Phaze Doubt

  Flach took his own flute and joined in, after a few bars, playing extemporaneous counterpoint. The music was beautiful, but he had to stop soon, because the magic was gathering. The BEM had no magical power, and its music was merely sound, but Flach could summon magic when he played, and it was dangerous to do that without turning it to some particular task.

  Weva reappeared in mid note—“Teach me that!” she exclaimed.

  He had assumed she realized how he used music. He realized that there was more to cover. They got to work on it.

  In all too brief a span, their “day” was done, and it was time to go back out into the ordinary realm and make the journey to the South Pole. There, they hoped, the mystery of their mission would be clarified at last.

  Chapter 13

  South

  Lysander remained uncertain whether he was doing the right thing. So far he seemed to be forwarding the cause of the enemy more than that of the Hectare. Yet what else was he to do? The members of the planetary resistance knew his mission, and allowed him along only so long as he was useful to them. If he balked, they would drop him. If he turned them in, the secret plan they were implementing would never be discovered, for they themselves did not know it.

  So he went along, knowing that the cunning child Nepe/Flach was using him. But he had one saving hope: that the prophecy they believed in was valid, and that only he could in the end give the natives their victory. That meant that their effort would fail without his participation and cooperation, which they could not in the end buy. Their magic had been effective in causing him to love Echo, but that love would not make him abandon his mission. So he retained the trump card, and eventually they would have to give him the chance to play it.

  Unless this whole business of the prophecy was a lie, to make him cooperate. Yet that seemed unlikely, because their entire framework was marvelously consistent; everything they had told him had turned out to be true. Even the matter of the spell of invisibility: why make your enemy invisible, giving him enhanced power to snoop on you, unless you really need him? Why make one of your own partisans love him, unless you expect him to join your side?

  Actually, the invisibility was wearing off now. He could see himself, translucent. So he now wore clothes, and smeared dirt on his extremities, making himself completely visible; it was better than the halfway state. It remained impressive enough, as magic: a single quick spell lasting for two weeks before beginning to weaken. He had no doubt that Flach could have changed him into a toad with similar longevity.

  He stroked Echo as she lay beside him, sleeping. Her body was a machine powered by a pellet of Protonite, but her brain was living human, and it did need sleep. When it slept, the rest of her system shut down, and she was responsive only to significant physical shocks. His touch meant nothing to her now. In addition, his love for her was artificial, brought about by magic. But it was authentic. The magic had somehow reached into whatever senses his android body had, and his Hectare brain, and made those connections that natural love would have, and done them more securely than nature would have. A person who was killed by artificial means was just as dead as one who died of natural causes; similarly, his love was just as thorough.

  It was interesting, though, that the love spell was not wearing off the way the invisibility spell was. Perhaps they were different kinds of spells. But it was possible that the spell was wearing off—only to be replaced at the same rate by natural love. He might be able to work his way out of love if he tried, by magnifying any doubts that seeped in. But he didn’t care to try; there was no reason, when he enjoyed the emotion so much.

  Would he have to give her up, when the time to implement his mission came? He was very much afraid he would. He felt grief for the action he knew he would take, betraying her along with the rest. But his discipline as a Hectare required it, and in this respect their effort of making him love a native woman had been wasted. It would not make a traitor of him. He did love her, but he loved honor more, for that was inherent in his Hectare nature. Never in all the history of the Hectare species had one of them betrayed its agreement on even the slightest matter. The protocols of honor were refined to a degree virtually incomprehensible to other species. Thus the Hectare guard, having made a deal with the enemy, honored it in letter and spirit, absolutely. True, it was betraying its species in the process—but had it won the wager, it would have helped its side similarly significantly. The protocols allowed for this; as long as the wager was fair, and the stakes equivalent, it was legitimate.

  Lysander’s mind reflected on the name, Hectare. This was actually a translation of a concept obscure to aliens. There was a human geographic measure termed the “meter,” which was about one man’s pace. In two dimensions, this became a square meter. One hundred square meters were an “are,” and a hundred ares constituted a “hektare” or “hect-are,” or ten thousand square meters. One BEM eye facet could track approximately one square meter at a distance, and the full eye complex could track, individually, approximately ten thousand such units. The massive brain could integrate that information and coordinate response, limited only by physical factors. Since there were not ten thousand tentacles capable of firing ten thousand laser beams simultaneously, this was a limit; with computer assistance, such coordination was feasible, and a BEM in a spaceship could indeed fire at ten thousand enemies and score on each. So the name seemed appropriate as an indication of the capacity of the species. The natives of this planet had seen only a fraction of the BEM potential. That was why the guard had no concern about the visitors to the West Pole; it was aware that they might lack the protocols of honor, but it could laser all of them well before any one of them could pull the trigger on a hand weapon. Lysander had spoken truly, as he had to, when he advised them that gaming was the only way past this guard.

  There was a stir, and the bat and wolf appeared. They preferred to forage at night, and perhaps more; it was obvious that the two were quite taken with each other in their human forms. They were each twelve now, having aged three years under the Pole, and had evidently come to know each other well there. Flach, once interested in Sirel, seemed to be so no longer, though she was blossoming into an attractive young woman. They no longer spoke of their Promise.

