“I see there is a holo-unit. No doubt our captor will communicate with us at his convenience.”
“Surely he will,” she agreed. “But I still don’t understand why we are here.”
Hulk inspected the holo-communicator. “I could put this out of commission, but that seems pointless. We shall simply have to wait. I deeply regret bringing this upon you; I had no idea this would happen. Yet perhaps it is for the best.”
She frowned, exactly as the Lady whom Stile knew would have, then flung her golden hair back in a kind of acquiescent defiance. She was absolutely lovely. “I was not unduly interested, before, in what you had to say. My interest has grown. Tell me your estimate of this situation.” Hulk settled down against the curving wall opposite her.
“Gladly, Lady. I believe this is a trap set for another person, a friend of mine. It was assumed that he would come for you, and the robots were not astute enough to perceive the substitution. When the Citizen who has organized this checks in, he will discover the mistake. He will not be pleased.”
“When my Employer checks his retreat-estate, he will not be pleased,” Bluette said. “Yet I fear that will not be soon.” She looked directly at him. “Give me the rest of it.”
“Lady, I am a master in the Game. Since my tenure expires this year I had hoped to enter the Tourney. I was balked in that effort by a better player. But he showed me an alternate world—Lady, you may find this extremely difficult to believe, so I shall simplify it—“
“Do not expurgate it,” she said.
“You do not appreciate just how remarkable the story is. I do not wish to have you question my sanity.”
“Risk my incredulity. Tell the truth and take your medicine,” she said, smiling.
“I cannot deny you,” he said, warmed as anyone would be. The smile of the Lady was a precious thing. “I should warn you that I came to court you. I do not mean to give offense, and I would have preferred a more esthetic approach—“
“I have not been courted in years,” she said. “You are a handsome man.”
“Reserve your judgment; I may have brought great mischief upon you.”
“I reserve it,” she said. But she studied him with only slightly muted interest, for Hulk was about as impressive a figure of a man as existed, and the compliment of his attention was considerable. Women were less impressed by physical attributes than men were, but they were not immune to them.
“This alternate world, where I met the woman like you,” he said. “It resembles Proton in geography, but it has good air and water and vegetation, and a population of living creatures. An ideal world, except—“ He paused. “Remember, I warned you. In that world, called Phaze, science is inoperative and magic is operative.”
“Magic is operative,” she replied, humoring him.
“Yes. He took me to that world, where unicorns and werewolves and vampires roam, and he made some spells and became the Blue Adept, one of the leading magicians of that frame. But he had been killed by another Adept. So I served as his bodyguard, and I guarded his wife—who is you.”
“You’re right,” Bluette said seriously. “This is beyond belief. I do appreciate your imagination, and am sure you do excellently in the Lying Game in competition, and consider myself honored to be the subject of your present fantasy. How does this relate to our kidnapping?”
“The enemy Adept is evidently another curtain-crosser,” Hulk continued gamely, “operating in both frames. Unable to destroy the Blue Adept permanently in Phaze, he has been setting traps for him here in Proton. The enemy evidently thought the Blue Adept would come for you, so he arranged to abduct whoever approached you, apart from your Employer and routine serfs. But this trap got the wrong man.”
“How can you court the wife of your friend?” she asked alertly. In no way was Bluette slow of wit; Stile had discovered that early, when dealing with her alternate.
“Most people exist in both frames. When the self of one frame dies, the self of the other can cross over, filling his place. When the Blue Adept died, his Proton-self crossed over—and courted the widow, the Lady Blue. But he felt it would be improper also to court her Proton-self, who is you, Bluette.”
“And he allows you to approach me instead, since I am surplus?”
“There are no surplus diamonds,” Hulk said. “Every precious thing has a taker. He is a generous man. Lady. He loves you, but will take only the one he first came to know. There is something more to his interest than your likeness, I suspect.”
“I should hope so. And you accede to this? You seem to be man enough to have your pick of women. Why accept the castoff of your friend? Is he even more powerful than you appear to be?”
“In a manner of speaking. Lady. It seems we are similar in many respects, including our taste in women. I cannot explain it better.”
“I think you can. You were with his wife?”
“I guarded his wife from the possible threat by his enemy, during his absences. I came to know her, the deep and unique qualities of her. I am an honorable man; when I realized what was happening, I left.”
“What do you mean, what was happening?” she demanded. “Were I the wife of one, I would not be leading on another.”
“No, never!” Hulk agreed hastily. “You—I mean the Lady Blue—never in any way—it was wholly in my mind, a one-sided thing. But in this frame she is not his wife, and will never be; he intends never to meet her. Meet thee. You. Thus I came for you, her perfect double.”
“Less swift, man. I have not quite made the transition from your dream fancy to your reality.” She cocked her head. “What is your name?”
“Hulk. From an ancient comic.”
She smiled. “I was named after a fine horse.”
They laughed, warming to each other.
“Well, Hulk,” she said after a moment. “Whatever gave you the notion that any self of mine would be amenable to any suit of yours? Why should I flirt with a bodyguard, in either, ah, frame?”
Hulk spread his hands. “How you receive it is your business. I had to try. You can but decline.”
“Still, there must have been a point of decision.”
Hulk nodded. “I suppose there was. In Phaze-frame life abounds, including bacterial and viral. I had little natural defense against environmental disease agents, since Proton is nearly sterile.” He paused, reflecting. “In more ways than one, I suspect.” He made a gesture to indicate that it didn’t matter. “I fell sick. The Lady Blue recognized the problem; she bade me lie down, and she laid her hands on me, and they were healing hands, that warmed me through-out.”
“Ah, yes,” Stile said, momentarily breaking out of the spell of the holograph narrative. “I have felt the touch of those hands.”
“You are not jealous?” Sheen asked. “I inquire merely as a point of robotic interest.”
“Meaning you’re jealous,” he said. “You think the Lady Blue is too pretty.”
“If appearance were all that counted, I might compete. I think she has too much of your attention.”
“Not in this frame. Hulk left her to me in Phaze; I leave her to him, in Proton. It was not a completely easy decision for either of us. But yes, I am jealous. It is hard for me to watch another man courting her.”
“And harder to watch her responding. Serves you right.”
“Serves me right,” he agreed.
“I do not lightly give my body or my heart,” Bluette was saying to Hulk. The holo-scene had frozen while Stile and Sheen conversed; that was Sheen’s touch on the control. “You’re a funny man, with a fairy-tale history. Yet there is no doubt we are here, and surely we shall be interrogated. Will you tell our captor the same story?”
“I’m not sure. I am not the one our captor wants.” Hulk pondered. “Lady, I fear it will go hard with us, when our captor discovers the error. It would be better if he did not realize it.”