Out of Phaze (6 page)

“I wasn’t sure,” he confessed. “I was relieved when she left.”

Fleta frowned. ‘There be aspects of this game I understand not,” she said. ‘Thou dost not wish the return of the unicorn?”

“True,” he agreed. “But of course I cannot prevent it. Maybe we should get away from here before she arrives.”

She sighed. “Be that the way thou dost want it, so let it be. I had not thought to hear thee say the like, though.”

“Well, I’m sure unicorns can be perfectly good animals, and I do appreciate what she did for me yesterday. But I must admit I feel safer with you.”

“And thou dost not propose to conjure up a repast for us both?”

“What makes you think I could do such a thing?”

She laughed her merry laugh. “Sheer foolishness, Mach!” she said. “Come, I shall find us food.” She led him from the crater.

Bane found himself in a chamber, sitting on a bed. A moment before he had been in the forest glade, seeking rapport with his other self. He had sung a spell to facilitate the exchange of identities—and it seemed that it had worked! Here he was in the other frame, while his alternate had to be in Phaze. Wait till he told his father of this success!

He looked about, trying to fix as much of this locale in his mind as possible before he reverted to his own frame. It was not that Adept Stile would doubt him, but that he wanted to have information that would establish the case beyond question. This was the first genuine contact with the frame of Proton since the two had separated twenty years ago. Of course no one else had seriously sought such contact; it had been generally agreed that total separation of the frames was best. But Bane had regarded it as a challenge, and when he had tuned in on the sendings of his other self, he had jumped at the chance to intensify the contact.

This was definitely Proton! Everything about the room was unmagical. The bed was formed of some substance unknown in Phaze, hard like wood but with no grain, and the mattress on it was like one big white sponge. There was a cabinet against the wall with a window in it that opened on blankness. Beside it were several books—no, they seemed to have no pages. But perhaps the folk of this frame didn’t read books. His father would know.

He looked down at his body. It was naked. That, too, aligned; Stile had mentioned that the folk of Proton went naked, all except the rulers. He was really here, in the body of his other self.

But he decided to make sure. If this were Proton, magic would not work here. “Make me rise, to realize,” he sang, composing a ditty on the spot, as he had been trained to do from childhood. It was his mind that really governed the spell, but it had to be in the right form: singsong and rhymed.

Nothing happened. He remained firmly planted on the bed. In Phaze he would now be floating above it. This was the final proof: he was definitely out of Phaze.

He clapped his hands, expressing the sheer joy of the accomplishment. What a breakthrough! To transport himself to the other frame, when others had believed it to be impossible. And he would be able to do it again, now that he knew exactly how. What a tremendous opportunity loomed!

But now he had better switch back, so they could each report their accomplishment to their folks. Bane sat on the bed, concentrated—and nothing happened.

Oops! He had used magic to facilitate the exchange— but here magic didn’t work. His other self would have to perform the spell—and would his other self know the spell?

Well, he could explain. All he needed to do was use their rapport to make it clear.

He concentrated again—and discovered, to his horror, that the rapport was gone.

The two selves had to occupy the same site in their respective frames, for the rapport to be achieved. They had to unify in their fashion, seeming almost as one. It had taken Bane a long time to discover the place where he could overlap his Proton self, and to be there when his other self was ready for that rapport. This was that occasion—but now the other self had moved off the spot.

Bane got up, casting desperately about for the other. He knew he could sense the other if he overlapped, or even if he came close—but where was the other?

He moved around the room, seeking that intangible spoor, the otherframe presence of the other self. There was no sign of it. He needed to cast a wider net, but the room restrained him. Where was the door? There seemed to be none.

Baffled, he studied the walls. Finally he decided that the one blank section he saw had to be it. There was no knob, no evidence of any aperture, but this was the strange scientific frame, so there could be another mechanism. He walked toward it, putting out his hand as if to push a door open.

It worked. The wall before him fogged and disappeared. He stepped out into a metallic hall.

Naked—outside the room? He didn’t trust this! He turned to go back into the room—but the wall behind him was now opaque and unbroken. He put his hand out, but it didn’t fog. He pushed against it, and it remained firm. It seemed that some other technique was required to enter, similar to a spell that limited access to only those folk who had the counterspell. A scientific spell—and he didn’t have it.

A person rounded a corner and came toward him. It was a woman—naked! Now what was he to do?

He fought to control himself, and found it much easier than he had anticipated. It seemed that folk really did go naked in Proton, male and female. So he should be all right. All he had to do was act natural.

The young woman approached him. “Hi, Mach!” she said brightly. “Looking for a game?”

A game. What did she mean? She was a voluptuous creature, as well formed as any he had seen, though of course he had not seen many naked before. Was it safe to say no? She evidently expected him to agree, so that seemed best. Then, after it was done, he could resume his quest for his other self, who had to be somewhere close.

“A game—yes,” he agreed. He remembered the games he had played as a child with Fleta. Some of them had become pretty intimate; it embarrassed him to remember, now. Fleta had a nonhuman sense of humor, of course.

“Well, then, let’s go!” she agreed. “I’m going to take you this time, Mach!”

Mach. That was evidently his other self’s name. That was helpful to know. But who was this attractive girl? She seemed to be his own age, nineteen, but that could be deceptive. Well, perhaps he would find out.

They walked down the hall. Bane followed her lead, hoping that his own ignorance didn’t show. He also tried to note the route they took, so he could return to the original spot. He was good at that sort of thing, but he had never tried it in a huge building like this. Was there no end to it? Where was the forest?

They threaded a virtual labyrinth, arriving at last at a strange complex. The girl took a stance before a kind of pedestal with a blank window set into it.

