Juxtaposition aa-3

by Piers Anthony

  "That's what I really want to understand," Stile said. "The frames may separate, but I don't see why that should destroy them unless, like Siamese twins, they can't exist apart."

  "They can exist apart. To make the problem clear, I have to clarify parallelism. It's not just people; the entire landscape is similar. A change made in one frame and not in the other creates an imbalance and puts a strain on the entire framework. Dig a hole in the ground in Proton, and the stress won't be alleviated until a similar hole is made in Phaze. Unfortunately there is no natural way to do that, so the stress continues to build. Eventually something will snap — and we are now very close to the snapping point."

  "Ah, I see. Like damming a stream — the water builds up behind and falls away on the other side, until it either spills over or breaks the dam. And we don't want the dam to burst."

  "Indeed we don't. So we have to find a way to alleviate the pressure. We don't know what will happen if the frames equalize in their own fashion, but it would probably wipe out most of the inhabitants of both frames."

  "So we need to fill holes and drain waters," Stile said. "Seems simple enough."

  "Not so. Not so at all. You reckon without the human dynamics. You see, the major imbalance, the largest hole in the ground, literally, is from the mining of Protonite. This is displacing huge quantities of material, creating a substantial physical imbalance, and worse yet-"

  "Protonite," Stile said. "In the other frame it's Phazite — the source of the energy for magic."

  "Exactly. That makes the problem critical, and the solution almost prohibitively difficult. The Citizens are not about to stop mining Protonite voluntarily. Not until every last dreg of it is gone, like the original atmosphere. Protonite is the basis of their wealth and power. If it were only sand, we could arrange to transfer a few thousand tons from one frame to the other, relieving the imbalance. But as it is-"

  "But if that much Protonite, ah, Phazite were transferred out, to restore the balance, what would happen to the magic?"

  "It would be reduced to about half its present potency. The Oracle has calculated this carefully. The power of the Adepts, who are the main users, would diminish accordingly. They would not be able to dominate Phaze as they do now."

  "That might not be a bad thing," Stile said. "And the Proton Citizens-"

  "Their mining would have to be severely curtailed, perhaps cease entirely. They would have no renewal of their present resources. The galaxy would have to discover new sources of energy."

  "But the galaxy depends on Protonite! Nothing matches it! There would be phenomenal repercussions!"

  "Yes, that is why taking action is difficult. Civilization as we know it will have to change, and that will not

  occur easily. Yet the alternative, the Oracle says, may be the complete destruction of this planet — which would also cut off the galaxy's supply of Protonite."

  "I begin to comprehend the forces operating," Stile said. "The end of Phaze and Proton is approaching, and we have to do something. But both Citizens and Adepts would oppose the cutoff of Protonite mining and the transfer of Phazite, because without free use of this mineral their status suffers greatly. That's why the Adepts are after me now, and think that my elimination will alleviate their problem; they fear I can do something that will deplete them all-"

  "You can."

  "And that's why the self-willed machines knew I would have to become the wealthiest of Citizens. Wealth is power in Proton, and I need to be able to withstand the formidable opposition of the Citizens when this thing breaks."

  "Exactly. You need enough of a voting bloc to tip the balance in your favor."

  So many things were falling into place! "But why, then, did the computer try to destroy me? I don't want to see either Proton or Phaze come to harm and I should certainly work to achieve the best compromise. Why did the Oracle sic the Red Adept on me?"

  "Because only you — and I — can do the job that must be done. A man who can cross the curtain freely, who is powerful in each frame, and who has the ability and conscience to carry through. A man who is essentially incorruptible without being stupid. The Blue Adept, your other self, was too limited; he could not cross the curtain, so he had no base in Proton, no experience with that society. He had lived all his life with magic; he depended on it. He would have been largely helpless in Proton during the crisis."

  "So the Oracle killed him?" Stile demanded incredulously. "Just because he wasn't perfect? Why didn't the Oracle select someone else for the job?"

  "The Oracle selected you, Stile. You had his excellent qualities, and you had lived a more challenging life; you were better equipped. But you could not enter Phaze. So the Blue Adept had to be eliminated — I do not speak of this with approval — in order to free you to cross the curtain. Had the decision gone the other way, you would have been the one killed, to free him to cross into Proton."

  "But the attempt was made on me too!" Stile protested, shaken by this cold calculation.

  "It was blocked in Proton," Clef said. "I knew nothing of this when I encountered you in the Tourney; believe me, I was appalled. But you were protected. The Oracle sent a second message-"

  "The message!" Stile exclaimed. "I was trying to trace it! The Oracle-" But this, too, was coming clear now. One message to start the murder process, the other to intercept and nullify part of it. Diabolically efficient!

  "Now you have been prepared," Clef continued. "The computer expects you to organize the juxtaposition and transfer."

  "I'm not at all sure I want to cooperate with this emotionless machine. It has entirely disrupted my life, not stopping even at murder. What it put the Lady Blue through, and my friend Hulk-" Stile shook his head. "This is not the sort of thing I care to tolerate."

