"I think so. The book has an excellent section on countermagic. But if I block off Adept spells, this will stifle your magic too."
"The book magic is that strong?"
"That strong, Stile. The book is not a mere compendium of stray spells. It's a complete course — the atomic age of magic. It shows how to integrate all the modes — voice, vision, symbols, potions, touch, music — all. The Adepts of today are fragmentary magicians, severely limited. Thou also, I regret to say. None of you has done more than scratch the surface of the potential of magic. I haven't scratched the surface. There is so much more to be mastered-"
"I see. All right — block out all Adept magic here, and well talk about it while we supervise the moving of the ball."
She made a series of body motions and exclamations, concluding with a toe-sketched figure on the ground. Something happened in the air — an oblique kind of shimmer. "The visual effect is merely to identify it," she said. "We are now secure from new spells."
The golems resumed their labor on the sphere. Slowly they moved it up the slope. "When we have a moment," Stile said, "let's see about making up a good body for my other self."
"Your other self!" she exclaimed. "Yes, of course. The book has spells to convert wood or other substance to flesh, as we did for Trool. You have Blue's soul preserved. I don't think the soul can go to that body while you are in Phaze, but when the frames separate, Clef can pipe it in, and-"
"And my other self will be restored to life in Phaze," Stile finished. "He sacrificed his life to give me the chance to enter his frame and work with the Oracle. The least I can do is give it back to him when my task is done."
"But what of the prophecy? Phaze will not be safe until-"
"Until Blue departs it forever!" Stile finished. "In the confusion of great events, I forgot that!" He pondered, disturbed. "No, I can not be entirely governed by prophecy. I must do what I deem right; what will happen, will happen." But he remained disquieted, as did his other self.
"The body has to be crafted by hand," Sheen said. "It can't be made directly by magic, or it will perish when the magic diminishes. So we can't do it right this minute. But I won't forget to see to it before the end." She paused. "What does Blue think of this?"
Stile shifted to his alternate awareness. Now he had confirmation of his prior conjecture; Blue had, through a special divinatory spell, discovered what was developing and realized that the best thing he could do for the land he loved was to die. But, fearful that his sacrifice might be in vain, he had hedged. He had conjured his soul into his harmonica and given the instrument an affinity for his other self. Now he knew his act had been justified, for Stile had used the harmonica to achieve his necessary level of power.
As for having his life back in the new order, he had not expected this, and not even considered the possibility of resuming his life in Phaze. The notion had a certain guilty appeal. Yet if the presence of Blue meant ruin for Phaze, he would be better off dead. He would have to formulate some plans for a formerly blank future, knowing that he might again have to give it up if the prophecy were true. All he could do was try it and see; perhaps there would be interim tasks for him to do before he departed.
"I thank thee for thy consideration," Blue said to Sheen. "Glad am I to have facilitated thine entry here, lovely Lady Machine."
Again Sheen reacted with pleased embarrassment. "There's something about the people of Phaze," she murmured.
The Brown Adept rode up on her golem mount. "I think my golems can handle it, as long as nothing else bothers them. Art thou going to make the Lady Machine alive now? I will give her part of my soul."
"I've been thinking about that,"-Sheen said. "All my brief existence I have longed to be alive — but now I have the chance for it, I'm not sure. I don't think it would carry over into Proton — and if it did, there would still be a severe readjustment. I'd have to eat regularly, and eliminate regularly — both rather messy inconveniences — and sleep, which is a waste of useful time. My whole routine would be changed. I think I'm better off as a robot."
"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 addressing 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.