She glanced at Bane. “Well, get on over there, Mach,” she said. “You scared to play me?”

He went to the other side of the pedestal, where a similar window was set. But he did not know what was expected of him next.

The window lighted. A crosshatch of lines appeared. Across the top was written a combination of numbers and words, and down the side were letters and words. The top ones were brighter: 1. PHYSICAL, 2. MENTAL, 3. CHANCE, 4. ARTS.

“What’s keeping you?” the girl demanded.

Bane didn’t want to admit that he had no idea what to do, because obviously his other self understood this business, and he didn’t want to give away the fact that he was not Mach. “Why dost thou not make a suggestion?” he inquired.

She smiled. “Oho! The fish is eager! Well, I’ll be direct, Mach. The news is fresh that the cyborg dumped you, so I figure maybe you’ll fare better with your own kind. I don’t want to beat you, I want to win you. If you’ve got any interest, give me the physical. You won’t regret it.”

Her words were indecipherable, but her manner suggested intimacy. This girl wanted romance! Bane didn’t want to get his other self into anything he might regret upon his return, but feared that turning down this offer could be awkward. “Just tell me what to do.”

She licked her lips. “So it’s that way, is it?” Her voice lowered. ‘Touch the one, lover.”

Bane realized that she referred to the print. He brought his finger to the lighted number 1 and pressed it.

Abruptly the first square of the pattern became bright, and the words PHYSICAL and NAKED. This was like the paper game, that his father had shown him, wherein one person chose from one border, and the other from the other, and where their choices intersected was the decision. The challenge was to outguess the opponent, so that what he thought would bring him success actually brought him defeat.

But what did PHYSICAL/NAKED mean? The girl’s attitude suggested one thing, but since they were already naked, he hesitated to assume too much.

The square expanded to fill the window. A new cross-hatch appeared, and new numbers and words. Across the top was written 5. SEPARATE, 6. INTERACTIVE, 7. COMBAT, 8. COOPERATIVE, and down the left side, more brightly, E. EARTH, F. FIRE, G. GAS, H. H2O. He recognized the four elements, earth, fire, air and water, which were fundamental to the various types of magic. Of course there was another element, more important—

“Come on, Mach,” the girl urged. “Make your play.”

So he touched a lighted word at random: GAS.

A new square illuminated, on the line he had selected, and in the second column. INTERACTIVE/GAS. He wasn’t sure he liked the notion. Then a smaller pattern of nine squares appeared, with a list of words down side: PILLOW-FIGHTING, SEX, TAG, TRAPEZE . .

“You know what Tilly wants!” the girl said. In the center square appeared the word SEX. “Make your pick, Macho!”

Uncertainly, he touched the word PILLOW. Immediately it brightened. Then, catching on, he touched corner square, and the word jumped into it. Who said there was no magic in the science frame!

Tilly put SEX into another corner. So it went, with Bane selecting a variety of terms, she only one. There they touched their lighted sides, and the chosen square] appeared: PILLOW-FIGHTING.

“Oh, damn!” Tilly swore. “You cheated!”

“I thought I would surprise thee,” he said, somewhat lamely. He had picked randomly again, but was just as glad it hadn’t finished with the word she so evidently desired. It was not that she was unattractive, but surely such a thing was no game between strangers!

“You surprised me,” she agreed. She smiled. “You surprised me when you even agreed to play! You never gave me a tumble before, you know.” Then she cocked her head at him. ‘Thee?”

Bane realized that he had made an error of language. The girl had consistently used “you.” That was evidently the way they spoke, here. In perpetual plural.

He smiled. “See? Surprised you again.”

She pursed her lips. “You are different today! Doris must have made you flip out.”

She had mentioned that he had been “dumped” by a “cyborg.” Was that a description of another person? If so, it must be Doris. So he—or at least Mach—was suffering from a romantic separation. And Tilly was eager to step in to take Doris’ place. Assuming he had interpreted the signals correctly. But how did this game of patterns of words relate?

“Well, come on, robot,” she said. “You want pillows, I’ll give you pillows! I’ll knock you into the muck!”

She led the way to another chamber. Bane followed, glad to let her maintain the initiative. He believed he knew what pillow-fighting was; it was a favorite game in Phaze. He had played many physical and mental games, and become quite good at several, including this one.

He was correct. This chamber was a huge muddy pit, with a heavy pole crossing it from side to side. A walkway around the edge provided access to the far side of the pole. A number of solid pillows were suspended from hooks near the entrance.

They each took a pillow. Bane made his way to the far side of the pole, then hiked himself onto it. Tilly did the same from her side.

How serious was this supposed to be? Tilly was about his own size, as he was small for a male, but she massed less because of the difference in proportions. He surely could knock her off the pole if he wanted to. But why dump a lovely young woman into the mud? He would have to take his cue from her, again.

They worked their way toward each other until they met in the center. Tilly grinned. “Dump or get dumped!” she exclaimed, and swung her pillow at him in a great circle.

Bane ducked his head, and her pillow passed over his head. Such a miss could cause a person to overbalance and fall untouched, but she was experienced; she simply continued her swing in a full circle and came at him again, bopping him soundly on the shoulder. Her proficiency caught him by surprise.

Bane started to fall. To restore his balance, he had to swing his own pillow hard. He caught her on the side of the head with a loud and harmless smack. But already she was swinging again, aiming for his face—and when he ducked, she brought her pillow down to score anyway.

This was fun! Apparently it was to be a real fight; she wanted to bop and be bopped. He whipped his pillow about in a confined arc, scoring on her bosom.

“So that’s the way you want it!” she cried gleefully. ‘Take that, machine!” And she whammed him on his own chest.