Juxtaposition aa-3

by Piers Anthony

  "I don't like this," Stile said. "They evidently know what we're doing here, and someone with a good mind is on the scene. We're being outmaneuvered. While we made a duplicate image of me, they did this."

  But there was nothing much to do except go after the Phazite. They started down the detour tunnel, hoping to catch up with the ball before it reached whatever destination the enemy had plotted. Sheen's magic showed no enemies nearby; like her own workers, they had departed as soon as their job was done. The tunnels were empty because the presence of anyone could alert the other side to what was going on.

  They heard a noise ahead. Something was moving, heavily, making the tunnel shudder.

  Ooops! The ball of Phazite was rolling back toward them at horrendous velocity!

  "Get out of its way!" Stile cried. "A hundred and fifty tons will crush us flat!"

  But the ball was moving too swiftly; they could not outrun it, and the intersection of tunnels was too far back. "Make a spell, Lady Machine!" Brown screamed.

  Sheen made a gesture — and abruptly their entire party was in the tunnel beyond the rolling ball, watching the thing retreat. Stile felt weak in the knees, and not because of their injury. He didn't like being dependent on someone else for magic. Was that the way others felt about him?

  "See — it slants up, there ahead," Brown said brightly. She, at least, was used to accepting enchantment from others, though she was Adept herself. "They fixed it up so the ball would roll up, then reverse and come right back at us."

  "Timed so we would be in the middle when it arrived," Sheen said.

  "No direct magic — but a neat trap," Stile agreed. "They must have assumed that if the book blocked out Adept magic, it would leave us helpless. They didn't realize that a non-Adept would be doing the spells."

  "Funny Trool didn't warn us," Brown said.

  Trool appeared, chagrined. "I saw it not. I know not how I missed it."

  For a moment Stile wondered whether the troll could have betrayed them. But he found he couldn't believe that. For one thing, he had confidence in his judgment of creatures. For another, it was a woman-a young-seeming one — who had been prophesied to betray him, and that had already come to pass before the prophecy reached him. So there had to have been enough illusion magic, or clever maneuvering, to deceive everyone in this case; no betrayal was involved.

  "Set a deflector at the mouth of the detour," Stile told Sheen, "so that when the ball reverses again, it will go down the correct tunnel."

  She lifted a finger. "Done."

  "You sure know a lot of spells," Brown said.

  "Robots assimilate programmed material very rapidly," Sheen replied. "The advantages of being a machine are becoming clearer to me, now that I have considered life."

  They marched up to the intersection of tubes. The ball had already reversed course and traveled down its proper channel. They followed it without further event to the end.

  "Be alert for other hostile effects," Stile told Sheen. "The enemy can't hit us with new magic, but, as we have seen, the prepared traps can be awkward enough."

  Sheen held her finger up as if testing the wind. "No magic here," she reported.

  They stood at the winch. It was a heavy-duty model, powered by a chip of Protonite, and its massive cables were adequate to the need. They placed the harness about the ball; it fitted with little bearings so that the ball could roll within its confinement. With the pulleys and leverage available, the ball should move up the spiral.

  It did move up. There were no hitches. Yet Stile worried. He knew the enemy would strike; he didn't know when and how. Why hadn't they destroyed the winch, since obviously they had had access to this tunnel? "Trool?" he asked.

  There was no response from the troll. Probably he was out surveying the situation, and would report the moment he spied anything significant.

  The winch cranked the ball of Phazite up the spiraling tunnel, providing it the elevation it would need to roll all the way across the juxtaposition zone to Proton. Once that boulder started rolling, it should be prohibitively difficult to stop. Victory seemed very near at hand — and still Stile worried. He was absolutely sure something ugly was incipient.

  At last they reached the top. The winch delivered the ball to a platform housed in earth, surely resembling a mound of the Little Folk from outside. All they had to do now was open the gate and nudge it out.

  Trool appeared. "Found thee at last!" he exclaimed. "Take not this route, Adept!"

