Phaze Doubt

2 - Magic

The Citizen’s granddaughter Nepe showed up before they finished their wine. She was a little girl, nine years old, naked in the serf manner, with flouncing brown hair covering her ears. She dashed up to Citizen Blue for a hug, her hair flying out with the vigor of her motion, then spied the visitor and abruptly turned formal. “You summoned me, sir?”

“I have hired Lysander,” Blue said, indicating him. “He does not believe in magic.”

Slowly the girl’s head turned toward Lysander. She smiled impishly. “We shall have to do something about that,” she said, with an odd certainty.

“Go with Nepe,” the Citizen said to Lysander.

Without a word, Lysander got up and approached the child. She extended her hand, and he reached out to take it—and paused, startled.

Her arm terminated in a mass of squirming tentacles.

Oh—she was a shape changer. There were several galactic species that could change their forms, and some of them were surely represented here. If this was the nature of the “magic,” he need have little concern.

He took the “hand” without flinching, knowing that it was someone’s notion of a joke or an initiation.

Suddenly they were standing in a field. Pleasant gray clouds drifted overhead, and sunlight brightened the waving grass. There was no evidence that the rays of the sun were bent at right angles; they seemed to descend from almost overhead, this being midday. But this amounted to an optical illusion. Just as a person saw the reflection in a mirror as an extension of the local scene beyond the mirror, he saw the sun where it seemed to belong. It was actually at right angles, to the south.

“You hungry, Lysander?” the child inquired in a different voice.

He glanced sharply down. He was now holding the hand of a boy! A tousle-headed lad clothed in black jacket and trousers, with blue socks and sneakers.

Oh: the girl had shape-changed again, forming her body surface into the appearance of clothing and quite possibly the semblance of masculinity beneath it. Still no magic. However, the abrupt change of scene still mystified him. How had that effect been arranged?

But he had to play the game. He affected unconcern. “Yes, actually. Is there suitable food here?”

“There’s a melon tree not far off, but it’s guarded by a dragon.”

“I’d like to see this dragon,” Lysander said. Indeed, he was curious about what the child would come up with next. He had to concede that this was an excellent demonstration.

“I’ll give you a ride. But you’d better put on some clothing. Outside the domes it’s Phaze now.”

Suddenly Lysander was clothed. Shirt, trousers, shoes—everything. It had happened like magic.

Uh-oh. The child was still trying to trick him.

There was a musical honk. He looked—and saw a horse standing beside him. No, not a horse—a unicorn, with a long spiraled horn set in its forehead. Where was Nepe?

The animal honked again, gesturing with its horn toward its own back. Actually it was male, and the honk came from the horn itself, sounding like a woodwind instrument. If this was a simulation, as seemed to be the case, it was a clever one!

Well, he would continue to play along. He stepped toward the animal. “I’m not much at riding,” he said. He had ridden horses, as it was an aspect of his gameplaying practice, but those had been tame and trained. He feared this creature was neither. He was also used to a saddle; bareback was more of a challenge. But if that was the way it was, so be it.

He grabbed a handful of mane and jumped, swinging a leg up and over. He half expected to get dumped as the animal bolted, but it remained still. Only when he was securely mounted did it move, and then carefully, so that he had no trouble keeping his seat.

The unicorn picked up speed, going into a trot. Then it played music through its horn: an actual melody. Lysander hung on and listened, amazed. He was unable to ascertain how such special effects were being accomplished.

They approached a grove of trees. Sure enough, one of them bore huge fruit that looked like melons—and there was a monstrous winged serpent snoozing around its base. The creature woke and hissed at them, sending up a cloud of smoke.

Lysander realized that such a creature could readily be mocked up with plastic and pseudoflesh, but the heat of its breath would still be dangerous. “Maybe I’ll pass on the melon,” he said.

The unicorn shrugged. Then it spouted huge wings, pumped them, leaped, and became airborne. Lysander clung to its back, alarmed. The ground was now receding at an astonishing rate. Magic? It was getting difficult to doubt!

