Piers Anthony - Juxtaposition

“But Blue could love thee as a woman,” Brown said. “And thou couldst love him.”

How intimately had the two consulted while they worked on the restoration of Trool? Brown seemed to know a lot more about Stile’s business than he had told her. He decided to stay out of this conversation.

“I love him already,” Sheen said. “Life could not change that. And his love will always be for the Lady Blue. My life would not change that, either, and I wouldn’t want it to. So all I really have to gain, by marrying him in Proton, is the precedent for the self-willed machines—and if I were alive, that precedent would no longer exist.”

“Oh. I guess so,” Brown said. “I think thou art just fine as thou art. Lady Machine. So I guess thou canst just use the magic book to cure Blue’s knees, and maybe make him a little taller, and—“ Now Stile had to join in. “My knees are part of my present life; I no longer care to have them fixed. And my height—I always wanted to be taller, for that is the human definition of status, however foolish we all know it to be—I share Sheen’s opinion. I would be a different person, with new problems. I stand to gain nothing by changing what I am.”

Brown shrugged. “Okay. Actually, the Little Folk are perfect the way they are, and thou art not much different.” That jarred Stile, but he tried not to show it. “I’ll make up a golem in thine image; the book can make it flesh, and the other Blue can move into it when he’s ready.” She rode off.

In due course an enemy contingent arrived—a small squadron of tanklike earthmovers, borers, and personnel transports. The Citizens of Proton had no formal armed forces, since no life existed outside the domes, ordinarily. Construction vehicles tended to be enclosed and airtight, but some were remote-controlled or robotic. The present group was of the last type.

“Low-grade machines,” Sheen said. “The Citizens know better than to trust the sophisticated robots, though in truth only a small percentage is self-willed.”

“I hope your friends are not suffering unduly as a result of betraying their nature to the Citizens,” Stile said. He was uncertain which form of language to use in the juxtaposition zone, and decided to stick to Proton unless ad dressing a Phaze creature.

“The juxtaposition has proved to be enough of a distraction,” she said. “It is not easy to identify a specific self willed machine when it wants to conceal itself. If the enemy wins this war, all my kind of machines will be destroyed.” Stile knew she was speaking literally; there would be absolutely no mercy from the Citizens. The enemy machines formed up before the ball of Phazite. One fired an excavation bomb at it, but nothing happened.

“Phazite protects itself,” Sheen remarked. “You can move it or use it, but you can’t damage it with less than a nuclear cannon.”

Several laser beams speared toward the sphere, but again without effect. Regardless of magic, Phazite was extremely tough stuff, twice as dense as anything ordinarily found in a planet; unless subjected to the key environment, it was virtually indestructible. The Brown Adept rejoined Stile and Sheen, staying clear of the dangerous region.

Now the vehicles moved up to push against the ball itself. The golems pushed on the other side. The machines had more power, but only one unit at a time could contact the Phazite, compact as it was, while the golems could apply all their force. The boulder rocked back and forth, then rolled to the side and forward. The golems were able to maneuver better, and were making progress again. The machines regrouped. Another vehicle lined up and pushed on the boulder. Again the golems nudged the ball around the machine. Their brains were wooden, but they did learn slowly from experience.

Unfortunately, so did the machines. They consulted with each other briefly, then lined up again—and charged the golems.

“No!” the Brown Adept cried as a truck smashed into a golem. It was as if she felt the blow herself. “That’s cheating!”

“There are no rules to this game,” Stile said.

“Oh, is that so?” Brown’s small face firmed, and she called new instructions to her minions. Now the golems fought back. When the vehicles charged, the golems stepped aside, then leaned in close to pound at the vulnerable regions as Stile explained them to Brown. Tires burst under the impact of pointed wooden feet; plastic cracked under wooden fists. But the machines, though dented, continued to fight.

“These are not like animals,” Sheen said. “They don’t hurt. Thou must disrupt their power trains or electrical systems.”

The Brown Adept had no knowledge of technology.

“Obey the Lady Machine!” she called to the golems. Sheen called out instructions. Now the golems went after more specific things. They unscrewed the fastenings for maintenance apertures and ripped out wiring; they punched holes in lubrication lines. Soon all the machines were out of commission.

The golems had won this engagement. But time had been lost. The juxtaposition would remain only a few hours, and in that time the Phazite had to be moved across into the frame of Proton. The next obstacle would surely be more formidable; this had been merely a token engagement, a first testing of strength.

Stile brought out his map again. “We’ll have to plan strategy, arrange a diversion. Now our obvious route is curving north, through the unicorn demesnes, to pass between the Oracle’s palace and the central lake, in a generally descending lay of land. So they’ll have that region well guarded. We’ll send a contingent of creatures there, clearing a path for the ball. Our least likely route would be back toward the Purple Mountains, through the sidhe demesnes, where my friend Clef traveled when he first entered Phaze. The terrain is forested, irregular, and infested by harpies. So that’s where we had better go.”

“But it will take forever to roll the ball through that region!” Brown protested.

“Not if we can figure out a good way through. Magic could be used to prepare the way, such as the construction of sturdy bridges over gulfs. Could you handle that, Sheen?”

“Certainly. The enemy Adepts will never know what I’m doing. But I need to be on hand to guard you.”

‘Fear not for Blue, loyal Lady,” Stile’s alternate self said. “The Adepts will strike not until they fathom our purpose, fearing to waste their magic on distractions. I know them, I know their minds. Go thy way, and we shall meet anon.”

“Meanwhile, I will come with thee. Blue, to plot the false route,” Brown said, enjoying this adventure. Trool the troll reappeared. “The ogres, giants, and animalheads are marching from the west to join thee,” he reported. “But the goblins are marching south to intercept them and thee. There will be a battle when they meet.” Stile consulted his map again. “How fast are they moving?”

“The animalheads are slowest, but also nearest. They will be here—“ Trool indicated a spot within the unicorn demesnes on the map. “The ogres move faster, but the Black Demesnes are directly in their path, and the Green Demesnes to the south. They must veer north, then south, and should be here by dusk.” He indicated a spot near the Grade’s palace.

“The giants are farthest distant, but stride so large they will be with thee by late afternoon.” Late afternoon. Stile realized it was near midday now. But it had seemed like only an hour since the Citizens’ business meeting, which had been in the evening. What had happened to the intervening night? Sheen must have slipped in a stasis-spell before letting him leave her temporary dome in the ogres’ demesnes, and he had never even noticed. It was probably for the best; he had needed a good night’s rest. So much was happening, the picture changing so radically, it was hard to keep track. But he had to keep going. “And the goblins?”