“But an thou couldst help us, and thou decided to at the last moment, would it be not ironic an thou hadst let the moment pass and could not? What be best for thou is to keep thine options open, so that an thou dost change thy mind, it will count until the end.”
“Keep my options open,” Lysander agreed. “Is that possible?”
“Aye. Mischief needs thine input now, for calculations that be beyond it o’erwise. An thou help it now, thou canst prevent them from being used on our behalf until thou dost decide.”
“How can I be sure they would not be used without my choice?”
“The honor o’ Mischief.”
“A machine with honor? Or do you mean it is programmed for it?”
“Aye. Dost think we lack this?”
“You serve the interest of your planet, and this is integral to it. I can trust you only to do what you must to save it.”
“But an thou hadst access to the programming o’ the machine? Thou canst verify that we have touched it not, lacking in such expertise.”
“If you let me modify the programming, then I can be sure of the security of the data.”
“We will let thee do what thou choosest, and thou willst be welcome in these Demesnes meanwhile.”
Lysander nodded. “Then I can tackle the problem.”
“Give us an hour to access the sealed panels—”
“No need. I can verify the status and programming from a keyboard.”
“A keyboard?”
“You really have no experience with computers!” Lysander exclaimed. “All your dealings have been verbal!”
“Aye. We be Phaze folk.”
“You know I could completely ruin your system?”
“An thou choose to help us not, there be no difference; all will be destroyed.”
True enough. “Where is the keyboard?”
“Mischief, tell him.”
A light flashed. A panel slid open. There was a standard work station access, with keyboard and screen and accessories.
Lysander sat down before it and began typing. In a moment he was lost in the intricacies of the very type of work for which he had been trained.
“Lysander?”
He looked up from the screen, blinking. It was Echo.
For a moment he was at a loss. “I—I should have sought you,” he said. “To explain—”
“Weva explained. I accepted her offer.”
“That seems best. But I want you to know I did not seek—”
“I know. But we both know that love potion was a contrivance, intended to influence you. That failed, and there was no further purpose. Now we are both free of what was perhaps an imperfect association.”
“Perhaps.” He looked at her. He still found her beautiful. “But I found no fault with it. I never loved before, and was happier in that state than now. If it was imperfect, it remained good enough for me.”
“For me also,” she said. “It was a nice time. But now it is over, and—”
“Does it have to be over?”
She shrugged. “What is the point, without love?”
“What was pleasurable in love, may be so also without it. We do not need to break off our association—”
“Oh. Sex without obligation. Forget it.”
“I didn’t mean—”
But she was already sweeping out of the chamber. She had misunderstood him, but perhaps not completely. He had been thinking of sex—but also of the association. It would have been nice to discover whether their compatibility had been wholly the product of the love potion, or had a natural underpinning. Perhaps, if they had given it a chance…
Well, she wasn’t interested, and that might be answer enough. He had loved her, and through her the culture of the planet. But she was, in her Phaze aspect, a harpy, and they were not known for sweetness. If the potion had reversed that portion of her nature, and the nullification had restored it, it was pointless to speculate further.
Too bad Jod’e had been taken by the Tan Adept! There had been no love magic there, and she was a most intriguing woman. In fact too bad that Alyc had been an enemy agent. Though he was also one, he no longer respected her, but if even she could have been here…
He put such thoughts from his mind. The intrigue of the challenge that had defeated the computer was here for him, and he intended to lose himself in it.
It wasn’t long before he ascertained the nature of the problem: they hoped to slide the merged frames as a unit around the black hole to the fantasy side. For the distortion in the vicinity of the black hole was not just physical, so that light bent at a right angle; it represented a tangential connection between the science and the magic frames themselves. When the shell had been a perfect sphere, the curtain had transported some people from the science hemisphere to the magic hemisphere and back; now the two were melded and could not be separated without destroying the whole. But they might be moved together, like a tectonic plate, if there was a sufficient shove.
That shove was to be provided by the explosion of the Magic Bomb. If conditions were right, it would move the frames into the magic realm, and there would be nothing remaining in the science realm except an apparent black hole, unapproachable by any ordinary means. If the conditions were wrong, it would simply break up the shell, and the fragments would fall into the hole. In either case, the apparent planet would be gone from the science universe. But in only one case would it move intact to the magic universe.
If it moved intact, science and magic would work here. But away from this shell, only magic would work. Perhaps there would be exploitive creatures who came to take advantage of the unique qualities of science, or to steal the Phazite that powered the magic locally. But there had been no sign of such intrusion in the three preceding centuries. All the colonization, both animal and plant, had been from the science realm, crossing over. So it seemed likely that the inhabitants would be left alone. That was what they wanted.