They approached a purple mountain. The thing was literally purple, even at close range; the foliage of the trees had a purplish cast. He had seen a map of Proton on which was marked PURPLE MOUNTAINS, but he had assumed that was figurative.

A gross bird launched from a tall tree. It flew up to intercept the flying unicorn. Lysander tried to judge what kind it was. He knew most of the Earth types that would have been brought here with the human colonists, but this ungainly thing with the huge head and dangling tresses—

It was a harpy! A mythical creature, part vulture and part human woman. No such creature existed, and even if it did, it would hardly be able to fly, any more than the unicorn could. The dynamics were all wrong.

Magic? It was a good show!

“Sheer off! Sheer off, imbecile!” the harpy screeched. “Think I want a ‘corn in my tree?”

The unicorn sounded a brief melody. The harpy listened. “Oh. Sorry, Flach,” she screeched. “I should have recognized thee. I were looking at the handsome man. Well, land at the foot and we’ll talk.”

The unicorn descended, and in a moment came to a four-point landing at the base of the tree. Lysander dismounted, and the boy reappeared. Then the harpy came down and landed somewhat clumsily on the ground beside them. Her face and breasts were young, but her wings and talons destroyed any attractiveness she might have had for a human man.

Then she changed form, and became a young woman, tall and slender. Her face was the same, and probably her bosom, which was now covered by a feathery gown. “Well, what brings you here, Flach?” she inquired.

“This be Lysander,” the boy said. “He believes not in magic.”

The woman eyed him speculatively. “New to this planet?” she inquired.

Lysander nodded. “I arrived about an hour ago. I admit to being confused.”

“Hi. I’m Echo. My better half is Oche.” She extended her hand.

He took it. “I don’t wish to be impolite, but it has been my understanding that there is no such thing as magic.”

She nodded. “So Flach is showing you. That figures.”

“Actually, a little girl was showing me. I am not certain what—“ He broke off, for now Nepe was standing before him, dressed in a pinafore, her wild hair neatly braided.

“It’s hard to get used to, at first,” Echo said. “I didn’t believe, until the frames merged, and then I had one hell of an adjustment to make. How would you like to turn into a harpy without warning?”

“I would find that awkward,” Lysander agreed.

“You bet! But you have it easy, because you’re not native, so you didn’t have to merge with your opposite.”

“You and the harpy are the same individual?”

“Just as Flach and Nepe are,” Echo said. “You see, when there were two frames, one was science, the other magic, and long-term residents were represented in both. When they merged, so did the folk, and I’m telling you, it was carnage for a time! But now most of us have made the adjustment. When we go into the domes, we strip down and are serfs; outside we’re in Phaze. Then we dress and speak in the Phaze manner, and do whatever magic we can. It’s a pretty good combination, actually.”

“I don’t wish to impose, but would you object to providing more evidence? Could you, for example, change forms if I were holding you?”

She eyed him again. “That’s the neatest come-on line I’ve heard yet! Sure, hold me, handsome.” She stepped into his arms and kissed him.

He closed his arms around her, less interested in the kiss than in the mechanism of the change. He held her firmly—and then found himself with an armful of feathers. She had become the harpy, her lips still touching his. He was so surprised he let go.

She fell away, and had to flap her wings to recover before she hit the ground. “Thou didst drop me, thou dork!” she screeched. There was the tinkle of Nepe’s laughter.

If this wasn’t supernatural, it was a device beyond his reckoning. Echo had felt every inch the human woman—and she had been within his grasp as she changed.

“Let me try again,” he said. He squatted, and grabbed her two bird legs. “Change back.”

Abruptly he was holding on to one knee and one thigh. Both were definitely human.

“Satisfied?” Nepe asked. “Or do you want to squeeze her gams some more?”

Hastily he let go, though his human orientation was returning, and he found the legs interesting. “If it isn’t magic, it’s beyond me,” he confessed.

“It’s science,” Echo said. “I’m a cyborg. See, my body’s inanimate.” She opened her robe, exposing her breasts. She touched the right one, and it swung out from her torso to reveal a hollow cavity instead of mammary glands. “But Oche, she’s magic, all right.”