  "I agree. But it seems the alternative is to let both frames crash."

  "Or so the cynical Oracle says," Stile said. "That machine has shown itself to be completely unscrupulous in the manipulation of people and events. Why should I believe it now?"

  "The Little Folk believe it," Clef said. "They despise it and want to be rid of it, but they believe it. It is a machine, programmed for truth, not for conscience. So its methods are ruthless, but never has it lied. Its sole purpose is to negotiate the crisis with minimum havoc, and it seems that the grief inflicted on you was merely part of the most rational strategy. It has no human will to power and, once it returns to Proton, it will serve its master absolutely."

  "And who will its master be?"

  "You, I think. I am called the Foreordained, but I believe the term is most applicable to you. Perhaps it was applied to me as a decoy, to prevent your premature destruction." He smiled, appreciating the irony. "The Oracle prophesies that Blue will govern Proton in the difficult period following separation of the frames. As you may have gathered, there is no limit on information when it deals with me. The computer will help you govern Proton, and the book of magic will assist the one who takes power from the Adepts in Phaze."

  "And who is that?"

  "I can't get a clear answer there. It seems to be you — but of course you can't be in both frames after they separate. I suspect the computer suffered a prophetic short circuit here. I can only conjecture that whichever frame you choose to remain in will be yours to govern."

  "I want only to remain in Phaze with the Lady Blue and Neysa and Kurrelgyre and my other friends. Yet I have already been treated to the prophecy that Phaze will not be safe until Blue departs it."

  Clef shook his head. "I wish I could give you a clear answer on this, Stile, but I can not. Your future is indistinct, perhaps undecided. It may be because you are the key figure, the one who will decide it. The uncertainty principle-" He shrugged.

  Unwillingly, Stile had to concede the probable truth of this complex of difficult notions. Machines acted the way they were designed and programmed to act — and why would the experts of three hundred years ago have designed a machine to lie during a crisis? Surely they would not have. The very ruthl
essness that Stile hated was an argument in favor of the Oracle's legitimacy.

  "Where is this book of magic?" Stile asked at last. It was his grudging, oblique concession that he would have to go along with the Oracle and perform his part in this adjustment of frames.

  "In Proton, under the control of the Game Computer."

  "What's it doing in Proton? No one can use it there."

  "That is why it is in Proton. To protect the two tools of power from premature exploitation and dissipation, the powers-that-were placed them in the wrong frames. The book of magic is impotent in the science frame, and the computer is greatly reduced in power in the fantasy frame. In order to resolve the crisis, both must be restored to their proper frames."

  "So my job is to fetch the book and pass the computer back through?"

  "These tasks are not simple ones," Clef cautioned him. Stile, of course, had already gathered that. "The book should be no problem in the acquisition, for the Game Computer will turn it over to anyone possessing the code-request. But the Citizens will do their utmost to stop it from being transported across the curtain. The computer — that relates to my job. It will cross only as the moving curtain intersects this location."

  "Your job? Exactly what will you do as the Foreordained?"

  "I will juxtapose the frames. That is the precondition for re-establishing parallelism."

  Stile shook his head. "Just when I thought I had it straight, I am confused again. It is my limited present understanding that the frames are about to separate, but can't because of the imbalance of Protonite. I suppose their separation would tear that associated Phazite free and rupture our whole reality, like a knot pulled through a needlehole. But we have only to form a ball of Phazite and roll it across the curtain, where it will become the necessary Protonite. What's this business about juxtaposition?"

  "Nice notion, that ball. But you don't just roll Phazite across the curtain. Phazite is magic; the curtain is really an effect of that magic, like a magnetic field associated with electric current or the splay of colors made by a prism in sunlight. Such a ball might rend the curtain, causing explosive mergence of the frames-"

  "Ah. The dam bursting again."

  "Precisely. But you could roll it into the region of juxtaposition, and then on into the other frame. Two steps, letting one aspect of the curtain recover before straining the other. Like an air lock, perhaps." He smiled. "What a fortune a multiton ball of Protonite would be worth!"

  "So you juxtapose the frames. You are foreordained to perform this task so that I can perform mine. How do you do this?"

  "I play the Flute."

  "Music does it?" Stile asked skeptically.

  "The Platinum Flute is more than a musical instrument, as you know. It produces fundamental harmonics that affect the impingement of the frames. Properly played, it causes the frames to overlap. The Little Folk have been teaching me to play the ultimate music, which ranges within a single note on the audible level, and across the universe on a level we can not perceive. I have had to learn more about music than I learned in all my prior life, for this single performance. Now I have mastered the note. The effect will be small at first. Toward the culmination it will become dramatic. There will be perhaps two hours of full juxtaposition in the central zone, during which period the exchange of power-earth must be effected. If it is not-"

  "Probably disaster," Stile finished. "Yet if that is the case, why should the Citizens and Adepts oppose it? Of course they will lose power, but when the alternative is to lose the entire planet-"

  "They choose to believe that the threat is exaggerated. To return to the dam analogy: some, when the dam is about to burst, will dislike the inconvenience of lowering the water level, so will claim there is no danger; perhaps the sluices will pass water across their properties, damaging them only slightly as the level is lowered. So they indulge in denial, refusing to perceive the larger threat, and oppose corrective action with all their power. To us this may seem short-sighted, but few people view with equanimity the prospect of imposed sacrifice."