If it slid around intact, the Hectare would be brought with it. But they would be cut off from their home planet and their section of the galaxy. They might be able to retain control, but that would be pointless, because they had not taken over the planet for themselves, but as part of the reorganization of this sector of the galaxy. They would do the practical thing, and yield power to the local authorities, trusting them to act in a practical way. To find ways to use the special abilities of the Hectare. It could be a richer society than it had been, because of that infusion of new talent.
It was a good plan. It should work. If the shell could be rotated intact.
The problem was that there was a virtually infinite number of connections to be made, to channel the stresses of the push correctly. A path had to be charted for every atom individually. Any that were not charted would go astray, and not make it to the magic realm. Any that were inaccurately charted would interfere with their neighbors that were on course. There would be overlapping and friction. In effect, there would be sand in the gears, and the whole thing would be brought to a halt. That would be disaster. There was only one chance, when the Magic Bomb took effect; it had to be done exactly right, or all was lost.
The Game Computer was a fine machine, but it simply wasn’t up to this calculation. It had been working on it for a hundred and fifty years, and was less than halfway through. It had a scant five years to go, by local time, and it wasn’t nearly enough. The paths had to be at least ninety-nine per cent charted and correct, or there would be destruction. The Book of Magic could not assist in this, because this was basically a science problem.
There was a way to speed it up, he saw. What was required was an algorithm: a set of rules for solving each case in a finite number of steps. A way to reduce the parameters so that the Game Computer—Mischief—could handle the simplified problem in the time allowed. A good algorithm could enhance effective calculation velocity a thousandfold. Even an indifferent one could speed things up thirtyfold, which was what was required.
Mischief was not a
dvanced enough to devise such an algorithm. But Lysander, with his Hectare brain and training, could. Oh, it would be a challenge, and it might take him months to complete it, but he had that time. He could, indeed, save the frames.
And he could secure Mischief against any other intrusion. It hardly mattered; the untrained elves could barely comprehend the mathematics even if he gave a course in it. It was his decision.
His mind was already coming to grips with the problem, for this was the nature of the Hectare brain. He had to solve it, for his own satisfaction, even if that solution were never used. Since he could do so without risking his mission, he would indulge himself.
There was however one detail he had to find out about. The calculations could be made, and the courses set—but a connection had to be made between the two. There had to be a mechanism to tell the atoms where to go, in effect. The elves surely had something in mind, but it wasn’t evident in the computer.
He got up. His shoulders were aching; he had concentrated so hard he had been hunching over. “Where is the Chief?” he asked Mischief.
“On the way, Lysan.”
Indeed, in a moment Chief Oresmite appeared. “Thou has need o’ me?”
“I can solve your problem. But I need to know the mode of communication between the—”
“The flutes.”
“The iridium flutes? But mere sound will not—”
“They use music to marshal magic.”
“Oh. Yes. But only two folk play them, and it would take a hundred to—”
“Nay, two suffice. The harmonics and the beats, guided by the Hectare aspect, will bear the signals.”
“Chief, it isn’t physically possible for just two to—”
“They will play the flutes only for practice. The true melody will be in their minds, guided by Mischief—an thou allow it. The iridium flutes be mere decoys; the ultimate flute be in Weva’s fancy.”
Lysander nodded. “Now I understand. I will key the pattern of solutions in to music, so that it will work—if I allow it.”
“An thou wish to talk to any, in the interim, any will talk to thee. If not, not. We trust in thee, and in the prophecy.”
“You have a lot of trust, Chief,” he said wryly.
Chapter 14
Duet
The time passed seemingly swiftly, though this bore no relation to the ratio beyond the Pole. Lysander worked hard on the algorithm, using Mischief to make supplementary calculations. It was an irony, he thought, that he finally had complete access to this computer, as he had wanted at the outset, but wasn’t bothering with either games or machine consciousness. Instead he was working out a program that would defeat his purpose in being on this planet (shell). But what a glorious challenge it was!
He could not work all the time; even his Hectare brain could handle only so much at one sitting, and then he had to take time off. The community was eager to entertain him. There were indeed a number of human men and women, and to his eye there was a certain resemblance between some of the women and Tania, their long-gone ancestor. He dated them, and they were barely restrained in their eagerness to get him into a breeding mode, though he told them plainly that he was infertile. “Aye, but mayhap with magic…” one suggested as she seduced him.
He thought about that. Magic did phenomenal things, here. It was responsible for Flach/Nepe and Weva/Beman. (He had grown quite interested in Weva, until she teasingly showed him her other aspect: she too was a male/female composite. That turned him off, as perhaps she intended.) Surely it could make a full man of an android, if properly applied.
“Aye, ‘Sander, it could,” Nepe replied when he asked her. She had grown into a charming young woman, her charms no accident, because of course her amoebic flesh could be shaped to any form she chose. She showed a certain physical interest in him, but he thought of Flach, present as her alternate self, and did not reciprocate. It was obvious that however much those two composites played around, it was each other they were destined for. Whether it would be Flach-Weva or Beman-Nepe wasn’t certain; so far both male versions seemed more interested in relating to the eager young females of the colony than to their opposite numbers, while the females were more reserved. It was an interesting situation.