“I’ll take thee to the wolves,” Flach said, having changed without notice.

“Wolves? I’d rather not.”

But the lad was determined. “Take my hand; I’ll conjure thee to the Pack.”

With resignation, Lysander reached for the hand. “Come see me some time when you’re not busy, handsome,” Echo said. “I work for Citizen Powell, when I’m on duty in Proton. You?”

“Citizen Blue,” he said.

“You’re lucky!”

Then his hand made contact—and the scene changed.

They stood at the edge of a lovely valley whose Mower-specked expanse led down to a small meandering stream. A herd of horses were grazing, guarded by a single stallion pacing the perimeter. Horses? No, unicorns; each had its horn, and the colors were beyond anything seen on ordinary equines.

The stallion galloped up. He had a bright blue coat and red “socks” on his hind legs. As he moved, he played music on his horn, sounding very like a mellow saxophone.

The unicorn who had carried Lysander reappeared. This one had a black coat and blue hind socks, seeming to have a family resemblance to the stallion. He played a return melody, his flute-like theme prettily counterpointing the saxophone.

Then both animals became human, the change like the flick of an image on a computer screen. The boy was familiar, but the man was not. He had black hair and a black suit, with blue socks, and was of mature age. He looked tough.

The man eyed Lysander. “My grand-nephew tells me that thou be a new employee of Blue, and that thou hast difficulty assimilating our culture.”

“Correct. I had understood that magic was mainly illusion.”

“Flach will happily demonstrate magical illusion!” the man said. As he spoke, a disembodied eye appeared in the air behind him, the white of it grotesquely veined. A second eye formed beside it, and the two focused on Lysander. Slowly the right one winked. “But not now,” the man said sternly, without turning. The eyes vanished. “I suspect thy best course be to assume that what thou seest be valid, until thou dost become convinced. Ignorance be lethal, here.”

“I believe that, sir.”

The man frowned. “Oh, aye, thou seest me clothed, so dost assume I be a Citizen. Nay, in Phaze there be no Citizens. When the mergence came, we had to compromise in a number o’ ways, because some folk were merged and others had no other selves, and the status o’ selves could be different in the frames. So—“ He paused. “Be I confusing you?”

“Yes,” Lysander admitted.

The unicorn reappeared, and blew a loud note. Immediately there was the sweet tinkle of bells, and a mare broke from the Herd. Her coat was a deep red verging on purple, and her mane rippled iridescently. She was an astonishing and beautiful creature.

Then she became a blue heron, and flew toward them. Soon she landed, becoming a unicorn as her feet touched ground. She tinkled her bells again questioningly—but the sound was actually from her horn.

The stallion played another brief melody. The mare’s head angled so that one eye could orient on Lysander.

“Go with Belle,” Flach said. “Great-Uncle Clip wants to talk with me.”

“You mean, ride her?”

“If thou dost wish,” the boy said. “Oh—she will explain about the mergence.”

“But I can’t understand bells!”

“Now thou canst,” Flach said.

Lysander chose not to argue. He presumed there was some point to all this. His job was to go along, learning what he needed to. Certainly what he was experiencing was amazing, and the surprises showed no signs of abating.

He approached the beautiful mare. Up close he saw that she was old, like the stallion; flecks of gray showed in her hide. “May I ride you, Belle?” he asked.

Her bell sounded. “Aye.”

“Thank you.” He climbed on her back.

Then he did a doubletake. “I understood you!” he exclaimed.

She laughed with the pealing of bells. “Flach did it. He be the Unicorn Adept. We o’ the Herd be proud o’ him.” She started walking, leaving the man and boy behind.

“Unicorn Adept?”

The bells tinkled again, melodiously. “Clip asked me to clarify our system for thee.” These were not her precise words; rather, he was translating the sounds into his own sentences, as he was coming to understand the dialect of Phaze. It didn’t matter; he understood her perfectly. It was apparent that any further effort to resist acceptance of magic was likely to be futile; it was the readiest explanation for what was going on. “There were two frames, one magic, the other science. We unicorns lived in magic Phaze, while the Citizens and serfs lived in science Proton, in their domes, because they had polluted all the air and ruined the land. Many o’ us had other selves, but we could cross o’er not.”

