Juxtaposition (31 page)

Yellow quickly interceded.
 
“Provoke him not unnecessarily. White; he has power and friends we hardly know. We need hold Brown no longer. I shall go free her.” She brought out another vial, sipped the potion, and vanished.

“Methinks thou hast won the heart of more than Brown,” White grumbled. She viewed him critically, noting the mud caking his body and the awkward turban, loin cloth, and shoe structures. “It must be thy magic, rather than thy demeanor.”

Stile relaxed marginally. Ugly things were happening, and he knew it wasn’t over. So far there had been attacks against him, the Lady Blue, Clip, and the Brown Adept.
 
An organization of Adepts had formed against him. He needed to know the rest of it.

“Let’s have it. White. Exactly what is the threat to Phaze, and what dost thou want of me?” For he knew her suggestion about giving him a place of leadership was wrong; how could he lead, if his presence meant the end?

“We want thee to leave Phaze voluntarily, so that the dangers of Adept confrontations are abated. Thou canst take Lady Blue and aught else thou wishest. Cross the curtain, embark on a Proton spaceship, and depart for the farthermost comer of the universe as that frame knows it, never to return.”

Stile had no intention of doing that. Apart from the complication of the Lady Blue’s official nonexistence in the other frame, where the Records Computer took such things more seriously than people did in Phaze, there was the matter of the robot Sheen. How could he marry her, with his other wife in Proton? And how could he leave his friends the unicorns and werewolves and vampires? Phaze was the world of his dreams and nightmares; he could never leave it.

“Nay.”

“The applicable portion of the prophecy is this: ‘Phaze will never be restored till the Blue Adept is forever gone.’ Thou canst not remain.”

“I have had some experience with misrepresented predictions,” Stile said. “Restoration of Phaze after my departure is hardly synonymous with my destruction of it—which I maintain is no intent of mine. Thou hast answered only a fraction of my question, and deviously at that.”

“I am getting to it. Blue. The goblins guard an apparatus from the other frame, protecting it from all threats.
 
The end of Phaze will come when that device is returned.
 
The goblins guard it blindly from harm; we would prefer to destroy it.”

“So the collusion of Adepts with goblins is rife with internal stress,” Stile observed. “Doubtless the goblins know not of this aspect.”

“Doubtless they suspect, however,” White said.
 

“Surely the massed power of the Adepts can prevail against mere goblins,” Stile said, pushing at her verbally.
 
“Any one of us could enchant the entire species of goblin into drifting smoke.”

“Thou might. Blue. Few others could. But this device is a special case and can not be attacked directly.”

“Anything can be attacked!” Stile said. “Some things with less success than others, though, as seems to be the case when Adepts attack Adepts.”

“Nay. This device is what is called in the other frame a computer.”

“A computer can’t operate in Phaze! No scientific device can.” Except, he remembered, near the West Pole.
 

“This one has a line running to the West Pole.” Parallel thoughts!

“Maybe. If it could figure out how to use magic in its circuits.”

“Aye. It functions partially, and has many thoughts.
 
Some concern thee—which is why we did not wish thee to make connection with it at the Pole.”

“How canst thou know this if the goblins let thee not near it? In fact, why do the goblins allow Adepts in their demesnes, seeing the likes of thee would destroy what they endeavor to guard from harm?”

“The goblin-folk are not unduly smart,” she said with a fleeting smile. “But smart enough to keep Adepts away from the device. They cooperate with us to some extent because they know that we oppose thee—and thou art one who will take the contraption from them and return it to Proton-frame, where it seems it will wreak all manner of mischief on both frames. So it is an uneasy alliance, but it will do. All of us. Adept and goblin alike, wish to save Phaze.”

“And I wish to destroy Phaze,” Stile said. “Or so you other Adepts choose to believe. Because of some fouled-up prophecy. No matter that I love Phaze; you believe that not.”

“Nay, Blue, this one is not distorted. Thou wilt return the thing to Proton and thereby destroy Phaze, and only thy departure can alleviate that.”

Stile was annoyed by this insistence. There had to be some flaw in the logic. “How dost thou know the prophecy is true?”

