Out of Phaze

“Now consider the probable impact of the reestab-lishment of communication between the two frames,” Blue said. “That contact can generate the power to give one side or the other, in each frame, the decisive advantage. That’s opportunity—and threat. If Stile and I have this power, we can do much good; but if the others get it, they can do just as much evil. At the moment it seems that we shall have that contact—but we cannot afford to take any chance with it. The stakes are simply too great.”

“And I represent a liability,” Agape said.

“Nay, I love thee!” Bane cried.

“That is why,” she said. “Every time you cross to the other frame, you risk falling into the power of the other side, and Mach risks the same. Because we can never be certain of the situation in the other frame, until the exchange is made. The enemy forces do not have to capture you or Mach; they merely have to capture me or Fleta.”

“But we shall protect each!” Bane protested.

She shook her head. “We can never be sure of that, while we are part of these two societies. I can be secure only in one place: my home planet. It is there I must go.”

“Nay!” Bane cried. “I cannot be apart from thee! I returned to Proton only to be with thee!”

“And you must return to Phaze,” she said. “Bane, they need you there. But even if you remain here, or travel back and forth, you cannot afford to associate with me. It will be better if I remove myself from your life.”

“Nay!” he repeated, agonized.

“That is the conclusion Sheen and I came to, independently,” Blue said. “We can accomplish much, if we cut our risks. That means that your association with Agape, and Bane’s with Fleta, must be sundered. Only then can the two of you safely maintain contact between the frames.

Somehow, Bane had known it all along. He gazed at Agape, stricken.

16 - Decision

Mach was back in the Purple Demesnes, but this time as no captive. That much Bane had assured him, in their brief dialogue before the exchange. Fleta had been freed, and the Translucent Adept governed here. Certainly he was no longer clamped to the wall; Bane had evidently stood here to overlap him, but Bane had not been shackled. He hoped Bane would be able to get free, or that Citizen Blue would free him; if not, he would have to return, for the fate of his body was his responsibility.

Purple stood before him, his face expressionless. Mach realized that the man did not know that the exchange had been accomplished. “I am Mach,” he said. Now he would find out whether the truce would be honored.

“The situation has changed,” Purple said gruffly. “I turned thine other self over to Translucent. He promised to have thy cooperation. Now thou art free to depart. Hast thou any message?”

“I was bracketed to the wall, there,” Mach said. “I accepted no message.”

“An I had mine own way,” Purple muttered, “that were thy fate here too. But till Translucent’s policy fail, thou canst go thy way.” He turned his back and walked out of the cell.

Things certainly had changed! Mach walked out of the cell unopposed, and down the tunnel, and on out of the Purple Demesnes without hindrance. Purple really was letting him go!

At the mouth of the cave that was the Demesnes entrance, Mach paused. He stood on the side of a mountain, and could see out over the trees below. This was the north slope; theoretically most of Phaze lay before him, but all he could see was the nearest section, seemingly untouched by man.

A floating watery bubble appeared before him. Mach smiled warily. “Hello, Translucent Adept,” he said.

“And a greeting to thee, Mach of Proton,” the Adept replied. “What be thy current desire?”

“To find Fleta.”

“She was freed by thine other self; methinks she fled to the Blue Demesnes.”

“Makes sense,” Mach agreed.

“I can transport thee there, an thou prefer.”

“Thanks, Adept, but I think not. I won’t come to you unless I’m ready to do business.”

“Fair enough,” Translucent said. “The door be open always.” His bubble of water faded out.

Mach considered. He would go to the Blue Demesnes. But how? It might be a long march by foot, but he was uncertain of his powers of magic, particularly now that he was alone. His spells had worked well only when Fleta had helped him with her music, or when he had built up to them carefully. If he tried to transport himself, and garbled it, in what condition would he find himself? Also, each spell only worked once; there was no point in wasting them. So—he would go by foot.

He started walking north. It was slow, because of the slope; it was about as hard going down as it would have been going up, to his surprise. He was soon sweating, for it was the middle of the day and he was alive. In his robot body he neither tired nor sweated, but now he gloried in these physical manifestations.

A harpy flew into view. She wore a fright wig. “Phoebe!” he exclaimed.

She heard him and swerved to approach. “The imitation Adept! Alone?”

“I’m looking for Fleta,” he said. “Have you seen her?”