“Let me see whether I understand,” he said. “You were a unicorn, and some person in Proton was the same as you?”

“Nay, some mare,” she tinkled. “I have no human form; it were not one I chose. We unicorns can usually learn two other forms, and I chose the heron and the cat. Clip chose man and hawk. So we trot together, and we fly together, but when I go to Proton with him he be a man and I be a horse. But I like it there not, so I remain out on the range.”

“The frames merged, and now the domes are Proton, and the outside land is Phaze?”

“Aye, by agreement. So when a Citizen steps outside, he assumes his Phaze form. If he be Adept, he has great power, but most o’ them be just ordinary folk. So the Proton folk mostly stay in their domes, and we Phaze folk remain mostly outside. Many of us have no opposite selves anyway, so it be easier. Things really changed not much, after the mergence settled down, except that the Adept Stile gained power.”

“Who?”

“The Adepts be the ones with much magic. They be mostly human, but the Red Adept be a troll, and the Unicorn Adept be pan unicorn. The Blue Adept always supported the unicorns, and the werewolves and vampires, so—“

“But you named a Stile Adept.”

“He were the Blue Adept, but he changed selves with Stile, and now he be Citizen Blue, and Stile be the Adept.”

“Oh—so Nepe’s grandfather—“

“Aye,” she tinkled. “Clip’s sister Neysa had a filly, Fleta, who mated with Blue’s son Mach, the rovot—“

“What?”

“In Proton there be rovots,” she tinkled patiently. “Like golems, only made o’ metal. Nepe be their child, so she be—“

“Wait! Wait! I’m all confused. I thought the frames were separate. How could a unicorn filly mate with a robot? Even if it were possible physically, they were in opposite frames!”

“Mach crossed o’er, and took Bane’s body, here, and loved Fleta. Their child be Flach. Bane crossed to Proton, and took Mach’s body, and married Agape the alien, and their child be Nepe. But when the mergence came—“

“They became the same!” Lysander exclaimed, the light dawning. “Stile and Blue are the same, and their sons are the same, and their grandchildren! But—“ He broke off, troubled by another aspect.

“One child be male and one be female,” she tinkled, understanding. “We believed it not either, but it be so. That unbelief were critical in Stile’s victory.”

“Just what was this victory? How did it relate to the merging of the frames?”

“The Adverse Adepts were gaining power, and were in league with the Contrary Citizens, and the Purple Adept sought to kill Stile and assume power. But Blue summoned the Platinum Flute, and Clef to play it, and they piped the frames together. Blue and Stile merged and liked each other, and Fleta and Agape liked each other, and Flach and Nepe, for all were good folk. But the bad Adepts and Citizens were mean folk, each out for himself alone, not sharing power, and they could stand their other selves not, and fell in torment struggling with themselves. By the time they came to accommodation with their opposites, the good folk were firmly in power. Now it be verging on the golden age, for Stile and Blue be reconciled with their sons Mach and Bane and their grandchildren Flach and Nepe, and all value the land and creatures. Ne’er again will evil govern either frame.”

“But how can magic work here, when it is unknown in the rest of the galaxy?”

“It be the Phazite,” she tinkled. “The magic rock ‘neath the mountains. It be the source o’ magic and energy. The bad Citizens were mining it, and selling it, and depleting it, so our magic were less. They cared for our welfare not, any more than they did for the air they spoiled before. But Stile and Blue stopped them, and now little rock goes out.”

“This rock provides magic and energy?”

“Aye. The Proton ships use it and the rovots and ‘chines, and it be best in the galaxy. The Citizens were getting much wealth, but we were fading.” She made a merry serenade of bells. “No more!”

Abruptly she halted. “What’s the matter?” Lysander asked.

“A goblin, spying on us!” she tinkled. “Do thou dismount; needs must I drive him out.”

Lysander quickly got off. Then she was a black panther, bounding into the brush.

