Blue Adept (31 page)

“I have not been courted in years,” she said. “You are a handsome man.”

“Reserve your judgment; I may have brought great mischief upon you.”

“I reserve it,” she said. But she studied him with only slightly muted interest, for Hulk was about as impressive a figure of a man as existed, and the compliment of his attention was considerable. Women were less impressed by physical attributes than men were, but they were not immune to them.

“This alternate world, where I met the woman like you,” he said. “It resembles Proton in geography, but it has good air and water and vegetation, and a population of living creatures. An ideal world, except—“ He paused. “Remember, I warned you. In that world, called Phaze, science is inoperative and magic is operative.”

“Magic is operative,” she replied, humoring him.
 

“Yes. He took me to that world, where unicorns and werewolves and vampires roam, and he made some spells and became the Blue Adept, one of the leading magicians of that frame. But he had been killed by another Adept. So I served as his bodyguard, and I guarded his wife—who is you.”

“You’re right,” Bluette said seriously. “This is beyond belief. I do appreciate your imagination, and am sure you do excellently in the Lying Game in competition, and consider myself honored to be the subject of your present fantasy. How does this relate to our kidnapping?”

“The enemy Adept is evidently another curtain-crosser,” Hulk continued gamely, “operating in both frames. Unable to destroy the Blue Adept permanently in Phaze, he has been setting traps for him here in Proton. The enemy evidently thought the Blue Adept would come for you, so he arranged to abduct whoever approached you, apart from your Employer and routine serfs. But this trap got the wrong man.”

“How can you court the wife of your friend?” she asked alertly. In no way was Bluette slow of wit; Stile had discovered that early, when dealing with her alternate.
 

“Most people exist in both frames. When the self of one frame dies, the self of the other can cross over, filling his place. When the Blue Adept died, his Proton-self crossed over—and courted the widow, the Lady Blue. But he felt it would be improper also to court her Proton-self, who is you, Bluette.”

“And he allows you to approach me instead, since I am surplus?”

“There are no surplus diamonds,” Hulk said. “Every precious thing has a taker. He is a generous man. Lady. He loves you, but will take only the one he first came to know.
 
There is something more to his interest than your likeness, I suspect.”

“I should hope so. And you accede to this? You seem to be man enough to have your pick of women. Why accept the castoff of your friend? Is he even more powerful than you appear to be?”

“In a manner of speaking. Lady. It seems we are similar in many respects, including our taste in women. I cannot explain it better.”

“I think you can. You were with his wife?”

“I guarded his wife from the possible threat by his enemy, during his absences. I came to know her, the deep and unique qualities of her. I am an honorable man; when I realized what was happening, I left.”

“What do you mean, what was happening?” she demanded. “Were I the wife of one, I would not be leading on another.”

“No, never!” Hulk agreed hastily. “You—I mean the Lady Blue—never in any way—it was wholly in my mind, a one-sided thing. But in this frame she is not his wife, and will never be; he intends never to meet her. Meet thee.
 
You. Thus I came for you, her perfect double.”

“Less swift, man. I have not quite made the transition from your dream fancy to your reality.” She cocked her head. “What is your name?”

“Hulk. From an ancient comic.”

She smiled. “I was named after a fine horse.”

They laughed, warming to each other.

“Well, Hulk,” she said after a moment. “Whatever gave you the notion that any self of mine would be amenable to any suit of yours? Why should I flirt with a bodyguard, in either, ah, frame?”

Hulk spread his hands. “How you receive it is your business. I had to try. You can but decline.”

“Still, there must have been a point of decision.”

Hulk nodded. “I suppose there was. In Phaze-frame life abounds, including bacterial and viral. I had little natural defense against environmental disease agents, since Proton is nearly sterile.” He paused, reflecting. “In more ways than one, I suspect.” He made a gesture to indicate that it didn’t matter. “I fell sick. The Lady Blue recognized the problem; she bade me lie down, and she laid her hands on me, and they were healing hands, that warmed me through-out.”