  Stile looked at him sourly. "We have already taken this route. Where hast thou been?"

  "Looking all over for thee! There are a hundred traces of thy presence, all mistaken — until this one."

  "Diversion magic," Stile said. "False clues to my whereabouts, laid down in advance, so that I become the needle in the haystack. But why would they try to mislead thee?"

  "Because I have spied on them. Barely did I reach thee in time to give warning; the goblins have bypassed the giants, indulged in forced marches, and are lurking in ambush for thee here. Thou canst not pass this way, Adept."

  "Nonsense," Sheen said. "I detect no goblins within seventy kilometers."

  "Thou shouldst get beyond their screening spells," Trool said. "From behind, they are naught. There are maybe five hundred goblins there, armed with Proton weapons and busy making entrenchments. That much did I see; I looked no more, so that I could return in haste to warn thee. But then did I face the enchantment that concealed thee from me. All of it is passive magic, set in place before we came here, yet a nuisance."

  "I knew things were too easy," Stile muttered. "They left us alone so we would continue on into their trap. We have perhaps four hours remaining to get the Phazite across the north border of the juxtaposition zone. We can not backtrack now. We shall have to proceed."

  "I can neutralize the screen magic," Sheen said. "But that will not remove the goblins. The enemy Adepts will prevent me from performing any mass spell on them."

  "So there are, after all, limits to the book," Stile said with a wry smile.

  "Yes. It gives me power to stand off all the Adepts — but not to overwhelm them. We shall have to handle the goblins physically."

  "The animalheads are arriving on the scene," Trool said. "But they, too, are confused by the shield-spells. If thou dost eliminate the shields, all will encounter each other and there will be mayhem galore."

  "I don't want mayhem," Stile said. "But if it has to be, I want to ease the burden on the animalheads. Sheen, conjure me a holophone."

  In a moment it was there. Stile called his own dome, and Mellon answered. His leg had been repaired. "I am glad to see you back in form, sir," he said.

  Stile was sure the call was tapped and might soon be blocked off. "I'm in a battle situation and need reinforcements," he said quickly. "I can't arrange to conjure large groups, so they'll have to march. The goblins are enemies and will slaughter whomever they can; the other creatures, however strange they may appear, are friends. Can you arrange anything?"

  "Allow thirty minutes, sir." The image faded.

  So, just like that, it was done. Mellon would get the coordinates of Stile's location from the holo and would send out what he could. Stile's Citizen resources were now considerable; he could afford a private army, if anyone could.

  He returned to his immediate situation. "If the goblins have Proton weapons, we'll need Proton defenses. They are probably making ready to storm this hill. We should have light, bulletproof armor, laser screens-"

  "Personal force fields," Sheen suggested. "They will handle a combination of attacks, and I can conjure in such small units without alerting the enemy Adepts."

  "And make invisibility-spells for the rest of us," Brown added. "They'll know we're near the Phazite ball, but still-"

  "Yes," Stile agreed. "Probably they won't want to fire their shots too close to the Phazite; they won't have effect, and if they did, what would it be? There's power to destroy the planet in this dense little sphere; no one would ga
in if that energy were suddenly released."

  "Most likely they will attempt to wipe us out, and send the ball rolling back down the spiral tube," Sheen said. "Then they will blast the entrance closed and wait for the juxtaposition to terminate. Clef surely can't hold it much longer."

  "We're committed to our present course," Stile said, shaking his head ruefully. "They gave us full opportunity to go beyond the point of retreat. I'd like to meet the goblin commander; he's one smart tactician."

  "Maybe an Adept is running things," Brown said.

  "This smacks more of field tactics to me." Stile brought out his map. "As I make it, the ball has a fairly straight path north from here. All we need to do is clear out a few obstacles in the channel and start it rolling. We don't want to mire it in the lake, unless that's beyond the juxtaposition zone. Trool, where is the north side of the curtain now?"

  "It is stabilized north of the lake and north of the Oracle's palace, in this section," the troll replied. "There is some curve in it yet; elsewhere it impinges the White Mountain range, but here it is fairly southerly."