There was a swirl of motion, and something like a little man leaped up and dodged behind a tree. The panther circled the tree, but evidently the goblin was gone.

The big cat came back. The beautiful unicorn reappeared. “They have no business here,” she tinkled indignantly. “These be ‘Corn Demesnes.”

Evidently so. Lysander remounted, and they continued on around the grazing herd. By the time they returned to the boy and stallion, the two had evidently finished their conversation. Indeed, the unicorn was grazing again, and the lad was playing with tiny clouds, making the black one chase the white one in crazy patterns just above the ground. When the two collided, there was a crack of thunder, and flare of lightning, and a bucket of water drenched the soil.

The boy became the unicorn. “We thank thee for thy help, Belle,” Flach piped politely. Lysander seemed to understand all music talk now, and he knew he wasn’t imagining it.

“Welcome, Adept,” Belle tinkled. “It be fun to rehearse the history. Tell the Lady we miss her.”

“Aye, I’ll nag her!” the boy said zestfully, reappearing. “Or I will,” the girl Nepe added. The changes seemed instant; Lysander could detect no transition. What else could it be but magic?

Then Nepe extended her hand. Lysander took it, knowing what was coming.

Sure enough, the scene changed. They were standing at the edge of a forest clearing where a number of wolves were lying. The wolves jumped up, smelling the intrusion—and beside Lysander was another wolf. “Tear him not, brothers!” Flach growled, this form of communication also now comprehensible. “I be showing him magic at Blue’s behest.”

A wolf approached Lysander—and abruptly became a woman. She was of indeterminate human age, no young innocent but also not old. “For thee, Flach, we honor this. But canst be sure he be worthy?”

“I thank thee, Bukisaho,” Flach said. “He be new to Phaze, and Blue wants him broken in. I know no more than this, and that he be named Lysander.”

“Thy human names be e’er strange,” she said. “I would second-guess Blue not, but mayhap thou shouldst include the Adept Tania on the tour.”

“Aye, excellent notion, bitch!” the boy exclaimed, startling Lysander.

The woman, noting his reaction, laughed—and so did the surrounding wolves, in their way. “Aye, he be new!” the woman agreed.

A young wolf appeared at the fringe of our, camp. “Sirelmoba!” Flach cried, spying it.

The wolf charged him, leaped into the air with teeth bared— and became a girl about his age, smacking into the boy with her mouth against his for an extremely solid kiss. Her hair was dark, like his, as were her furry jacket and skirt; she could have been his sister, but obviously wasn’t.

After an intense moment, she drew back her head but not her body. The two might be children, but they looked much like lovers, Lysander thought. “O Barel, it be but days but it feels like years!” the girl said. “I feel my age drawing nigh, any year now; be thou ready when I be!”

“But once we mate, we part!” he protested. “I be in no hurry for that, Sirel.”

“We will part not, only turn to friendship.”

He nodded. “Aye. Still, I be not rushed.”

“I will make thee rush, when my heat come,” she promised.

They were like lovers! They were talking of mating!

“This be Lysander,” Flach said, turning to him as the girl released him. “He be a new serf for Blue.”

“Pleased to meet thee, Lysan,” the girl said. “Thou hast no Phaze form?”

“No Phaze form,” Lysander agreed.

“Then I assume mine other form, to greet thee,” Sirel said—and abruptly a wheeled machine sat in her place. “I am Troubot, the trouble-shooting robot,” it said via a speaker. “I love Nepe, but I fear my love is vain.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nepe said, appearing, naked as she had been in the dome. “But unless you want to put on a humanoid body like Daddy’s—“

The wolf-girl reappeared. “It be more fun being a bitch.”

Bitch: a female dog or wolf. Now Lysander had it straight.

“I must on,” Flach said. The changes were so quick and natural that it seemed pointless to try to track them. “We be going to see Tania.”

Sirel frowned cutely. “Thou knowest I like thee not with that woman.” The way she said it, “woman” sounded the way “bitch” did away from Phaze.

“Dost forget she played the Flute, that we might beat the e’il Adepts?” Flach inquired, smiling.