  Meanwhile, the two old unicorn mares grazed nearby, taking turns napping as they did. He had apologized to Belle for his part in her branding; had she not tried to help him escape, the first time, she would not have suffered that. But Flach had made minor magic and smoothed out that brand, and Lysander suspected that the Robot Adept had managed to eliminate the record of the brand number from the planetary listing, before sacrificing himself to help Lysander again. The Hectare was formidable, but so was the enemy, in its devious way. Which, once again, was vindication of the importance of Lysander’s own mission: to discover just how formidable the enemy was. The Hectare, long experienced in alien relations (i.e., conquest), knew better than to assume that a quick capitulation was final.

  These were all enemy creatures, here by the Pole, yet he found them compatible. It would be a pleasure to be a part of their magical society. Perhaps this, too, was an aspect of their plan: to instill in him a sense of their values and pleasures, so that he would identify with them and choose to join them. But as with the love, it was only partly effective: it gave him desire, but would not subvert his loyalty to his mission.

  It was a shame that all this would have to be destroyed, in the interests of the larger initiatives of the galaxy. But it was not his business to consider shame, only his mission.

  Lysander relaxed and slept.

  Abruptly the lid lifted and two bats flew out. They came to land beside the little group playing a game of poker with the Hectare. The BEM had a pile of pebbles: its winnings for the session. It was an infallible player, understanding all the odds and values; only an adverse fall of the cards could reverse it on occasion. Sirel, playing as Troubot, could remember and figure as accurately as the BEM did, but lacked the finesse to bluff well
. The Hectare was matchless at this type of game, as Lysander had tried to warn them. But of course they were not playing for genuine stakes, just the sheer challenge of it. In this the wolf and bat and harpy were one with the BEM: they were enamored of challenge. It was a satisfactory foursome.

  Flach and the girl Weva replaced the bats. They looked slightly older than before, because they had aged more than four months in that one day.

  “Needs must we travel,” Flach said. “Canst complete the game soon?”

  “Aye,” Alien said. “We know the outcome already. Methinks Bem could hold the deck’s weakest hand, and bluff to victory anyway.”

  Flach faced the Hectare. “Our sojourn here be done,” he said. “We thank thee for honoring our deal, and on the morrow thou mayst report us an thou choosest.”

  The monster extended a tentacle, turning the tip down. It would not report them. Lysander knew that some might assume that was because such a report would bring difficulties to the Hectare, because obviously it should have reported them at the outset. But when a Hectare made a deal, it honored the deal, to the last degree. As far as this one was concerned, they had never been here. Meanwhile, it had turned a dull guarding stint into great entertainment. Its situation was akin to Lysander’s own: in the performance of his mission he had had a month of the delights of love.

  “Were we not enemies, Bem, we could be friends,” Sirel said, laying down her cards.

  The tentacle extended, tip up. Sirel extended her little finger and touched the tip. For a moment finger and tentacle curled together, linking. Then she turned and walked away.

  That seemed to cover it. They walked to their campsite and cleaned it up. They had kept it largely clear, in case Purple or some other Hectare showed up, forcing them to hide in a hurry.

  The two unicorns trotted in. Lysander and Echo mounted. Flach assumed unicorn form himself, and had Sirel mount him, while Weva resumed bat form. Alien also took bat form. It was now a party of three unicorns, three human beings, and two bats, as far as an observer was concerned.

  What had happened in Flach’s second stint under the Pole, and why was the bat girl Weva now joining their party? Where were they going? Lysander hoped to find out soon. Time was getting short, as he understood it; the enemy plan had to manifest soon, if it was going to.

  They rode east, and forged across the water to the mainland, the two bats scouting the way. This time the unicorns swam, following Flach’s lead, leaving their riders in place. They reached the shore and resumed trotting, not pausing to shake themselves dry.

  Flach sounded his horn, speaking to the others in horn talk. Abruptly they veered to the south. So it was not to be a return to the city. But where were they going?

  The unicorns picked up speed, running with that same endurance as before. There must have been more magic to enhance them.

  Then, in a forest glade, the Unicorn Adept drew to a halt. Sirel dismounted, and Flach appeared in human form. “It be far where we go,” he said. “We can make it not in time afoot. Thus will I conjure us—and bring upon us the awareness o’ Purple. O’ this party, four will be decoys, conjured away in due course for Purple to pursue. I tell none where we go, so that they can tell not our plans when they be captured. Any who be captured must cooperate fully with the captors, so they be not tortured. Methinks the BEMs have no interest in cruelty, merely in securing the planet, and Purple has desire for power, not pain. So make no heroics.”

  He paused, then nodded to Weva, who assumed her girl form. She produced a shining metal flute and began to play it. She was good; in fact she was excellent. Her tune was eerie, but strikingly beautiful. Lysander marveled at this; how had she carried the instrument while in bat form? The thing surely outweighed the bat body, as it was fashioned of silver—no, platinum, or iridium, to match the flutes Alien and Sirel had obtained under the Pole. The famed Platinum Flute had merged the frames—but what was the purpose of these iridium flutes? The metal was hardly plentiful, even in the elfin mines; it must have taken great effort to mine it and refine it and fashion it into these instruments. Certainly those flutes were a key to the major ploy of the resistance.

