other gas reached him. The vial’s vapor was sweet and pleasant; the other gas was sour and stinging.

Sheen returned to the locked door. She opened her front cabinet, the left breast swinging out on hinges to reveal an array of small tools. Even in this crisis. Stile marveled at the completely womanish texture of that breast, when in fact it was a mere facade. Robotry was quite sophisticated.
 
In a moment Sheen had burned through the lock with a tiny laser unit and had the passage open. Stile hurried through. Sheen shut the door behind them, blocking off the gas, and closed up her breast cabinet. She was whole and normal and soft again.