“Nay, I forget that not, neither her power.”

“Which she would waste not on me,” he retorted.

Sirelmoba relented. “Aye, why waste anything on thee!”

He made a grab for her, but she turned wolf again and glided away. Flach turned wolf himself, and growled after her, then reappeared as the boy. “Come, Lysan,” he said, extending his hand.

Lysander took it—and they were at the base of another section of the Purple Mountains. Partway up was a pleasant cottage, with a thatched roof and plaster walls. An easy path led up to it.

“If I may inquire,” Lysander said cautiously, “what is significant about the Adept Tania?”

“She has the power o’ the Evil Eye,” Flach explained as they walked up the path. “When her brother were the Tan Adept, and sought to destroy what Grandpa Blue had wrought, she fought for us, and helped us prevail, and now she be the Adept while Tan be prisoner.”

“But why should I see her? I am of no significance.”

The lad glanced at him with a disturbing hint of understanding. “Blue takes serfs not for naught, and sends them to Phaze not for naught. Least does he put us”—Nepe flashed momentarily, showing that he meant the combination—“in charge of such, e’en for an hour, without reason. It be our task not merely to show thee magic, but to fathom thy nature. Tania will do that.”

“Fathom my nature? I’m an android!”

“But what is thy mind, Lysan? Thinkst thou to step into the Blue Demesnes unchallenged? An thou be sent to assassinate Blue, needs must we know it early.”

“I’m no assassin!” Lysander protested, appalled.

“An we take thy word on that, be we smart?”

“I see your point. So Tania will know? What is she, a mind reader?”

“Not exactly. She will compel thee with her Eye, which be not truly e’il now, and thou willst tell thy nature.”

Lysander felt a chill. If the woman could do that, he was lost! But perhaps it was a bluff. What could a child know, after all?

They completed the ascent to the cottage. Flach knocked on the door. “Adepts, this be Flach! I bring a serf from Proton-frame.”

The door opened. A beautiful woman of about thirty stood within, in a tan dress. Her hair was tan, and her eyes too. Suddenly the significance of the name registered. Tan, Tania. The color was a badge.

“Welcome, Flach,” she said smiling. “We be e’er pleased to see thee, and any thou dost bring.” She glanced at Lysander—and he felt another chill. Her eyes abruptly seemed larger, and intense, as though capable of hideous power. “Come in.” She stepped back to give them access.

Inside was a pleasant room with a picture-window view of the mountainside and open field beyond. There was also a man, somewhat older than Tania, bespectacled and of slight build, though healthy. Lysander realized that he must have qualities that didn’t show, to be the companion of such a woman.

Flach performed the introductions. “This be Lysander, new serf o’ Blue, from offplanet. This be the Adept Clef.”

Clef walked forward to shake hands. “Welcome to Phaze, Lysander. What brings you here?”

Was there any point in telling his story? But he realized that all he could do was bluff it out. “I am an android, trained in games and computer feedback circuitry. I hope to achieve both pleasure and information during my tenure here, and money too, so as to be a person of account on my home planet when I return.”

“Yes, I remember my own tenure as a serf,” Clef said. “When I washed out in the game, I thought to depart Proton, never to return. But Stile showed me Phaze, and later Tania brought me back.” He went to the woman and put his arm around her affectionately. She turned immediately and kissed him with an eagerness reminiscent of that of Alyc. But she was no Alyc; what was it that made Clef a figure to compel her devotion?

“Methought Tania could test Lysander, to be assured of his constancy,” Flach said. “We like strangers not around Blue.”

Again Tania glanced at Lysander. She shifted subtly. “Why not put him on a lie detector?” she asked.

“If he’s an assassin,” Nepe said, “he would be trained to fake through that. But he can’t fake you, Citizen.”

Lysander realized that Tania had shifted to her Proton form, which was evidently the same as her Phaze form. So she was also a Citizen! That meant that she had enormous power, if she chose to exercise it, despite her rustic residence.

“You know my wife does not like to use her power carelessly,” Clef said. “She can orient on a given subject only once.”

