Out of Phaze

“This experience has been a kind of dream for me,” he said. “But I too knew I could not live forever in a dream. Once I discover how to exchange back, I will have to return his body to Bane.”

Soon they had another call. A man walked in from the kitchen, carrying a tray full of desserts: chocolate ice cream. Mach glanced at him casually, then did a doubletake. “Father!”

Brown laughed. “Stile, thou idiot! Thou didst not have to masquerade as a servant!”

For it was indeed Stile, the Adept. He looked exactly like Citizen Blue, except that his clothing was of Phaze instead of Proton. He was small, shorter than any of the others in the room, but fit, in his middle forties.

“I didn’t know quite what to expect,” Stile said, setting down the desserts. “So I thought I’d come quietly.” He sounded exactly like Blue, too.

“So thou didst animate one of my golems!” Brown said.

“It was already animate. I merely gave it my semblance.”

“Sit down, have some ice cream,” Brown said mischievously. Mach had to smile, knowing that an ordinary golem could not eat.

“Not my flavor,” Stile demurred.

Brown snapped her fingers. Another golem responded. “Fetch some blue ice cream,” she ordered.

The golem returned in a moment with blueberry ice cream, setting it before Stile. He took his spoon and began to eat.

Fleta’s mouth dropped open. Then Brown caught on. ‘Thou dost fashion the illusion of eating, to go with the illusion of life for the golem.”

Stile smiled. “It gets harder to deceive thee, Brown. Why didst thou send thy messenger?”

“This be not thy son, Bane, but his other self from Proton, Mach,” Brown said. “He needs to know how to return to Proton.”

Now Stile did a doubletake. He stared at Bane. Then he glanced at Brown. “May I?”

“Feel free,” she replied.

Stile sang something under his breath. There seemed to be a play of force around Mach, but nothing else happened.

“So it be true,” Stile breathed. “Contact between the frames, after twenty years!”

Brown relaxed. Evidently she had retained a certain skepticism about Mach’s claim, despite her friendly treatment of him. But it seemed that Stile’s magic had verified it.

“Fleta brought me here,” Mach said. “We were pursued by agents of Adverse Adepts.”

Stile nodded. “So that was why it came not to mine attention! They used no magic. Methought thou wast merely having a private fling with thine old companion, and I knew my son could handle the like of goblins.”

“I managed to work a little magic, but it was clumsy, especially at first,” Mach said. “Without Fleta, I would have been captured.”

“I brought him here because I thought they would not be blocking off this castle as they were the Blue Demesnes,” Fleta said. “But I could not tell him how to return to Proton.”

“How didst thou come to this frame?” Stile inquired of Mach.

“I willed it—and suddenly it happened.”

“But thou couldst not will thyself back?”

Mach shook his head. “It didn’t seem to work that way.”

Stile considered. “Where did it happen?”

“In a glade near the swamp.”

Stile looked at Fleta. “What glade?”

Fleta gave a more accurate geographic description, and added that Bane had gone there several times before the exchange was made.

“Then Bane was trying for this?”

“Yes,” Mach said.

“Thy position in Proton—how did it relate to thy point of arrival in Phaze?”

“Why, they were the same,” Mach said.

“Then thy body occupied the same spot his did—one in each frame.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“That must be the key! To overlap the position, then will the exchange. Mayhap he facilitated it with a spell.”

Mach sat amazed. Of course that was the key, suddenly so obvious! To overlap, so there was no physical motion required. And when he had walked away from that spot, the overlap no longer occurred, so they couldn’t change back.

“I did it!” he exclaimed ruefully. “I left the spot, trapping him there without even realizing!”

“Then perhaps he is trying to locate thee, again,” Stile said. “Does he have a mechanism for that?”

“I don’t know,” Mach said. “But I think so, because he knew where to be, while I did not realize that location mattered. But if so, it may not work in Proton.”

“He would have used another spell,” Stile agreed. “Or perhaps the two of you are attuned to each other. If thou dost try to tune in on him—“

“I never thought of that!” Mach exclaimed, feeling quite stupid. He sat still and concentrated, thinking of Bane. Where are you, my other self?

He felt the faintest of stirrings, as though he had reached something far distant. But he couldn’t be sure.

“Try it again, periodically,” Stile suggested. “I think this be a thing no other can do for thee.” He leaned forward. “But in the meantime, there be things we must grasp. This be contact between the frames, when we thought it impossible. A psychic rapport between the two of you—mayhap a unique one. I see now why the Adepts be after thee; they knew before I did, and seek contact with Proton.”

“Yes,” Mach agreed. “They want me to carry messages, and have offered me anything I want.”