Robot Adept (8 page)

“Thou dost doubt me?” he asked, surprised.

“You are doubting me.”

He smiled. “Aye. Then tell me aught that Mach could not have told Fleta.”

She launched into a detailed description of their recent history before the final hiding: the brownie-baking game, the sex in the gelatin, the rendition of You Never Can Tell and their pursuit by the minions of the Contrary Citizens.

“Enough!” he exclaimed. “I be satisfied! Thou art my love! But how came thee here?”

“I am Agape,” she agreed. “But how do I know I am in Phaze, or whether you are Bane?”

“But I am flesh, here, in my natural body!”

“Many human folk are flesh, in Proton as well as in Phaze.”

“But I conjured feed for thee!” Then he looked embarrassed. “Which thou canst not eat. Unless thou canst change as Fleta can?”

That might be a valid test! Agape concentrated, trying to change form. She could not; her flesh remained firmly human. “I cannot. But that’s not the point. Conjurations can be arranged, and other special effects.
 
How do I know that any of this is genuine, or that you are not some Proton actor?”

He nodded gravely. “I could tell thee what we have done in our most intimate moments, and where we were hiding a moment ago, but I think these things could be known to the Contrary Citizens and used to deceive thee. I know I be in Phaze, but thy presence here be strange, and I think I have no way to convince thee of its validity. I understand not its mechanism myself. But I can show thee my world, here, and then mayhap thou willst believe.”

“I want no guided tour calculated to persuade me!” she flared. “I love Bane, but I am not at all certain you are he. If you are not he, then you are trying to get information from me that will hurt him or enable his enemies to deceive him in some way.” And she turned, ready to walk away.

“Nay, wait, my love!” he cried. “Phaze be dangerous to the uninitiate! Fleta can take care o’ herself, but thou couldst get hurt or killed in short order. I cannot let thee go alone!”

“I cannot stay with you, until I’m sure,” she said. “And I am not sure.”

“I see thy problem,” he said. “But I love thee, and cannot send thee into danger. I can protect thee, but I must be with thee.”

Uncertainty buffeted her. He did seem exactly like Bane! But so would a clever actor, and if she fell into a trap fashioned by the Contrary Citizens, she could do the real Bane terrible damage. Her only proper course was to resist any blandishments he might make, until and if she was sure of him. The real Bane would understand; a fake one didn’t matter. “I must go my own way.”

He sighed. “I see the justice in thy position. Agape.
 
But an thou shouldst die—“ He shook his head. “I know thou canst not afford to accept new information from me, but I beg thee to listen while I remind thee of what thou dost already know. In that way I may help thee to survive the rigors o’ this frame, and if thou be not here, it matters not.”

“There is justice in that,” she agreed, wishing she could simply hug him and believe him.

“Thou dost now occupy the body of Fleta the Unicorn, whom mine other self Mach loves. She has three forms: human, hummingbird and her natural equine one. She has many friends among the ‘corns, weres and vamps. Such as Suchevane.” He said the name with special emphasis. “An thou dost go to that person, mayhap thou canst satisfy thyself.”

Agape nodded. Suchevane, he had told her before, was the most beautiful of female vampires. The setting of Citizen White had foundered when Suchevane had been identified as a male. Bane was giving her a chance to meet the vampire girl now; he had carefully refrained from identifying her sex.

But the minions of Citizen White could have listened to Bane’s prior comment, and learned their mistake.
 
They could be using it now to convince her of the lie.

“No.”

“Aye,” he said sadly. “Then must I leave thee to thine own devices, that thou mayst satisfy thyself of the validity o’ this frame, and therefore of mine own validity too. But one thing I needs must ask, that thou accept a spell o’ protection, so that thou goest not naked into danger.”

“But anything like that would mask the reality of it,” she protested. “Exactly as would be required to conceal an artificial setting.”

“I know it. But on this must I insist, else must I remain with thee myself. I love thee, and shall not allow thee injury or risk that might be avoided. The spell be this: an invocation thou mayst utter that will make thee fade from the perception of those near thee. When danger threatens, say thy name three times, and it be done. But use it not capriciously, for a given spell be effective only once, and it will protect thee not a second time. An thou try it again, I will perceive the effort and come to thee, and woe betide who chastises thee.” Then he sang an invocation of his own, and there was a faint glimmer in the air; that was all.

“Thank you,” Agape said, feeling guilty for her intransigence. Yet if this were all an exceedingly artful device, she would be foolish to let it move her.
 
Bane walked away. Then, at a brief distance, he vanished. He had evidently invoked some other spell, and conjured himself to other parts. Or so it was meant for her to believe.

She was alone with the basket of oats. She was sorry to waste them, but they were in their hulls; it would be a difficult chore to consume them.

Difficult? Perhaps impossible! She seemed to be unable to melt or change her form. She tried it again, with no success.

Wasn’t that an indication that she was in a different realm, and a different body? No, not necessarily so; the Citizens could have given her medication to fix her in her present format, as part of the illusion.
 
Exactly what was her present form? Bane had called her Fleta the Unicorn, but she seemed to be thoroughly human. A mirror would have helped, but even without it she could tell that this was not her normal human semblance. Indeed, it seemed to have fixed flesh, with bones and digestion differing from her own. She wore a black cloak and orange slippers, and had a bony knob set in her forehead. That last detail suggested the unicorn form; it certainly seemed genuine. But surgery could have implanted it.

And, in one pocket, she found a somewhat grimy feather. Why would the unicorn have saved this?
 
The unicorn? Already she was accepting the appearance as valid! But if this was a Citizen setup, why would they have given her a dirty feather?

Well, she could throw it away. But if she did so, and this really was Phaze, she would be discarding some thing of evident value to Fleta. That did not appeal. So she repocketed the feather and reconsidered her situation.