“Gee, I forgot,” Nepe said, abashed. “I was thinking it was like the weres or ‘corns, always there.”

“Always there for a new subject,” Clef said. “If there is any chance that Stile might want him checked at a later date, we should wait on that. But perhaps I can be of service, instead.”

“Would you, dear?” Tania asked, evidently relieved.

“For you, anything,” Clef said. He seemed to be speaking literally. He walked across the room and fetched an instrument from a shelf.

Lysander wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or increased concern. These people obviously intended to check him out—but how did they propose to do it? Nepe was right: no lie detector would betray him; he had been manufactured to be resistant to the human signals such machines interpreted. Only a direct mind probe could fathom his truth, and his masters had not anticipated that on this planet. In immediate retrospect, he realized that he had blundered into accepting employment directly with Citizen Blue; of course the man was careful about his associates, being the leading figure of the planet! Had Lysander sought employment with a lesser Citizen, he should have passed unnoticed. He had asked for trouble, and now was getting it.

The instrument turned out to be a shining silver flute. No, not silver—platinum. This was the Platinum Flute the unicorn Belle had mentioned, that Clef had played to merge the frames. That had seemed like mythology, but now it seemed literal. But what could a flute really do?

“Sit down,” Tania said, indicating chairs and taking one herself. “It’s always such a pleasure to hear him play.”

“Aye,” Flach agreed. “Ne’er heard I the like!”

Lysander did not anticipate pleasure. If the Flute really could somehow fathom his mind, it would be the end of him. Yet maybe it was illusion or bluff.

Clef played. It was immediately evident that he was an expert flautist; the music was sure and sweet. But how could mere music verify whether a man was an assassin? Of course that was not the case with Lysander; he was merely a counterinsurgency agent, who would kill only at need. He liked Citizen Blue and his family, and would do his best to avoid doing them harm, so long as his mission was fairly accomplished. Still, the premature exposure of his mission would be fatal to it and probably himself.

The music intensified. Lysander felt it orienting on him, entering him, drawing him out of himself. It was as if he were floating up and looking down at his body and the bodies of the others. But he wasn’t dying, he was relaxing; it was pleasant. He would be satisfied to float forever on this magical music!

But if they had intended to make him talk about his true mission, they had failed. He felt no compulsion at all to talk about anything, merely to float and reflect. So he could relax, until the Hectare came. Then—he would see.

The music ended. Lysander thought it had been only a minute or two, but the sun seemed to have jumped forward in the sky beyond the picture window. It had been at least an hour. That music was potent!

The others were silent as Clef put away his flute. They seemed to be recovering from the effect of it, just as he was.

“Did I pass inspection?” he inquired, trying to be light.

Clef turned to him. “I suspect you are the one we want. It is fortunate that Citizen Blue hired you.”

“For work on circuit feedback?”

“There is a prophecy that a great trial will come to our culture, that can be ameliorated only by a particular person, a newcomer to the planet. We have been watching for promising arrivals. The music suggests that you qualify. I hope it is correct.”

“A prophecy?” Lysander asked, surprised again. “A magical prediction?”

“You might call it that. Actually, prophecies are more difficult to assimilate, as they are often vague about details, and considerable interpretation is needed. But they are always correct in the end. If you are the one, you will be invaluable to us.”

Lysander spread his hands. “Somehow that seems like more than I should be credited with. I ‘m really not a planet-saving type.”

“Perhaps.” Clef shrugged as if unconcerned. “It was pleasant to play again, at any rate.”

“It was fun to listen!” Flach said. Then Nepe appeared. “But I guess we better go on back to Grandpa Blue.” She extended her hand to Lysander.

He took it, relieved that he had gotten through their test. Evidently the magic had oriented on his special mission, but not clarified its nature. Save the culture? Not by their definition! He was on the other side.

He blinked. They were back in Citizen Blue’s apartment, all naked except for the Citizen, and Alyc was there, gazing at him expectantly. “Yes, I now believe in magic,” he said, forestalling her. “This little lady showed me quite a world!”