Out of Phaze (5 page)

The unicorn took her own deep breath. She set her self, pointed her horn straight up, and stretched out her neck. The hairs of her mane lifted, almost like the hackles of an angry dog. There was going to be one phenomenally loud sound!

Abruptly the dragon backed away. Its head traveled to the side and down to the water, and under the surface, and the sinuous neck and body followed. In a moment it was gone.

Mach relaxed quiveringly. The mare had bluffed the dragon away! For some reason the monster had feared the threatened loud sound more than the lesser sounds.

The unicorn resumed her motion along the path, picking her way toward the land. While she did this, Mach pondered the matter further. Surely the louder chord could not have hurt the dragon, if the fainter ones had not. Why, then, had it retreated?

His living brain was not as straightforward about logic as his robot brain had been, but this was not a difficult process. Obviously the chord was not a weapon in itself, but a signal—a call for help. Thus a faint one served as a warning, while a loud one would be heard all over the forest and bring reinforcements. Other unicorns, perhaps. One dragon might overcome one immobilized unicorn, but suppose several unicorns came? Yet the dragon had disappeared so swiftly and completely into the water that it was hard to see how other unicorns could have come in time to help, or how they could have located the dragon for revenge if they came too late to save their companion. So this didn’t make complete sense.

The unicorn reached land and picked up speed, resuming her trot. She resumed her melody; evidently she liked trotting to music. Where was she taking him? And why? She had put herself in real jeopardy to help him; why do this for a stranger? His logical mind struggled to make sense of things.

The path divided; without hesitation the animal selected one fork and trotted on. The forest was thinning now, with larger glades appearing, and finally open fields. They were ascending a slope that seemed to have no end; the unicorn’s body became warmer from the exertion, but she did not sweat.

Now the land fell away on either side; the path was mounting a ridge, perhaps a glacial moraine. It was hard to tell, because time had passed and dusk was closing; he could not see clearly to the base of the slopes. In due course they reached a ragged cliff; the path cut its way through to an interior crater that was open to the sky but otherwise closed. Here at last they stopped.

Mach slid off, glad to return to his own feet. He winced as he landed; he had forgotten the abrasion his soles had incurred. Also, his scratches stung. The interest of the ride had distracted him from such details, but now they intruded.

“Well, we are evidently here,” he said. “But I don’t know why you brought me, and I don’t suppose you can explain.”

The unicorn eyed him—and suddenly he had an ugly thought. Horses grazed on grass and ate grain and hay. What did unicorns eat? He had seen enough to know that their metabolism was not at all like that of mundane equines. Had this one brought him here—as prey?

The unicorn lowered her horn and stepped toward him. Abruptly terrified, Mach tried to run. But there was nowhere to run to; this was a closed region, with the unicorn blocking the only exit. He tried to climb the wall, but found no suitable handholds. He scraped his fingers against the stone in his desperate effort, incurring more scratches. He knew he was reacting foolishly, only making himself seem more like prey, but he had no automatic control over the emotion of this living body.

It was no use. If he was here to be eaten, he would just have to accept it. Defeated, he slumped against the stone wall, waiting for whatever was to come.

Nothing came. After a moment he turned around. The unicorn was gone.

She had brought him here—and left him. What did that mean? He wasn’t sure that he cared to guess.

His palpitating bodily processes settled down somewhat. His more sensible mind reasserted itself. He explored his prison. There was a mound of soft brush and hay at one side, evidently a sleeping place. This must be the unicorn’s lair, protected from most other creatures. He was relieved to discover no bones; if she brought victims here for leisurely consumption, there should be bones.

He considered trying to escape, but he was now so tired that he knew he would not get far. Tiredness was another new phenomenon for him, and he didn’t like it. And what was there for him outside? A jagged path, and a series of predatory monsters! Better to remain here and get some rest, and hope that the unicorn was after all beneficent.

He sat on the nest of brush. It was surprisingly comfortable. He leaned back against it. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

He woke in starry darkness. Something was wrong with his abdominal circuitry. He felt bloated. Had an oil valve clogged?

He checked at a service aperture, but found none; his fingers slid across unbroken skin. Then he remembered: he was in a living body!

That meant that he needed to release fluid, in the living manner. His robot body could eat and drink, but did not eliminate in the biological way; it simply regurgitated the material at a convenient time. Now he would have to perform in the fashion he had observed in human beings and androids.

He got up—and discovered that he was not alone. His hand brushed across the torso of another living creature. The unicorn?

He peered, and made out the vague outline. Not an animal, but a man! His hand helped define the leg, arm, breast—

It was female!

Mach withdrew. Evidently he had not awakened her, and that was probably best. How had she come here?

She must have walked up the path, arriving after he was asleep. Perhaps this was where she regularly spent the night. She had seen him, and had simply settled down beside. him.

That seemed too simple, but it would have to do for now. He needed to find a suitable place to relieve himself.

He felt about with his feet, but knew that there was no place within this enclosure. He would have to go outside. So he walked carefully in the direction he remembered the entrance to be, and found the wall. The starlight from above did help. He moved along the wall, finding the exit. A gentle breeze gusted through it, refreshingly cool. In the distance was the sound of some night bird.

He established himself at the edge of the path, aimed his liquid-disposal appendage, and let go down the mountainside. It was a great relief. However, this reminded him of his thirst, which had not really been slaked at the swamp, and this now manifested with renewed force. Another problem of the living state!

He returned inside the crater. He would just have to sleep until morning, and then see what offered. Perhaps the human female would know where there was water. And food—he would be hungry soon.

But as he came to the brush pile, he realized that the female was awake. Indeed, she was sitting up, peering at him.