She stood not far from the great Purple Mountain range. It really was purple, rising in the southwest. In Proton they were barren peaks; here they were clothed in verdure. She had had some experience in the Purple Adept’s mock-up of a section of these mountains, so they seemed familiar. If this were a larger mock-up, perhaps she could discover it by exploring that region of the range.

She started walking. She soon felt hot; the air was warm, and the sun was shining, and the grass was so thick she had to forge through it, so that she was ex pending energy and heating herself internally. She was tempted to take off the voluminous black cloak so as to let the brief breezes cool her body. Actually, she would feel better without it, because all of her time on Planet Proton had been spent without clothing; she was, here, a serf.

But on Phaze serfs wore clothing. Bane had been clothed. She had been so distracted she had hardly noticed! So nakedness might be an error here. If this really were Phaze.

She didn’t know, so after brief consideration, she removed her cloak. She had nothing on beneath it, other than the orange socks; her body was lithe and well formed, and seemed designed to be free of constraint. She walked on, feeling better.
 
But after a time she felt the heat on her shoulders, and realized that the sunlight was damaging them. Nakedness was a privilege available only to those in protected environments, such as the domes! With regret, she unfolded the cloak and donned it again; it was better to sweat than to burn.

Sweat? She didn’t sweat! Moebites dissipated heat by extending thin sheets of flesh to radiate excess calories, and by reducing activity. Only true human beings exuded moisture from their skins for the purpose of cooling. And horses. And androids.

Was she a true human being now? If so, she had to be in Phaze. No—she could be an android in Proton, so that was not definitive.

Yet how could her mind have been transferred to another living body? She was not a robot or cyborg; her mind was a part of her entire physical being, in separable from the flesh. If she had accompanied Bane to Phaze, it would be an aspect of the exchange; Fleta the Unicorn would now be in Proton with Mach the Robot. But that might be just what the Citizens wanted her to think. Perhaps they did have a technique for transferring consciousness of an android body, perhaps maintaining an electronic link to her natural one. How could she tell the difference? Or they could simply have drugged her and given her hypnotic suggestion, to cause her to dream a programmed dream and believe that her body as she now found it was real. In that case, there would be no real danger to her—but the Citizens might go to extremes to make her think there was danger.
 
As if on cue, a great hulking shape appeared in the air: some monstrous flying creature. It looked very like a dragon.

Should she try to hide from it, or should she ignore it? If this were a setup, it wouldn’t matter. But if this were real, she could be in serious trouble.
 
She decided to play it safe. She ducked, trying to hide in the high grass.

But the dragon, evidently questing for prey, had al ready spotted her. It flew directly toward her. It came close, circled her once, then made a strafing run. Fire shot from its mouth, coming straight at her.
 
She threw herself aside. The fire ignited the grass.
 
behind her, and scorched her backside. Indeed, her cloak was burning, and she felt the flame as if it were roasting her own flesh. She threw herself down flat, to roll, to crush the blaze out, but it continued stubbornly.
 
Meanwhile the dragon was looping about, readying itself for a second run. This time she knew it would not miss.

Then she remembered the spell that Bane had given her. Maybe it was all part of the fakery, but she would have to use it! “Agape, Agape, Agape!” she cried.
 
The dragon, orienting on her, hesitated. It peered down, perplexed. It flew over her without firing, then looped back and searched again. It sniffed the air. Then, frustrated, it flew away, trailing a small, angry plume of smoke.

The spell had worked—or had seemed to. The dragon had not been able to see, hear or smell her. But she was perfectly perceivable to herself, and she still cast a shadow. So if the spell was genuine, it operated only on the perceptions of the predator. If it was fake, then the dragon, or dragon mock-up, had simply been feigning.

That fire was real, though! There was a smoldering patch of grass, and her cloak had a hole in it near the pocket. Indeed, the feather had been scorched.
 
“Who calls? Who calls?” someone screeched.
 
Agape looked up, startled. It was another flying creature. This one was much smaller, being a gross woman headed bird. She smelled awful, and had a fright-wig head of hair or feathers. She was a harpy, one of the creatures in the human pantheon.

Was Agape still unperceivable? How long did the ‘spell last?

“I smelled thy signal, but I see thee not!” the harpy screeched. “Where dost thou be?”

Smelled her signal?

The harpy circled. “Damn!” she muttered. “Mayhap the dragon got him, ere the smell of my burned feather reached me!”

Burned feather? That was the signal? If Fleta had kept that feather, knowing it would summon the harpy when burned, that harpy must be a friend.
 
“Here I am,” Agape called, almost before she realized she was doing it.

The harpy whirled in air and peered down at her.
 
“Ah, now I see thee, mare! Glad am I thou wast not hurt! Yet why didst thou summon me, an thou escaped the dragon?”

“The dragon’s fire burned the feather,” Agape explained.

The harpy screeched so violently with laughter that she practically fell out of the air. “Aye, don’t that beat all! An accident! But how earnest thou to run afoul o’ a dragon? Why not change form to thy natural state and pipe it off?”

This harpy, however gross of humor and person, seemed friendly, so Agape decided to speak frankly. “I am not Fleta. I can’t change the way she could.”

“Not Fleta?” the harpy screeched, amazed. “How can that be? Thou hast her body, and the feather!”

If this was Phaze, the truth should not hurt. If Proton, it was known already, such as it was. “I am Agape. I exchanged with Fleta. I have her body, but do not know how to use it.”

The harpy peered cannily down at her. “It be true thou dost speak not like her. But Mach! Where be Mach?”

“He exchanged too. Now Bane is here.”

“Then how came a dragon near? Mach be a burgeoning Adept! He prettified my hair! Next to that, banishing a dragon be mere chick’s play, and Bane be more than Mach.”

“I sent him away.”