“Ah, yes,” Stile said, momentarily breaking out of the spell of the holograph narrative. “I have felt the touch of those hands.”

“You are not jealous?” Sheen asked. “I inquire merely as a point of robotic interest.”

“Meaning you’re jealous,” he said. “You think the Lady Blue is too pretty.”

“If appearance were all that counted, I might compete. I think she has too much of your attention.”

“Not in this frame. Hulk left her to me in Phaze; I leave her to him, in Proton. It was not a completely easy decision for either of us. But yes, I am jealous. It is hard for me to watch another man courting her.”

“And harder to watch her responding. Serves you right.”

“Serves me right,” he agreed.

“I do not lightly give my body or my heart,” Bluette was saying to Hulk. The holo-scene had frozen while Stile and Sheen conversed; that was Sheen’s touch on the control.
 
“You’re a funny man, with a fairy-tale history. Yet there is no doubt we are here, and surely we shall be interrogated.
 
Will you tell our captor the same story?”

“I’m not sure. I am not the one our captor wants.” Hulk pondered. “Lady, I fear it will go hard with us, when our captor discovers the error. It would be better if he did not realize it.”

“Why?”

“Obviously there is something the captor wants of my friend, not merely his death. Otherwise the robots would simply have killed us, instead of bringing us here. Perhaps it is information that is wanted. Since kidnapping is also a crime, even when only serfs are involved, I will be disposed of so I can not tell my story to my own Employer.”

“Yes. I, too, will be useless as bait, after this. But I do not see what action we can take. If we disrupt the holo-pickup, the captor will know, and will send in—you said there were robots?”

“I saw two, as I recovered consciousness.”

“Who have the oxy-masks used to bring us here,” Blu-ette said, her eyes widening as she caught on. “What do you propose. Hulk?”

“First, I must get out of sight of the pickup. Second, you must address me as ‘Stile’ and describe me as a very small man—smaller than you. The story is the same—that is what he told you. He came to rescue you—and was him-self trapped.”

“I have that,” Bluette said. “Assuming for the nonce that your story is true, then this would be believed by another person from that frame. But how—“

“I will hide outside the force-Held, downtunnel. I can function for a limited time in external atmosphere, if I put my body in near-absolute state of rest, or trance-state. You try to lure the robots near the force-field, then get clear yourself. This will not be gentle.”

“I know.” Her tension hardly showed. She was, as Stile knew, the type to handle difficult situations with verve. “I am sorry to have met you like this. Hulk; you are a fascinating person.”

“Thank you. Say that again when I’m not trying to save our lives, and we’ll see where it leads.” Hulk stepped through the force-field. The pickup tried to follow him, but he was avoiding it, and disappeared from view. Frustrated, the pickup returned to the next most likely subject, the woman.

There was a momentary blankness, to signify a lapse of time. Then the holo-image in the tunnel came on—a holo within a holo. Stile was not sure how the holo-transceiver was able to show itself; this was merely a minor marvel of Proton electronics.

The image was a woman. She was tall and statuesque, with her hair concealed under a skullcap. She was naked: serf, not Citizen. She looked at Bluette. “Where is he?” she demanded imperiously.

“Who are you?” Bluette demanded in return. “Why have you done this?”

“He did not tell you? Then remain in ignorance. Your function is finished.”

“My Employer will—“

“That is of no concern to me.”

The two robots reappeared from uptunnel. “Put her in pain until her lover reappears,” the woman said.
 
The robots were humanoid, but not specific; their faces were impassive masks. Their strength was that of the machines they were. They seemed to have no speech ability, and moved somewhat stiffly—low proficiency models. It was possible for a serf to obtain such robots, while only a Citizen could obtain robots of Sheen’s quality. But these were well suited to this type of work. A robot like Sheen would have had too many humanistic restrictions.
 