“The computer itself made it.”

“And what relevance can the guess of an other-frame contraption have? Thou dost credit it with the accuracy of the Oracle!” She nodded, and Stile’s mouth dropped open. ”Oh, no!” he exclaimed.

“It is so,” she affirmed. “The computer is the Oracle.
 
That is how it defends itself from the likes of us. Any thrust we can conceive against it, it anticipates and foils.
 
Its means are devious but effective. We dare not attack it directly.”

“Now let me back up,” Stile said. “Thou didst offer me peace and fortune in Phaze, then told me I have to get out of Phaze forever or be killed, so that I won’t destroy it.
 
Surely thou perceivest the contradiction. Where is the lie?”

“Nay, Blue!” she said. “We Adepts differ some amongst ourselves about our manner of dealing with thee, so there may be seeming contradictions. It is a fair offer—it thou dost but accept it. Cooperation or exile. We fear thou wilt not.”

‘Try me. White.”

Her glance played across the cavern, indicating the unicorns and goblins, all waiting for the settlement of Adepts.
 
“Needs must we have greater privacy than this,” she said.

“Thy spell or mine?”

“Mine,” he said. He played a bar of harmonica music, then sang: “Give us a globe that none may probe.” And about them formed an opaque sphere that cut off all external light and sound.

In a moment light flared, as the witch made a spell of her own. “Now before we suffocate,” she said, “I’ll give it to thee without artifice. We want thee to destroy the Oracle. Only thou canst do it, for thou art its tool. It will admit thee to its presence, if thou canst get somehow past the goblins, and thy power is great enough to do the deed.
 
Destroy that evil machine. Blue, and Phaze will be saved.
 
This is the loophole we dare not voice aloud. Only if it returns operative to Proton can it act to destroy Phaze, and it can not foresee its own demise. Do this. Blue, and all other prophecies are null; we then shall have no onus against thee, and thou canst govern in Phaze.”

“Thou art asking me to betray a—a consciousness that trusts me,” Stile said, disturbed. “That has never been my way.”

“Agreed. Thou hast ever been honorable. Blue, which is why I trust myself to thy power here. It is no fault in thee that causes us to oppose thee; it is only that it is in thy power to save or finish Phaze. Save our land and suffer our gratitude; try to destroy it and suffer our opposition; or vacate the frame so that we have no need to fear thee.
 
These are thy choices. Blue. Thou knowest our determination; we are fighting for our lives and world. We are not limited by thy scruples, and our massed magic is stronger than thine. Thus united, we can attack thee directly. Oppose us not gratuitously.”

It was a fair ultimatum. But Stile found he could not take the easy way out. “I love Phaze,” he repeated. “I want never to leave it. In addition, I am now a Citizen in Proton, with considerable wealth. I shall not sacrifice my place in both frames by forever departing the planet. That leaves me with two choices: join thee or oppose thee. I know nothing of these prophecies thou dost speak of. Why should I try to destroy a device that has done me no harm?”

“No harm!” she flared, her white hair seeming to darken and melt with the heat. “Thou trusting fool! That device killed thee once and imperiled thy life again by setting us against thee.”

“That last I perceive,” Stile agreed. “Yet the business of the Oracle is making prophecies and being correct. If I am to be the leader of the forces of destruction of Phaze by helping this computer to return to Proton—though the reason remains opaque as to why it should wish ill to Phaze or how it could harm this frame from Proton—and some one inquires about that, the Oracle can but answer truth fully. Naturally that imperils me, and I like it not—but neither can I fault it for that answer. Truth is often unpleasant. Rather should I inquire in what way I am to do a deed whose nature appalls me. Were I sure the Oracle would destroy Phaze, I would not help it, and surely it is aware of that. There must be circumstances I know not and that you other Adepts know not. Better that I at least talk with the Oracle to ascertain the rationale.”

“Of course,” she said. “That is thy sensible response, and surely the machine is expecting thee to come to it.
 
That makes it possible for thee to destroy it.”