  "And where is it in this section?" Stile asked, indicating the place where the Oracle-computer was buried, somewhat removed from the Oracle's palace.

  "It slants northwest, passing just south of that region. But that is not a good place to roll the ball anyway; there is a long incline up, with the curtain almost at the ridge there. Much easier to roll it through the valley to the east."

  So the curtain was just south of the Oracle-computer. That was why there had been no news of the computer's crossing; Clef's Flute had not been able to broaden the juxtaposition zone enough. That meant the curtain would have to be stretched northward a little — and how would Stile find the creature-power to accomplish that, in the midst of battle?

  "Nevertheless, I believe we'll roll it across at this site," Stile said, after reflecting a moment. "I hope the giants arrive in time to help; they'll be able to roll it barehanded."

  "I'm not sure," Sheen said. "The ball of Phazite is the same diameter as a giant's finger — but its substance is fifty times as dense as living flesh. Trying to push on it could be clumsy and painful."

  "They can use silver thimbles, or roll it with a pool cue," Stile said, smiling briefly.

  "And the route," she said. "Why roll the ball across that particular place?"

  Stile did not want to express his notion openly, for fear the enemy was somehow eavesdropping. "Because it will be difficult, slow, but certain; the enemy will not have barriers entrenched there, and no special traps, and our time will be running out."

  "That's not fully logical," she protested. "The enemy will not guard that region well, because the natural terrain represents a formidable defense. They will have time to regroup while we struggle to push the ball up the hill."

  "Maybe," Stile agreed.

  "I hope your illogic has some redeeming aspect."

  "I think thou art crazy," Brown said succinctly.

  "We'll clear a course that curves northwest," Stile said. "They may assume it's another ruse. Then we'll roll the ball along it as fast and far as we can and hope for the best."

  Trool faded out for another survey and returned to report that the contingent from Proton was arriving. "Flesh and metal men," he said wonderingly.

  "Cyborgs, maybe. Robots with human brains. They can be very effective. It's time for us to move." He looked around the chamber. "I want the golem crew to remain here, to start the ball rolling at my signal. Timing is essential. Brown will supervise them. Sheen and I will sneak out and clear the path. Trool will act as liaison."

  "I want to sneak out too!" Brown cried.

  "What about me?" Clip asked, in man-form.

  Stile had been afraid of this. He had to devise legitimate jobs for everyone. "Thou canst go report to thy herd," he said to the unicorn. "In thy hawk-form and with a spell of invisibility, thou canst get through to tell the Stallion of our situation." Stile turned to Brown. "But thou — if thou shouldst go, who will guard the book?"

  Her brown eyes widened. "The book of magic?"

  "If the enemy gets its hands on that, we're finished. We dare not take it out to battle. Sheen has memorized the spells she needs; she doesn't need the book with her now. So it is safest with thee and thy golems."

  Brown's eyes fixed on the book, round with awe. "I guess…" she breathed.

  The main reason Stile wanted her here was to keep the child out of the worst danger. Any protective spell they might make might be negated by a specific enemy counter-spell. The book did need guarding, so it was a valid pretext.

  He left with Sheen, using an invisibility-spell as well as the protective shields she had fashioned before. He doubted the two of them would remain undiscovered, but with luck, the goblin army should be distracted by the detachments of serfs, robots, and animalheads.

  They started down the slope, using conjured spades to eliminate troublesome ridges. This, too, was risky, since the changes they made were visible, possibly calling attention to their otherwise invisible progress. Most of the slope was all right, with a natural channel requiring only touching up.

  But as they got away from the ball, the illusion fashioned by the enemy Adepts faded. They saw the goblins ranged about the base of the hill, pistols drawn. The moment there was any visible action at the top of the slope, the goblins would start firing.