“I—I was uncomfortable,” he said awkwardly. Natural functions were normally not discussed between the sexes in Proton, and he assumed it was the same here.

“Bane,” she said. Her voice was pleasant, having an almost flutelike quality.

“I don’t understand.”

“Bane—is thy game over?” she asked.

“Game?”

She sighed. “Not over. Then I will play it on with thee. Do thou kiss me, and we shall sleep.”

“Kiss?” he asked, perplexed.

She stood, rising lithely to her feet. She approached him, reached up, took hold of his head with both her hands, and brought her face to his. She kissed him on the mouth. “Long has it been since we played thus,” she said. “Come, now; sleep.” She tugged him toward the nest.

Mach followed, bemused. This girl seemed to know him, and she wanted to sleep. There were several meanings for that word, and he was not sure which one applied, so he simply lay down in the fragrant brush beside her, as she seemed to want. If she intended sexual expression, he could do that; as a robot he had the hardware, and was programmed to—but no, he wasn’t a robot anymore! Still, as a living man he had similar capacities, and she seemed to be an attractive girl; he could do whatever seemed to be called for.

She squeezed his hand, turned her head to the side, and slept. In a moment her gentle breathing signaled her condition.

Relieved, Mach did the same. He wondered whether she would still be there when morning came.

As it happened, she was. He woke to the pressure of her little hand, tousling his hair. “Wake, Bane!” she exclaimed. “What is the game today? Naked through the swamp again?”

That made him realize that though he was properly naked, she was not. She wore a black cloak that covered her body from neck to ankle. He remembered, now, that he had felt cloth about her body in the night; he had assumed it was a cover, not clothing.

Now he had to ascertain the situation. He had three alternatives. First, she might be in costume, considering this to be a play; indeed she had mentioned a game. Second, she might be a serf masquerading as a Citizen. That was of course dangerous. Third, she might actually be a Citizen.

He had to know. A Citizen always had to be addressed with the proper forms of respect. But a serf in Citizen garb had to be set straight immediately, before real trouble came of it.

“Sir, I must know,” he said, erring on the safe side. “What is your status?”

She looked at him, her green eyes seeming to twinkle. “ ‘Sir’? What speech be this, Bane?”

So she was not a Citizen. Just as well! ‘Then you are a serf?”

“Serf? Bane, if thou willst but tell me thy game, I will play it with thee. But I know not the rules of it.”

“What is this ‘thee’ business?” he asked.

She smiled. Her black hair framed her face, and she wore a pearl at her forehead; she was lovely in her joy. “A game of language!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

“No game. I just don’t understand. Who are you? Where did you come from? Why do you use the archaic forms? Why are you garbed?”

She cocked her head at him cannily. “So we call it not a game. That can I do. As for who I be, as if thou dost not know: I am Fleta, thy companion of yore. I speak as thy kind does; wouldst rather have me neigh? As for my garb—why there be no need for it, if this be the game!” And she reached down, caught hold of the hem of her cloak, and drew it up over her head. In a moment she stood before him naked, for she wore no underclothing. “Be that better, Bane?”

“Yes,” he agreed. She was a most comely figure of a young woman, perfectly formed and standing just slightly shorter than he. “But why are you calling me Bane? Do you know me?”

“What wouldst thou be called, then?” she inquired merrily.

“My name is Mach.”

She laughed. “What a stupid name!”

He frowned. “Is Fleta a more intelligent name?”

“Certainly! But I will try to keep my laughter down while I call thee Mach.” Indeed, she did try, but the laughter bubbled up from her stomach, caused her breasts to bounce, and finally burst out of her mouth. She flung her arms about him and kissed him, as she had in the night. “O, Bane—I mean Ma-Ma—“ A giggle overcame her, but she fought through it. “Mach! What a romp have we here! I feared thou hadst forgotten me in thy serious studies of blue magic; how glad I be to learn not!”

“Fleta, I have to say that I do not know you. What’s this about magic?”

“Ah, wait till I tell the fillies of the herd of this! Never played we music like this!”

“If you would just answer my questions,” Mach said somewhat stiffly.

“As thou dost wish,” she agreed. “But first may we eat? and O, I see thou art all scratched! Why dost thou not heal thyself?”

“Heal myself?” he asked blankly. “I think only time can do that.”

“With thy magic,” she explained. “Surely the game be not such that thou must suffer such smarts!”

“I don’t know anything about magic!” he protested.

She made a moue. “Or wouldst thou have the unicorn heal thee instead?”

“The unicorn!” he exclaimed, alarmed. “What do you know about that?”

She stared at him, then smiled again, dismissing his supposed ignorance. ‘Thy memory seems brief, lately!”

“A unicorn brought me here last night, after rescuing me from monsters in the swamp. I don’t know why; do you?”

She shook her head so that the lustrous hair swirled. “Who can know the mind of a ‘corn!” she exclaimed, laughing again. “Mayhap she thought thou didst call for help.”

“I did call for help,” he agreed. “But—but why should an animal do me any favor?”

“An animal,” Fleta repeated thoughtfully. “An thou hadst called her that, mayhap she’d have left thee in the swamp indeed!”

“Oh—are they sensitive about that sort of thing? Good thing she didn’t understand my speech.”

“Aye, so,” she agreed, twinkling again. “So thou dost not desire the ‘corn to heal thy trifling wounds with her horn?”

“With her horn?”

“Adepts be not the only ones who do magic!” she exclaimed. “Dost thou not remember the healing of the horn?”

“You mean—that unicorn—when she approached me with her horn lowered—only wanted to—to touch my scratches and heal them magically?”

“Lo, now he remembers!” she exclaimed. “What else would she be about?”