Piers Anthony: Unicorn Point

“Do you remember Citizen Blue?” Troal asked. “Perhaps you know him as the Adept Stile.”

“Stile! Yes, of course; how could I forget! He fetched the magic Platinum Flute!”

“We believe he has need for your assistance again.”

“There on Proton? But I can not return there; my tenure as a serf concluded, and I am not allowed back. In any event, I have a pressing schedule in this section of the galaxy; we are organizing an interspecies orchestra.”

“Your return to Proton may be barred by Proton custom,” Troal said. “But events may override that. Citizen Blue is in serious trouble, and there is a suggestion that you are the key to the resolution of his problem.”

“I’m not sure you understand. Citizen Troal. My prior service was to enter the frame of Phaze and play the magic Flute at a critical time. Thereafter the frames were permanently separated; it is no longer possible to cross over. Since the magic Flute remains on the other side of the curtain, and only it is capable of re-establishing the connection, there is noth ing I can do for you.”

“Nevertheless, Citizen Blue evidently believes—”

“I am sorry. I suspect further dialogue is pointless. I am in any event too old to travel such a distance on mere speculation that I might be of some use.”

Troal looked baffled. Clef was making sense.

“Sir, if I may talk to him,” Tania murmured.

The Citizen shrugged. “Of course. But make it brief.” Tania stepped forward, adjusting her decolletage. “Clef, I be Tania, daughter of one thou mayest have encountered in the Phaze variation as the Tan Adept. Methinks that thou’rt the finest musician o’ our time. We believe that thou dost be the only one who can help us save Proton and Phaze from a terrible fate. We know not how thou mayest do this, but we be prepared to do anything required to make it possible. Any thing! Please, I beg of thee, come immediately to this planet, that we may explore possibilities.”

Clef stared at her. “Of course.”

The others watched, astonished, as Tania made a little bow to the screen. Then the connection dissolved. “What did you do?” ‘Corn demanded. “How come he changed his mind?”

She turned to him, a partial smile on her face. Her dress was open at the front, showing most of one breast and part of the other. Her hair was slightly wild. Her eyes seemed enormous—and as her gaze met his, they seemed to grow larger yet, sending an oddly pleasant shiver through him. “You vamped him!” Agape exclaimed.

Tania drew her dress up so that little more than her neck showed, and smoothed out her hair. Her eyes diminished. “It’s a talent I have found effective on men other than yours. I prayed for some of what my other self can do with her Eye, and perhaps I got it. It was a desperation ploy.”

“But that man is old enough to be your father!” Agape protested.

“And what is wrong with that?” the Bat Girl inquired. Agape glanced from her to Citizen Troal.

“Nothing, of course,” she said, embarrassed.

“And you used Phaze idiom, reminding him of what offers there,” Citizen Troal remarked. “That was clever of you. I wish I could have seen you as he saw you.”

“Not likely!” the Bat Girl snapped. “. . . sir.” They all laughed. ‘Corn knew that his mother, perhaps the most beautiful woman of Proton, had nothing to fear from others. Still, the way Tania had looked in that moment—if it had had such impact on himself, a child, what would have been the effect on a grown man? Now Clefs change of heart was no mystery!

Galactic travel was swift, when facilitated by a Citizen of Proton. Within a day Clef arrived.

“I don’t want to see him,” Tania said, embarrassed. “If I had thought about it at all, I wouldn’t have—”

“Clef is a gentleman,” Troal said. “Be assured he will treat you as a lady.”

“Which I don’t deserve!”

But she did meet him, completely demure in a cloaklike dress, and Clef was indeed polite. He had brought his flute made of platinum but not, he explained, magic, unfortunately. “I would give everything I have dreamed of else where, to be in Phaze again, to possess the magic Flute again,” he said. “When you, Tania, perhaps subconsciously, used the Phaze idiom, it reminded me of my longing for it. So my presence here is selfish, I regret to confess. If there is even the remotest chance—“ He shrugged.

“We hope there is,” Tania said, visibly relieved.

“Citizen Blue must believe there is,” ‘Corn said, showing his key, which still glowed with Clefs picture. They explained all that they knew of the situation to Clef.

Clef nodded. “So the parallelism has strengthened in recent decades,” he said. “That suggests quite strong connections between the frames despite their seeming separation. Perhaps this is because with no way to cross over physically, the force of equalization is channeled to other mechanisms.”

“That is our conclusion,” Citizen Troal agreed.

“That may mean in turn that something roughly similar to our present meeting is occurring in the frame of Phaze,” Clef continued. “Perhaps someone is fetching the magic Flute.”

“But how can you play it, when it is there and you are here?” ‘Corn asked.

“That is the salient question,” Clef said. “But if my friend Stile—or his other self—believes that it is possible, then it behooves us to explore the matter. Perhaps the answer will offer.”

“But there is danger for all of us on Planet Proton,” Troal reminded him. “Citizen Purple is trying to eliminate all opposition.”

“I realize that. But I am in my waning years, and perhaps have relatively little to lose. We must try to consult with Citizen Blue; he is the only one who truly knows how I may help.”

“We may be able to sneak a small party in,” Citizen Troal said. “My wife and I are watched, so cannot approach the planet, but if others move in by a devious route, it may work. However, the moment you enter Citizen Blue’s premises, discovery is inevitable; you will have very little time to act.”

“Understood,” Clef agreed.

The return was more complicated than the departure, but just as urgent; they knew they had to act swiftly, or it would be too late. If Citizen Purple got well enough established to believe he could afford to kill his captives, what would be left except vengeance and ruin? It was ironic, ‘Corn thought, that the Contrary Citizens had already won their contest; had they just honored the agreements, their hold over the planet would have been secure. But victory had been the signal for the falling out of thieves, and now they were hurting each other as much as their opponents.

Indeed, it might have been that internecine quarreling which enabled the foursome to sneak back onto the planet. Citizen was watching Citizen, each nervously guarding his own holdings while trying to grab those of his neighbors. Anarchy was developing. So no notice was taken when a noted musician from a far planet arrived with several sealed boxes of equipment about which he was very finicky. There was also a reaction to local custom. He made a fair scene when leaving the ship: “Naked? You expect me to strip stark naked?”

‘Corn smiled. He had been revived the moment the ship landed, as had the others, so that they could act quickly. They remained in their boxes, properly naked, ready to push open the unlatched lids and leap out at need. But as long as the ruse remained effective, they remained hidden, listening. ‘Corn was sure that Agape and Tania found this scene as amusing as he did. Clef had been a serf, and well understood the rule for serfs; but he was returning as a different man, one who had never before been to this planet. Evidently there had been some details this other person had overlooked. The spaceport personnel patiently explained about Citizens and serfs. They had been through exactly this sort of scene many times before. They were sorry, but no matter how au gust the musician was on his home planet, he was reckoned as a serf here, and had to adopt serf ways. He must address any clothed person as “sir” and honor any directive that person gave implicitly; he must seek the sponsorship of a Citizen if he wished to remain on the planet more than a few days; and he must go naked.