  Even in this hiatus, it was bad enough. Detachments of goblins were building a series of obstructions near the base of the slope, wedgelike barriers with the sharp ends pointed uphill. If the Phazite ball encountered a wall crosswise, it would crash right through; but these wedges were oriented to deflect it efficiently off-course, where it could be further deflected by the natural channels below, until it was stuck in some cul-de-sac, and the game would be lost. That smart enemy commander's handiwork again! "Our work is cut out for us," Stile said. "One misplay, and we lose the ball. Conjure me some plastic explosive and detonators that can be set off by magic invocation. I'll have to mine some of those barriers."

  "That sort of thing is not in the book," Sheen protested. "No plastic explosive with magic detonators! But I can get you one-hour timed explosive."

  "That will do. Just let me know when the hour is up so I can get clear."

  She conjured the explosive. It was high-grade; a kilogram had enough explosive power to blast away all the emplacements they would have time to mine. They walked on down the hill.

  The contingent from Proton was marching toward the hill. Stile realized that it was on the wrong side of the illusion-spell and did not perceive the goblin army; the goblins would ambush it, wiping it out before it had a chance to organize. "I can't let that happen," he muttered. "I haven't been much of an organizer; my allies will be cut down, trying to help me. I must warn them!"

  "If you show yourself, you will be cut down!" Sheen said. "My spells won't save you from attack by the entire goblin army, backed by the magic of all the Adepts."

  "Maybe your magic can help, though. Generate an image of me, like a holograph. Then you can jump it around, and no one will know exactly where I am, so the enemy won't be able to attack me."

  "Now that might work," she said. "It's risky, but so are the alternatives. Your convoluted organic brain does come up with artful wrinkles." She made a combination of gestures and sounds, sketched a little figure in the dirt — he could see it and her, as the invisibility-spell affected only the enemy's observers — and suddenly Stile found himself standing in the path of the cyborgs. He felt a squeeze on his hand and knew Sheen was with him, and that his consciousness had joined his distant image. This was clever magic; his respect for the book increased.

  The leader of the cyborgs spied him and approached. This was an obvious machine, with gleaming metal limbs and chambers for attachments on its torso. But it was no robot; the brain was human, taken from the body of some aging, or ill, living person. Cyborgs could be exceedingly tough and clever. "I perceive you, sir," the machine-man said, orienting a
lens on him. "But you have no substance. You are therefore an image. I can not be sure of your validity. Please identify yourself in a manner I can accept."

  "I am an image of Citizen Stile," Stile said. "Also the Blue Adept. My employee Mellon should have primed you with key information about me. Ask me something appropriate."

  "Yes, sir. Who is your best friend?"

  "In which frame?"

  "That suffices, sir."

  Oh. Clever. It was the type of response, rather than the actual information, that had been keyed. "Let's get busy, then," Stile said. "This region is infested with goblins with modern weapons. I doubt they are good shots, but don't take chances. If you can drive them away from this area, that would be a big help. But don't attack any animalheads or unicorns. There's quite a bit of illusion magic around, so be careful."

  "We understand, sir."

  "I'm not sure you do. Send out scouts to the base of that slope." He indicated it. "They will pass the line of illusion and see the truth. Pay attention to what they tell you. This is likely to be deadly serious; your lives are in jeopardy."

  "Thank you, sir."

  They would have to find out for themselves. Stile murmured the word "animalhead" and found himself on a hill where the animalheads were gathered. The elephanthead chief spied him with a trumpet of gladness. "We have found thee at last, Adept!" he exclaimed; evidently Stile's prior spell of intelligibility remained in force. Spells did seem to have a certain inertia about them, continuing indefinitely unless countered or canceled. "We feared ourselves lost."

  Quickly Stile briefed the elephant on the situation. "Now I'll be clearing a path for the ball to roll along," he concluded. "In mine own body I'm invisible, but the goblins will quickly catch on and interfere. So if thy force can divert them from this side, and while the cyborgs operate on the other side-"

  "Cyborgs?"

  "They are combination people, part human, part machine, strange in appearance but worthwhile when-"

  "They are like us!"

  "Very like thy kind," Stile agreed, startled.

  "We are ready," the elephanthead said.