“Or to help it to destroy Phaze,” Stile said wryly. “At the moment I intend to do neither evil, and can not see what rationale would sway me either way.”

“Then consider this. Blue. It was the Oracle who hinted at the doom of the Red Adept and started her mischief against thee. She killed thine other self and attacked thee in Proton—but it was the Oracle who motivated her. If thou dost seek vengeance for the murder of the Blue Adept, seek it at the source—the infernal Oracle. This is no sweet contraption like thy golem mistress. Blue. It plays the game savagely.”

“But all its predictions were true!” Stile protested, experiencing a trace of doubt. “I can not blame it for fulfill ng that role!”

“Fool! Dost thou not realize it was a self-fulfilling prophecy? Red attacked thee because the Oracle fingered thee, no other reason. The Oracle knew what would happen. It alone generated that murder—and knew that also.” Stile was shaken. He was conversant with the bypaths of logic. White was right; the Oracle had initiated the campaign against him. A lesser entity might have made a mistake, but the Oracle had to have known what it was doing. It had murdered Stile’s other self, caused Stile’s knee misery, and set him on the horrendous path he had followed on the way to Phaze and to vengeance against the Red Adept.

Yet he remembered also that the original Blue Adept had accepted his own murder. Why?

“But why should the Oracle do this to me?” he asked plaintively, seeking to resolve this part of the mystery.
 
Maybe if he knew the Oracle’s motive, he could fathom his alternate self’s strange acquiescence. His mind was, after all, identical.

“I suggest thou dost go ask it,” White said. “Ask also why it should seek to use thee to destroy Phaze. Then must thou do what thou shalt see fit to do.” It all did seem to add up, at least to this incomplete extent. He had to settle with the Oracle. “I will go ask the machine and then do what I see fit to do.”

“I meant that facetiously,” the White Adept said. “We do not believe the computer will allow thee to approach it unless it knows thou wilt side with it. I have made our case to thee, but thou hast not reacted with proper fury.
 
Something we know not of has influenced thee against us.”

The knowledge of his other self’s acquiescence—that was the influencing factor. ‘”Of course I am not with thee!” Stile exclaimed. “I am not with anyone who kidnaps and dehorns my steed. Thy methods make thy side suspect.”

“And the methods of the Oracle make it not similarly suspect?”

Stile spread his hands. “I admit I know not the final truth. I will seek the Oracle.”

“I did not think thou wouldst join us. But I undertook to make the case. Hadst thou accepted honestly—“

“I have done nothing dishonest!”

“Aye. So we must destroy thee. Yellow will not like that, but it must be done. When we leave this bubble, it will be war between us. The other Adepts have massed their power, and the goblins are ready.”

“Fortunate art thou that thy trust in this truce was well placed. Else would I simply confine thee here.”

“Honor is not a luxury many of us can afford,” she said sadly. “Yet in the name of honor, some are fools. Thou wilt not attack us or the Oracle without fair warning. This makes thee ideal for whatever side can use thee.” She sighed. “I do not hate thee. Blue. I respect thee. I, too, am true to my cause, and it is a worthy one. Thou art true only to thine honor, and therein lies thy grief. Phaze will never be safe whilst Blue remains. Thus says our enemy the Oracle, and this we do believe. We like it not, but so must it be. Be on thy guard against my kind. Blue.” Stile studied her. The White Adept was no young thing, and she had not bothered with Yellow’s type of vanity. She looked old and ugly and careworn. He had encountered her before and found little to please him. But he knew she was a witch and a skilled one; backed by the power of the other Adepts, she was far more formidable than she appeared. Her warning had to be heeded. The Adepts would now be fully unified and coordinated. The veil was off; nothing would be held back. She was giving him the most forceful warning she could, without betraying her associates.

He would have to get away from here in a hurry, the moment the shell opened. Yet where could he escape to?
 
The Adepts could follow him anywhere in Phaze. White’s warning, perhaps, was intended to focus his attention on this problem so that he would have a fair chance. His respect for her had been small; now it had enlarged. She had taken pains to give information that he needed, when she really hadn’t had to. “I thank thee for thy courtesy, White,” he said.