  The air around them seemed to intensify. Lysander was reminded of the ripple he had seen when he had realized his love for Echo, the magical splash of Phaze. He understood that some Adepts used music to somehow summon magic. But how could a vampire bat girl not yet thirteen years old do this? She was no Adept!

  There was also the mystery of Weva’s appearance. Alien and Sirel had said little about their stay under the Pole, but he had gathered that there was a community of animal-headed human beings there, who had taught things like flute playing. There must be some other creatures too. such as vampire bats. Had Flach brought this party all the way here to pick up one bat girl? If so, then she had to be vital to the Adepts’ plan. But so far he was unable to make sense of it.

  Flach gestured. The ambience caught them and wrenched them as a group, as if a huge invisible hand was sweeping up people and unicorns together. The surroundings changed.

  Lysander blinked. This was not the first time Flach had conjured him from place to place, but the power of the present case seemed to be of a different order. He looked around, and saw a huge range of mountains rising nearby, their slopes purple.

  The Purple Mountains! The boy had transported them halfway across the continent!

  Flach resumed unicorn form, and Weva returned to bat form. The two led the way on toward the mountains, and the others followed without question. This time they were not trotting, they were galloping, racing as if desperate.

  Theoretically, the Purple Adept would spy the massive conjuration, and zero in on them, summoning whatever help he needed to make them captive. Maybe he would alert the Hectare, who would orient a spy beam from an orbiting ship, and stun them from afar. It hardly mattered where on the planet they were; the Hectare could reach them, once their location and nature were known. But would the focus be on the place they had left, or the place they arrived? If the former, there would be no threat, for they could have gone anywhere. They seemed actually to have proceeded southeast. What was there here near the Purple Adept’s home that was important?

  A light flashed behind. Lysander looked back. He had his answer: that was a satellite beam, probing the spot where they had landed after the conjuration. Purple was alert, and was able to locate the point of arrival, and was notifying the Hectare. It had taken only about five minutes for them to zero in on the L spot.

  But in that five minutes the unicorns had covered a fair stretch of ground, moving as no horse could. They were perhaps three kilometers from their landing, and in this forested terrain that was enough. The beam would not be able to spot them.

  But the beam was only the start. Now there was the sound of an aircraft, that must have taken off from the closest airport the moment the notice was received. The thing appeared in the sky, flying from east to west, passing on out of sight in a moment They were broadening the search, trying to canvas the region around the point identified by the beam. They would be taking pictures, checking for any sign of the fugitives. The pictures would be checked by computer, and in minutes their verdict would be in.

  “Flach, they’ll spot us,” Lysander called. “Maybe you don’t know what technology can do, but—”

  The unicorn pulled up. Sirel slid off, and Flach reappeared. “Off, you two,” he said.

  Lysander and Echo dismounted with alacrity as Weva resumed girl form and began playing her flute. The music was transcendentally beautiful. Maybe this was her purpose here: she was highly trained on the instrument, and could use it to summon the powerful magic Flach required for his heavy-duty conjurations.

  “Farewell, Belle,” Flach said sadly. “Farewell, Grandam Neysa. May we meet again in better fettle.”

  The two unicorns sounded their horns, bells, and harmonica together, acknowledging. Then Flach gestured, and with a clap of shimmering force the two were gone.

  Weva ceased pl
aying, and the magic ambience faded.

  “An I may ask, where be they now?” Sirel asked, evidently as impressed as Lysander was.

  “Nigh the Red Demesnes, running toward the East Pole,” Flach replied. “They be first decoys, to lead the pursuit astray. Thou and Alien be second decoys.”

  “Then let me bid thee bye now,” Sirel said. She approached Flach, and embraced him. “Thou wast my Promised, and ne’er will I forget thee though I see thy taste for bats be similar to mine.” She kissed him.

  Similar to his. Lysander realized that she meant that she was finding love with one of the vampires, and that Flach was too. It seemed an accurate observation. But it was impossible to tell for sure where the young man’s heart was; Weva could be merely a business associate.

  “Ne’er ano’er like thee, for me,” Flach said. “I would have left thee not, an the choice had been mine.”

  “Aye,” she agreed. “But all must grow and change. We be not four years old fore’er.”

  “Alas, we be not,” he agreed. They separated, and Lysander saw tears on both their faces. Whatever these two had been to each other, it had been important. Their separation seemed amicable, and with a certain mutual regret, though both did have other prospects.

  “Now needs must we cross the mountains,” Flach said. “I will carry Lysander; others may use natural forms.”

  “I can climb by myself,” Lysander said.

  “We be in a hurry,” Flach told him, and became the unicorn.

  Lysander mounted, knowing better than to argue the case further. Sirel turned wolf, and the two bats reappeared. Echo became Oche the harpy.

  The unicorn leaped forward, so that Lysander had to hang on. The two bats flew ahead, the harpy following more clumsily but still moving well enough. The wolf disappeared into the brush. In a moment this looked like a party of two: man and steed.