Piers Anthony - Juxtaposition

Sheen, meanwhile, had been busy on another private line. Now she glanced up. “It is true, sir,” she said. “My friends verify that in the past hour a general disquiet has formed into a pattern of opposition. The moment news flashed that you had reappeared in Proton, momentum gathered. The projected vote is marginally against you. Merle’s support could save you.”

“Listen to her. Stile,” Merle said. “The scales are finely balanced at the moment, but the full thrust of your opposition has not yet manifested. Sheen has more riding on this than her own possible Citizenship. If your Citizenship is revoked, your tenure will end and you will have to leave Proton. The prospect for her friends would decline drastically, perhaps fatally, incongruous as the term may be in that application.”

“How much do you know. Merle?” Stile asked tightly.

“Stile, I research what intrigues me. I have learned much about you in the past few hours. This enhances my respect for you. It is a thing of mine to take a piece of those I respect. This is a harmless foible, and I always give fair return. Come to me and I will help you.” She had him in a difficult spot. If she knew about the self-willed machines and possibly about Stile’s mission to restore parallelism in the separating frames, she could certainly cause him much mischief.

“Sir, I think you should go to her,” Sheen said. Stile found himself athwart a dilemma. He had told Mellon to arrange a private bet, to the limit of his available finances, that he would not be seduced by Merle. He did not care to lose that bet, for such a loss would wipe him out. But if her support was all that guaranteed his continuing Citizenship, he could lose everything despite winning the bet. He was between Scylla and Charybdis, the devil and the deep sea, the rock and the hard place. “I am frankly surprised you do not heed your metal fiancee,” Merle said. “She does seem to know what’s best for you.”

Stile’s flash of rage was stifled by Sheen’s imploring look. He decided to meet with Merle and try to explain. Maybe he could win through. “Give me your address.” She gave the code, and Sheen changed course. The book of magic would have to wait a little.

There was another call. This one was for Sheen, from Mellon. “We have a delivery for you,” he said. “Cosmetics for our employer.”

“I don’t need—“ Stile started to protest. But he was cut off by a glance from the serf.

“Thank you,” Sheen said. “I’ll pick them up at the nearest delivery tube when we leave the capsule.” She gave him Merle’s code, and the connection broke. “Do I look that haggard?” Stile asked plaintively. “I had a good night’s rest.”

“Mellon is not concerned about your appearance. Obviously something is afoot. Maybe the Lady Citizen has placed an order for an intoxicating or sexually compelling drug, and this is the counteragent.”

“Maybe,” Stile agreed morosely. “Sheen, Merle is pretty enough in her rejuvenated state, and I’m sure she has a good mind and lots of experience. But I’m simply not interested in the sort of liaison she desires. How do I get out of this one without imperiling my Citizenship?”

“What you are interested in is not very important,” she said. “Merle does not want any romance; she merely wants an act of sex to add to her collection. The practical thing is for you to give it to her.”

“And lose my bet,” Stile said.

Sheen looked startled. “Oh, my—I’m starting to think like a person! I forgot all about that! Of course you can’t oblige her.” She seemed relieved.

“If I oblige anyone in that way, it will be you.”

“Anytime.”

“After we’re decently married.”

“It’s not a decent marriage.”

The capsule arrived, sparing him further comment. They got out at a small private terminal. From here there was access to three small domes, one of which was Merle’s. Sheen went to the delivery chute and punched the coding for Mellon’s package. A small vial fell into her hand. Her brow furrowed as she brought the item back. “This is no cosmetic, sir. It’s—“ She broke off. “Let’s move quickly, sir.”

Suddenly gas hissed into the room from barred vents.

Sheen launched herself at the entrance to Merle’s dome.

It was locked closed.

“I don’t have the facility to analyze this gas,” she cried. “But I’ll bet it’s not cleaning fog. Breathe this, sir.” She opened the vial, holding it under his nose. Vapor puffed out. Stile took the vial, sniffing it as the first waft of the other gas reached him. The vial’s vapor was sweet and pleasant; the other gas was sour and stinging.

Sheen returned to the locked door. She opened her front cabinet, the left breast swinging out on hinges to reveal an array of small tools. Even in this crisis. Stile marveled at the completely womanish texture of that breast, when in fact it was a mere facade. Robotry was quite sophisticated. In a moment Sheen had burned through the lock with a tiny laser unit and had the passage open. Stile hurried through. Sheen shut the door behind them, blocking off the gas, and closed up her breast cabinet. She was whole and normal and soft again.

Stile felt woozy and sick. The antidote in the vial had helped, but that poison gas was nasty stuff. Someone had tried to exterminate him! Merle appeared. She was wearing a translucent negligee that did wonders for a body that hardly needed them. Stile noticed but hardly cared. He suffered himself to be led inside the Citizen’s dome.

“I knew they were going to try something,” Merle said. “I thought it would be at the Game Annex. I tried to get you here to safety, but they were too quick. I couldn’t say anything on the holo; even a private line is only as private as the technology behind it.”

“Our staff forwarded the antidote, sir,” Sheen told her. Stile sat in the comfortable chair where they had placed him, lacking initiative to do more than listen. “My staff has found a better neutralizer,” Merle said. She brought a breathing mask. “Use this. Stile.” She fitted it over his face.

Immediately his head began to clear and his stricken body recovered.

“The official indication is a malfunction in the cleaning apparatus,” Merle continued. “It’s not supposed to fog when anyone is there, and this time the wrong chemicals were used. We won’t be able to trace it, but I know the cause. There are activist Citizens who want you out of the way. Stile; I fear this is but the first attempt. You should be safe here, however.”

Stile removed the breathing mask and smiled weakly. “I thought you had another notion. Merle.”

“Oh, I do, I do. We have been through this before. But I do like you personally. Stile, and wish you well. You’re the most refreshing thing to appear on the scene in some time. Fortunately the two notions are not incompatible.”

“I fear they are. Merle. You have helped me get into a difficult situation.” Stile’s head had cleared, but his body remained weak; it was easier to talk than to act. He believed he could trust this woman.

“Do tell me!” she urged. “I love challenges.”

“Are we private here?”

“Of course. I am neither as young nor as naive as I try to appear.”

“Will you keep my confidence?”

“About the liaison? Of course not! That must be known, or it doesn’t count.”

“About whatever I may tell you of my situation.”

“I can’t guarantee that. Stile. I know something about your situation already.”

“Maybe you should tell me what you know, then.”

“You are known as the Blue Adept in the other frame. Oh, yes, I have been to Phaze; my other self lacked rejuvenation and modem medicine and died a few years back of natural complications, freeing me. But magic is not for me; I remained there only a few hours and retreated to the safety of my dome here. The germs there are something fierce! I do, however, have a fold of the curtain passing through my property. I pay a harpy well to update me periodically on Phaze developments. This is how I learned more of you, once my interest in you was roused. You have been honeymooning with your lovely Phaze wife, but Adepts have been laying snares for you, until recently you disappeared into the demesnes of the goblins. My informant thought you dead, though she reports a dragon and a hawk emerged safely and flew rapidly south east, eluding pursuit by Adept sendings. Evidently you survived by crossing the curtain. You seem to be a figure of some importance in Phaze—and perhaps in Proton too, judging by this assassination attempt.”