Phaze Doubt

by Piers Anthony

  “I can trust no human man. Three tried to kill me.”

  ‘Candi nodded. “Thou hast reason, then. Me, I wish no lover, nor man neither wolf. That be my shame.”

  Brown was amazed. “But an thou hast the urge—”

  “Any bitch would tear my throat out.”

  Brown stared at her. “A bitch…”

  She saw the bitch, in her girl form, sitting beside her, suffering. She reached out to comfort her, then drew hastily away lest she be misunderstood, then moved again. Something in her own life was coalescing, a mystery she had not fathomed before.

  “Wouldst settle for one who were no bitch?” she whispered.

  Lycandi gazed at her, her eyes wet. “Thou—Adept—”

  “And woman.” Brown caught her shoulder and drew her in.

  Then they were together, kissing, their tears mixing. Brown had never imagined love of this nature, but now she discovered what it offered. The ambushes of the boys had soured her on males in a way she hadn’t fathomed, and the assassination attempts had soured her on adult males. Now she realized that it was more than that. She had loved Stile, in part, because he was unavailable; he would never seek sex with her. The violence of the male, the urgency, the cruel brevity—this was not to her taste. But this, gentle, sensitive, understanding of her nature, with a female…

  And so they were lovers. Lycandi did not depart when Brown’s foot healed; she became servant and guardian, and Brown paid a wage to her Pack, for the loss of one of their members. Neither of them ever stated the true nature of their association to any outsider, for neither the wolf nor the human cultures would have accepted it. The problem of companionship had been solved, for them both.

  But in time Lycandi had sickened with an intractable distemper that sometimes affected wolves. Magic could ameliorate it only so far. Two years ago she died, and Brown was alone again.

  The horror of her isolation closed in on her once more, not one whit abated because she was now a mature woman. She missed her lover, and grieved for her, but that would gradually pass. The lack of companionship would not. Brown saw no end to that other than death.

  That was why she had volunteered to host the two Adept prisoners. She wanted nothing of them as men, and she had no sympathy for their plight. Both were evil men who deserved death. But Stile had been loath to kill unnecessarily, so had spared them. Trool had bound them with the geas, but only an Adept could be sure of keeping them out of mischief. So she had done the other Adepts a favor, and garnered a bit of company for herself. For whatever else these men were not, and no matter how much she despised them, they were human presences. That was a quarter loaf, but far better than none.

  At first the men had been barely aware of her or their surroundings. The mergence which had put the Purple Adept into the same body as Citizen Purple, and the same for the Tan Adept and Citizen, had set off a struggle for mastery of those hosts. They were selfish, unfeeling men; neither of their aspects was accustomed to considering the wishes of any other party. That was why the good Citizens and Adepts had taken over after the mergence: they were able to get along better with others and themselves.

  But gradually the evil men came to rough terms with themselves. Perhaps they had set up a system of alternating days, giving each self his turn in control. Perhaps some other device. The effect was that they began to take an interest in their surroundings, and their demeanor and manner improved.

  They began to talk with Brown. At first they cursed her as a foul captor who would one day be tortured to death. She responded by letting the golems handle them, remaining clear herself. The golems were immune to insult, having no feelings. The men soon enough saw the futility of their effort, and apologized and promised to be more civil. Brown resumed personal attendance, and the two were as good as their word, being meticulously polite. It was as though they were guests, and she the hostess; they thanked her for her hospitality. It was of course insincere, but even the semblance of appreciation was better than nothing, for them as well as for her.

  Gradually this changed. The appreciation seemed to become more sincere. Tan especially was attentive to her. He complimented her not only on the food, but on her dress and then on her person. Finally she realized what he was up to, her understanding perhaps delayed by her revulsion of the notion: he was attempting to seduce her.

  So was Purple. But there was no evident conflict between the men. They were operating in tandem, the one giving way to the other. One was a good decade older than Brown, the other a decade younger; they would settle for whichever type she preferred. Their object was not sex, though evidently they would not object to it if the opportunity offered, but power: they wanted to corrupt her away from her commitment as prison guard. If they could make her love one of them, they might prevail on her to release them. Thai would only be part of their effort, for the geas would remain on them; only the Red Adept could remove that. They would remain unable to use their magic for any hostile purpose, or to harm any other person physically. But once they were free, they would set about nullifying the geas, probably with the same determination. Maybe they would find a way to sneak into the Red Demesnes and look at the Book of Magic, finding the spell that held them, and its antidote. Maybe they intended to persuade her to send a golem to steal the Book, so that they could gain complete power.

  She was bitterly amused, once her outrage subsided. They were trying to seduce a woman whose romantic interest was not in men! Since they were unable to use any kind of force, even verbal, because of the geas, their chances of success were nil. But sober consideration caused her to realize that she had two excellent reasons for concealing her immunity. First, the last thing she wanted was for these enemies to discover her private nature, which she had kept secret from all but her lover Lycandi for so many years. She would be mortified to have that exposed! Second, even though she had no use for either man, she appreciated their civility and attention far better than she appreciated their anger and discourtesy. She could at least pretend she had some company worth having. Her need was for the semblance of companionship, not romance, but if she had to pretend susceptibility to the latter to achieve the former, that was better than the alternative.

