Out of Phaze

  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.

  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 no
t 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?”

  “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.

  Chapter 3

  Bane

  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 w
orked. 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?