  "And there is the chance the Oracle is wrong," Stile said. "Or am I also indulging in foolish denial?"

  "Wrong perhaps in timing; not in essence. No one can predict the moment the dam will burst, but the end is inevitable."

  "You do make a convincing case," Stile said ruefully. "When will you begin playing to juxtapose the frames?"

  "As soon as I return to Phaze, after garnering your agreement to manage the transfer of computer, book of magic, and Phazite."

  "Damn it, this computer murdered my other self and caused untold mischief in the personal lives of people involved with me. Why should I cooperate with it now, or believe anything it says?"

  Clef shrugged. "You are a realist. You are ready to undertake personal sacrifice for the greater good, as was your alternate self, the Blue Adept."

  "He knew this?" Stile demanded, remembering how the man had apparently acquiesced to his own murder.

  "Yes. He was too powerful and clever to be killed without his consent. He gave up everything to make it possible for you to save the frames."

  Stile hated the notion, yet he had to believe. And if the Blue Adept, with everything to live for, had made his sacrifice — how could Stile, who was the same person, do less? He would only be destroying what his other self had died to save.

  "It seems I must do it," Stile said, dismayed. "I do not feel like any hero, though. How long before juxtaposition is actually achieved?"

  "Allowing time for me to return to Phaze — perhaps twenty-four hours."

  Time was getting short! "How much Phazite, precisely?"

  "The Little Folk will have that information. In fact, they will have the Phazite ready for you. But the enemy forces will do all in their power to prevent you from moving it."

  "So I'll need to transfer the book of magic and the computer first," Stile decided. "Then I can use them to facilitate the mineral transfer. Since the computer will cross when the curtain passes its location, I need only to guard it and establish a line to it. Which leaves the book — which I'd better pick up before juxtaposition so I have time to assimilate it. Maybe I can arrange to have someone else pick it up for me, since I will no doubt be watched."

  "I believe so."

  "Is there convenient and private transport from here to a dome?"

  "Share mine. I am going to the curtain. From Phaze, you may travel freely."

  "If the Adepts don't catch me."

  "It will help, I must admit, if you can distract their attention from me again. With the Flute I can protect myself, but I would prefer to be unobserved."

  "I suppose so. Somehow I had pictured you as a new super-Adept, able to crumble mountains and guide the dead to Heaven."

  "I have only the powers of the Platinum Flute you brought me. I am myself no more than a fine musician. I suspect that any other musician of my caliber could have served this office of the Foreordained. I just happened to be the nearest available. After this is over, I hope to return to my profession in my home frame, profiting from the experience garnered here. The Mound Folk of the Platinum Demesnes are generously allowing me to keep the Flute. I was, like you, drafted for this duty; I am not temperamentally suited to the exercise of such power. I am not an Adept."

  Stile found that obscurely reassuring. Clef believed that this would come out all right. "Very well. We'll step across the curtain, and I'll spell you directly to the Oracle, where they can't get at you, then spell myself elsewhere in a hurry." Stile paused, thinking of a minor aspect. "How did you get by the goblins who guard the computer?"

  "One note of the Flute paralyzes them," Clef said, relaxing. "You summon your power through music; you should understand."

  "I do." Stile hated to leave this comfortable chair, but felt he should get moving. "I suppose we've dawdled enough. Great events await us with gaping jaws."

  "I believe we can afford to wait the night," Clef said. "There is a tube shuttle, renovated for transport to the
curtain; it will whisk us there in the morning. Since no one knows you're here, you can relax. That will give the Adepts time to gather confidence that you are dead, putting them off guard."

  The notion appealed tremendously. Stile had worn himself out by his trek through the caves and tunnels; he desperately needed time to recuperate. He trusted Clef. "Then give me a piece of floor to lie on, and I'll pass out."

  "Allow me to delay you slightly longer, since we may not meet again," Clef said. "We played a duet together, once. It was one of the high points of my life. Here there is no magic, so the instruments can safely be used."

  Stile liked this notion even better than sleep. It seemed to him that music was more restorative than rest. He brought out his treasured harmonica. Clef produced the Platinum Flute. He looked at it a moment, almost sadly. "Serrilryan," he murmured. "The werebitch. With this I piped her soul to Heaven, and for that I am grateful. I knew her only briefly, but in that time I had no better friend in Phaze."

  "This is the way it is with me and Neysa the unicorn," Stile agreed. "Animals are special in Phaze."