  So she responded guardedly to their overtures. She was courteous to both but paid slightly more attention to Purple, not because she found him more attractive, but because she found him less attractive. Tan, even under the geas, was dangerous; his eyes could work no evil now, but looked as if they could, and sometimes illusion was a significant part of magic. Also, his twin sister Tania, now the wife of the Adept Clef, was quite another matter; had that lovely woman approached Brown with amorous intent, Brown would have been lost in an instant. Tan resembled his sister as closely as was possible without a change of sex; it was easy to picture him clean-shaven, with his hair grown long, as Tania. Therefore she guarded herself from him, and favored Purple, who was fat and ugly and totally devoid of appeal for her.

  The equanimity with which Tan accepted this loss of favor confirmed his motive: had his suit been real, he would have been jealous. Given his choice of women, a forty-year-old spinster would have been the very last he would take. Purple, older, seemed more practical: any woman would do in a pinch. He would gladly have an affair with her—and as gladly drop her the moment he was free. She felt far more at ease with that attitude, ironically.

  But as the months passed in this subtle game, she came to appreciate another hazard. She was playing coy, as befitted one who was not supposed to be corrupted. But she did not care to overdo it, lest they catch on that there was more to her diffidence than mere duty. In the process of judging her calls, she realized that she might have to choose at some point between actually succumbing to a sexual encounter she did not want, or betraying her secret. Which would it be? If she actually lay with Purple, she would have to school her revulsion not to show, and her secret would be safe, for men could not conceive of a woman preferring anything other than sex with them, once it was tried. But she
would feel absolutely filthy and ashamed. Could it be worth it? She was in horrible doubt.

  The men were prisoners, and powerless. But if they learned her nature, they would speak of it to others. This she would be unable to prevent, for periodically other Adepts did come to make sure that all was under control here. This was the one nonmagical, nonphysical way they could hurt her—and they surely would do so, if it suited their purpose. Could she bear the shame?

  She seemed doomed to shame, either way. The matter pressed on her awareness, day and night. She dreamed of fat Purple coming down on her body, saying, “Do this, bitch-lover, else I tell!” He might tell anyway, if he caught on that she wasn’t enjoying it in the fashion of other women.

  At this point in her dilemma Neysa and Flach visited. Brown’s relief at seeing them was immense. All the loneliness of her situation abated—and returned with added force with their departure, thought it was temporary. She needed advice from a friend, desperately.

  “And now, if friend thou still dost be,” she concluded, “I lay on thee the burden o’ advice: what needs must be my course?”

  Neysa, grazing as if unaffected by the narration, controlled the welter of her emotions. Her friend Brown—a woman’s woman? Desperately lonely, all these years? How could she, Neysa, have missed the signs?

  They had to move those prisoners elsewhere! Yet if they did, thus abruptly, Purple and Tan might realize why. Also, where could they be moved? How could Neysa ask for this, without giving reason? She could not give reason, for she had given her oath of secrecy, which she would not abridge. And if she found some other pretext to move them out, what then of Brown, thrown into complete isolation again?

  Then she caught a glimmer of a notion. She played a warning note on her horn, to advise Brown to dismount. Then she changed to woman form. “Methinks thou dost need out o’ this mess. An a need come for golems, many golems in a far corner, made from the wood there, thou couldst be called away, and some other put in charge o’ thy Demesnes for the interim.”

  “But Neysa—” Brown protested.

  “I would break not mine oath! I would find other way to justify the project.”

  “But what I needs must know—”

  “No word o’ thy shame! It will be hidden.”

  Brown paused. Then she nodded. “I thank thee, Neysa. An thou canst do that, my concern be eased.”

  They walked back to the standing golem. Soon they were on their way back to the wooden castle, charging along under the starry sky.

  Once Brown was safely home, Neysa set out for the Red Demesnes afoot, where she knew Flach would remain until she rejoined him. She ran well in her natural form, but not as fast as in her youth. Still, it was a pleasure; she had always liked to run. She remembered the old years, with Stile, and her hopeless love for him, never spoken. Later her filly-foal Fleta had done what Neysa had not dared do, and had openly loved a man. In late retrospect, Neysa could not say that was wrong. Sometimes secret love was better in the open.

  And what of Brown’s secret love? The bitch Lycandi was dead, but the love she had indoctrinated Brown with remained. Neysa would help Brown win free of the trap the Adepts had put her into, but how could she free her from her secret shame? “No word o’ thy shame,” she had promised, and Brown had paused, then thanked her.

  Why had there been that pause?

  Neysa was not the cleverest of unicorns, and age was not improving her mind, but she normally figured things out in time. It was as if Brown had not been entirely satisfied with Neysa’s response. But it had been hard to be reassuring, when the shock of her discovery of Brown’s nature was new.

  Then it came to her. Brown had wanted to know how she felt, and whether her friendship had suffered because of the revelation. And Neysa had answered without meaning to: “No word o’ thy shame.” Brown had hoped she could speak without sacrificing their friendship, and had been disappointed.