“If Phaze survives?” he asked.
She smiled teasingly. “Aye.”
And of course there would be little point, if it did not, for he could sire no offspring, fertile or not. This made him think about his position, as perhaps Nepe had intended. The choices were simple. Either he held to his mission, and torpedoed the plan by refusing to release the computed figures, and the worlds of Proton and Phaze perished, along with the Hectare who were here. It was already too late to warn them; in less than a day they would not be able to evacuate. So they were doomed. Or he could cooperate with the enemy, and save the frames, and render the Hectare into subservient status. He would incidentally save himself, too.
But his mission was clear. It was not his place to judge its merit. It was his place to fulfill it without question. His judgment was confined to questions of compromise necessary in order to facilitate his mission, as when he helped Nepe fetch the Hectare seed. That had indeed enabled him to discover the Adepts’ plan, so carefully implemented here by Clef and Tania and Mischief and the elves. Now he had simply to act to complete his mission—and he could do that by inaction.
So he set the matter aside and sought his date for the evening. She was as eagerly obliging as always. But the truth was, with the number of eligibles limited to about six, the matter was becoming a bit dull. He was also tired of walking in the subterranean park, where stalagmites formed a forest of trunks in many colors, and in watching re-reruns of the community’s store of video shows. Life was healthy here, as all things physically necessary to survival were provided, but emotionally stultifying. Many of the natives spent a great deal of time sleeping or gaming, but sleep was not for him, beyond the minimum required for survival, and gaming was now his vocation instead of his avocation.
It was no better for the elves, who on the surface had mined iridium and fashioned it into assorted artifacts. Deprived of their natural way of existence, they reacted in much the fashion of the human beings, sleeping, gaming, socializing, and fighting. Chief Oresmite was at times hard put to it to keep the peace.
There were some human-elf liaisons, not because of any natural affinity, but because of sheer boredom with the limits of their own populations. Lysander had not understood this well at first, but in time the relative unfamiliarity of the elf maidens became appealing, and he found himself dating them too. Such liaisons were officially discouraged, but privately tolerated; they were better than violence.
The whole community existed to support Mischief and the effort to save Phaze. But most of its work had been done before the four newcomers had arrived. Only if there was a cave-in in a tunnel or some other emergency was there actual need for human or elfin action. It was apparent that those who had settled here had made a considerable sacrifice. All longed for the time when they would be freed to live again on the surface—or die.
“The truth be,” an elf lass confided to him once, as she showed him what elves knew about fundamental interaction that human beings did not, “that I care not o’ermuch which it be, just so long as the dullness be done.” That seemed to be a general sentiment. They knew his position, but were not pushing him to save Phaze.
He avoided Echo, and she avoided him. But after a year desperation brought them together. “I told you I wasn’t interested in sex without obligation,” she said. “I have changed my mind.”
“It was better when we were in love,” he said. “If there were another potion, I would take it with you.”
“So would I. But there isn’t. Such potions work only once for a given couple. We would have to do it the hard way.”
“The hard way?”
“By falling in love naturally.”
“You mean that’s possible? I thought—”
“So d
id I. But others say that though it is harder, after a potion and nulling, it can be accomplished. It has to be worked at. I know you wouldn’t be interested in that.”
“I thought you wouldn’t be interested!” he said.
She gazed at him. “I wasn’t interested in being your mistress. Then. Now it doesn’t matter. Anything’s better than this boredom.”
“Are the two incompatible?”
“Love and sex? They weren’t before.”
“Let’s consider it a challenge.”
“A challenge,” she agreed.
It turned out to be worth it. They could handle the sex readily enough, for they had had a lot of practice in their original month in love, but the love was slower. After a month there was only a flicker of emotion. After six there was some. After two years; it was significant. After three it was assuming the aspect of a shadow of their former feeling.
“I think we are right for each other after all,” he said. “I have not been bored since we undertook this challenge.”
“Nor I,” she agreed. “Now I am glad we lost the unnatural love, because we are proving what is real.”
They kissed, quite satisfied. It seemed that love was most valuable when it was a struggle to achieve.
Four years after his arrival, Lysander was able to announce that the algorithmic computations were complete. “The figures, if invoked, will do the job,” he said.
Oresmite’s delight was restrained. “Then we must deal.”
“My position is unchanged.”
“But thou hast had opportunity to consider. Be it a victory for the Hectare an all be destroyed?”
“They would not consider it so.”
“But it be a victory for us, an it be saved.”
“Agreed.”
“So one side can win, and the other can only lose.”
Phaze Doubt Page 32