Piers Anthony - Blue Adept

“I saw two, as I recovered consciousness.”

“Who have the oxy-masks used to bring us here,” Blu-ette said, her eyes widening as she caught on. “What do you propose. Hulk?”

“First, I must get out of sight of the pickup. Second, you must address me as ‘Stile’ and describe me as a very small man—smaller than you. The story is the same—that is what he told you. He came to rescue you—and was him-self trapped.”

“I have that,” Bluette said. “Assuming for the nonce that your story is true, then this would be believed by another person from that frame. But how—“

“I will hide outside the force-Held, downtunnel. I can function for a limited time in external atmosphere, if I put my body in near-absolute state of rest, or trance-state. You try to lure the robots near the force-field, then get clear yourself. This will not be gentle.”

“I know.” Her tension hardly showed. She was, as Stile knew, the type to handle difficult situations with verve. “I am sorry to have met you like this. Hulk; you are a fascinating person.”

“Thank you. Say that again when I’m not trying to save our lives, and we’ll see where it leads.” Hulk stepped through the force-field. The pickup tried to follow him, but he was avoiding it, and disappeared from view. Frustrated, the pickup returned to the next most likely subject, the woman.

There was a momentary blankness, to signify a lapse of time. Then the holo-image in the tunnel came on—a holo within a holo. Stile was not sure how the holo-transceiver was able to show itself; this was merely a minor marvel of Proton electronics.

The image was a woman. She was tall and statuesque, with her hair concealed under a skullcap. She was naked: serf, not Citizen. She looked at Bluette. “Where is he?” she demanded imperiously.

“Who are you?” Bluette demanded in return. “Why have you done this?”

“He did not tell you? Then remain in ignorance. Your function is finished.”

“My Employer will—“

“That is of no concern to me.”

The two robots reappeared from uptunnel. “Put her in pain until her lover reappears,” the woman said. The robots were humanoid, but not specific; their faces were impassive masks. Their strength was that of the machines they were. They seemed to have no speech ability, and moved somewhat stiffly—low proficiency models. It was possible for a serf to obtain such robots, while only a Citizen could obtain robots of Sheen’s quality. But these were well suited to this type of work. A robot like Sheen would have had too many humanistic restrictions. Stile found himself tensing for action. The very notion of hurting the lady appalled him. But this was only a holo-recording; the action was long past. He could only watch. “Ironic that the captor never bothered to film the prior sequence,” Stile muttered. “She could have had complete information with no trouble. But I suppose a frame-traveler hasn’t time for niceties—and this one lacks the re-sources of a Citizen. So this is crudely executed.” Bluette, alert to the threat against her, lurched toward the upper end of the chamber. Both robots moved swiftly to cut her off. She reversed, and moved with surprising agility toward the lower end—which of course was where she wanted to be.

The robots reversed with her. They might move awkwardly, but their reflexes were inhumanly swift; it was only their wit that was. deficient. They caught her halfway, and held her in the middle of the chamber.

“Shouldn’t Hulk come out?” Sheen inquired. “They will hurt her.”

“Even Hulk cannot overpower two robots,” Stile said. “They aren’t gentle creatures like you; each one is stronger than he is, with no human vulnerabilities. Remember how easily they carried him several kilometers to the mine.”

“True. But if he waits—“

“The captor believes it is me out there, and that I love Bluette and will be unable to let her suffer. That’s why Hulk said this error might be for the best; there is not the leverage anticipated.”

“He said it was for the best out of loyalty to you; your generosity saved you from the trap. But doesn’t he love her too?”

“Not yet. He will hold out longer than I would have.”

Stile’s fist clenched. “Maybe too long.” One robot stood behind Bluette, pinning her arms back, holding her firmly. The other glanced at the holo-image for clarification. “No permanent damage yet,” the captor said. “Pinch her knee, slowly. Make her scream.”

“The knee!” Stile exclaimed. “That’s my enemy!” The robot reached for Bluette’s knee. The woman lifted both legs and planted them in the robot’s chest and shoved violently. Though the machine was strong, it did not have extraordinary mass; the shove drove it back several steps. “She fights; that’s all to the good,” the holo-woman said. “We need commotion.”

The robot holding Bluette did not let go. The recoil shoved it back a step; then it stood £rm. “You can’t fight robots,” the captor told her. “I don’t want you anyway. I want him. Make some noise, bring him in, and you won’t have to suffer.”

“What do you want with Stile?” Bluette cried. “She remembered to use your name,” Sheen said. “Smart woman.”

“I want this time to be quite sure he is dead,” the captor said. “But first I want to know why he proposed to destroy me. Adepts don’t usually fight Adepts. He had no call to attack me.”

Bluette’s surprise was genuine. “There really is a world of magic?”

“You will never see it. Now call the Blue Adept.”

“So you can torture him too? Never!”

“Do it,” the captor said to the robot.

The robot caught the lady’s leg and held it despite her struggles. It placed its metal fingers on her knee and squeezed. The pressure was obviously tremendous, cranking slowly up like that of a vise. She inhaled to scream, but caught herself and held her breath instead. “My knees with a laser; hers with a robot,” Stile grated. He was afraid for the lady, and chokingly angry—and helpless. Whatever would be—had already been. Bluette collapsed, sobbing. “Oh, it hurts, it hurts!”

“Call him,” the captor said dispassionately. “Scream. Bring him to you.”

Bluette looked defiant. The robot squeezed again. She collapsed again. “Stop! I’ll do it!”

The robot paused, hand still on knee. Dark showed around the edge of its grip, where pressure had crushed the fair skin. Bluette took another ragged breath. “S-s—“ she hissed, trying to call through her sobs. “You can do better than that,” the captor said without pity.

“He—went down that passage,” Bluette said, entirely unnerved. “I—I’ll try. Let me get closer—“ “What a sniveler you are!” the captor rapped. Now Stile smiled, grimly. “She is no sniveler. She knows what she has to do.”

“Robots are no match for the wiles of woman,” Sheen agreed.

The captor decided. “Take her to the force-field. Put only her head through. Hold it there until the man comes.”

Now Bluette held back. “No—“

“You will call him—or suffocate slowly,” the captor said.

The robots hauled the struggling Bluette to the force-field. One put a hand to her head, grasped her hair, and shoved her head through.

The opacity of the force-field exploded into man-form. One robot was lifted into the air and swung about by the legs so that its head crashed into the wall, hard. There was a blue flash of electricity as its wiring shorted; it was done for.

Already Hulk was turning on the other robot. But this one retained its hold on Bluette. Hulk could not get at it without going through her.

Without pause. Hulk turned back to the first robot, picked it up again by the feet, and smashed it into the wall again. Then he jumped on it, caught hold of one of its arms, and wrenched the limb up and around. His muscles bulged hugely as he strained—and the arm broke off, trailing wires. He worked it all the way free. “That man is beautiful,” Sheen said.