  Yet now, too late, regretting what she had said, Neysa could not deny its truth. A curtain had dropped down between the two of them. How could true friendship survive the knowledge of what Brown was?

  Chapter 5

  Game

  Lysander had to admit it was interesting. The child Nepe, who was also Flach, had shown him magic; Alyc was showing him science, and the things of the science frame. Most of the naked serfs were working, but many had free time, and they populated the lounges and the Game Annex. Since food and sex were free, their main entertainment seemed to be competitive games. That of course was a major interest for Lysander, too, but he hesitated to push it, lest Alyc be uninterested. His first job was to cement his relationship with her, so as to remain in Citizen Blue’s favor.

  But after they ate—there were machines that dispensed anything desired that was healthy—and covered the premises, there wasn’t much to do. It was night, and though the halls had no closing, he was tiring. “I have had a long day,” he said. “It started on board a spaceship, and included an outdoor tour that had me talking to a unicorn, and now an indoor tour that has shown me more naked people than I thought existed. Is it possible to sleep?”

  “The Citizen allocated a chamber for you,” she said. “But if you would like to join me in mine…”

  He considered. Her incomplete sentence was evidently an ellipsis, and that meant that something significant had been omitted for his consideration. His preliminary briefing had made clear that whatever else occurred, when a man spent the night with an unrelated woman without other company, he was expected to indulge in copulation with her. If he did not wish to do so, he did not stay with her. His effort to dampen his reaction to her sexual attributes had been effective, and he had no inclination to get into human sex with her at this time. His brief handling of the harpy/cyborg’s legs had evoked temporary interest there, perhaps because Echo was a stranger; that was not the case with Alyc. But if he declined, she might be hurt or suspicious.

  Perhaps he could talk his way out of it, this night. “I am new to this culture, and fear giving offense. I think I am not at this time ready for anything other than a night of sleep. May I decline the sharing of your residence without upsetting you?”

  “Well, sure, of course,” she said, evidently disgruntled. “I mean, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, unless a Citizen says to. I just thought—” She broke off, shrugging.

  This wasn’t being easy. “I understand—please correct me if I am mistaken—that a man does not stay with a woman unless he copulates with her. I think I would like to do that with you, when I am less tired. So I feel I should not seek the pleasure of your company under false pretense.”

  She was studiously gazing away from him, but she peeked. “You mean it’s not that you aren’t interested?”

  He was getting it right! “By no means! It’s that where I come from, some experiences are best reserved for ideal conditions, rather than being squandered when things are imperfect.”

  She thought about that, and it was evident that the longer she thought, the better she liked it. “Then, maybe, would you like to stay with me, and just sleep?”

  “Why that would be very nice, if it is not an imposition.”

  “Right this way!” She strode for home at a brisk rate.

  Lysander followed, making a perceptual adjustment. He had abolished any sexual inclination by visualizing her as she was. That had to be modified now. So he schooled himself to see her as a human male would, blocking out his natural perception. For example, the way her plush buttocks flexed as she walked was supposed to be interesting and sexually appealing. A human male, contemplating that at length, was supposed to become sexually aroused, so that his copulatory member expanded—

  Oops. Hastily he cut off the focus; obviously he had it right. He stared over her head, hoping that none of the other serfs had noticed. But it was evident that they had, and were amused. Well, amusement was harmless.

  Alyc’s private chamber was pleasant enough. She had a body-cleaning alcove, a video screen, and a f
oam bed. “Clean up and lie down,” she told him. “I’ll watch the show.”

  Lysander stepped into the alcove, while Alyc lay on her bed and watched the screen. There was some kind of entertainment program on, resounding with people slipping and falling, getting whacked on their posteriors, and loudly protesting indignities. Alyc laughed, evidently enjoying it. He would have to study her reactions, so as to key in the normal human pattern. There was much his training had not properly prepared him for.

  He had assumed that the cleaning alcove would employ sonics, but this seemed not to. Instead there were handles whose purpose was opaque. This, too, had been omitted from his training: the details of variations of human hygienic devices. He hesitated just to turn the handles, lest he misuse the equipment.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I don’t wish to interrupt your entertainment, but I am unfamiliar with this mechanism.”

  “They don’t have showers on Planet Grenadier?” she asked, surprised.

  “They have sonic cleaners. Do you mean you clean with water?”

  “Sure.” she said, bouncing off the bed. “Why not? It’s recycled. You turn on the water here—” She reached past him to work a handle. Water blasted down from the ceiling, startling him. It was hot, but not unpleasantly so. “And soap here.” She worked another handle, and got a handful of foam. “Then you just spread it on and rinse it off, like this.” She smeared the foam on his chest.

  “But you are also getting wet!” he protested.

  “Well, I need to get clean too. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not. It is your chamber. But—”

  “You can soap me, then.” She guided his hand to the foam spout, and he got a handful of the frothy stuff.

  He smeared it on her shoulders and back and breasts, and she covered him similarly, while the water descended on them both. She reached around him to massage his back, in the process pressing in close and slippery. His hands slid down to the same buttocks he had contemplated before. They had been visually intriguing; now they were tactilely intriguing.