Stile found himself tensing for action. The very notion of hurting the lady appalled him. But this was only a holo-recording; the action was long past. He could only watch.
 
“Ironic that the captor never bothered to film the prior sequence,” Stile muttered. “She could have had complete information with no trouble. But I suppose a frame-traveler hasn’t time for niceties—and this one lacks the re-sources of a Citizen. So this is crudely executed.” Bluette, alert to the threat against her, lurched toward the upper end of the chamber. Both robots moved swiftly to cut her off. She reversed, and moved with surprising agility toward the lower end—which of course was where she wanted to be.

The robots reversed with her. They might move awkwardly, but their reflexes were inhumanly swift; it was only their wit that was. deficient. They caught her halfway, and held her in the middle of the chamber.

“Shouldn’t Hulk come out?” Sheen inquired. “They will hurt her.”

“Even Hulk cannot overpower two robots,” Stile said.
 
“They aren’t gentle creatures like you; each one is stronger than he is, with no human vulnerabilities. Remember how easily they carried him several kilometers to the mine.”

“True. But if he waits—“

“The captor believes it is me out there, and that I love Bluette and will be unable to let her suffer. That’s why Hulk said this error might be for the best; there is not the leverage anticipated.”

“He said it was for the best out of loyalty to you; your generosity saved you from the trap. But doesn’t he love her too?”

“Not yet. He will hold out longer than I would have.”

Stile’s fist clenched. “Maybe too long.” One robot stood behind Bluette, pinning her arms back, holding her firmly. The other glanced at the holo-image for clarification. “No permanent damage yet,” the captor said.
 
“Pinch her knee, slowly. Make her scream.”

“The knee!” Stile exclaimed. “That’s my enemy!” The robot reached for Bluette’s knee. The woman lifted both legs and planted them in the robot’s chest and shoved violently. Though the machine was strong, it did not have extraordinary mass; the shove drove it back several steps.
 
“She fights; that’s all to the good,” the holo-woman said.
 
“We need commotion.”

The robot holding Bluette did not let go. The recoil shoved it back a step; then it stood £rm.
 
“You can’t fight robots,” the captor told her. “I don’t want you anyway. I want him. Make some noise, bring him in, and you won’t have to suffer.”

“What do you want with Stile?” Bluette cried.
 
“She remembered to use your name,” Sheen said. “Smart woman.”

“I want this time to be quite sure he is dead,” the captor said. “But first I want to know why he proposed to destroy me. Adepts don’t usually fight Adepts. He had no call to attack me.”

Bluette’s surprise was genuine. “There really is a world of magic?”

“You will never see it. Now call the Blue Adept.”

“So you can torture him too? Never!”

“Do it,” the captor said to the robot.

The robot caught the lady’s leg and held it despite her struggles. It placed its metal fingers on her knee and squeezed. The pressure was obviously tremendous, cranking slowly up like that of a vise. She inhaled to scream, but caught herself and held her breath instead.
 
“My knees with a laser; hers with a robot,” Stile grated.
 
He was afraid for the lady, and chokingly angry—and helpless. Whatever would be—had already been.
 
Bluette collapsed, sobbing. “Oh, it hurts, it hurts!”

“Call him,” the captor said dispassionately. “Scream.
 
Bring him to you.”

Bluette looked defiant. The robot squeezed again. She collapsed again. “Stop! I’ll do it!”

The robot paused, hand still on knee. Dark showed around the edge of its grip, where pressure had crushed the fair skin. Bluette took another ragged breath. “S-s—“ she hissed, trying to call through her sobs.
 
“You can do better than that,” the captor said without pity.

“He—went down that passage,” Bluette said, entirely unnerved. “I—I’ll try. Let me get closer—“ “What a sniveler you are!” the captor rapped.
 
Now Stile smiled, grimly. “She is no sniveler. She knows what she has to do.”