Stile, of course, had practiced. He had spent years advancing his skills in every facet of the Game. He knew how to use a sewing machine. He was not expert, but he was adequate.
As it turned out, he was moderately better than the Citizen. It was an unspectacular Game, but the victory was his.
Now for the finish against Red. Sheen’s friends, who as machines had great difficulty perceiving the semi-subjective curtain, had come up with a device to detect it. Sheen now carried this device. She would know, in much the way Neysa knew the whereabouts of Red, where the curtain was. That way Red would not again elude him by stepping across a fold of the curtain he did not know was near. Stile prepared carefully. Sheen carried an assortment of small weapons and devices—a laser, a radiation grenade, a periscope, stun-gas capsules, and a folding steel broad-sword. Her friends had provided a gyro-stabilized unicycle seating two, so she could ferry him rapidly about, any-where where crowds would not find it too attention-fixing.
33A great deal went on in Proton that failed to attract the notice of Citizens, but there were limits. In fact, part of this deadly “game” would be the effort to force Red to call attention to herself, while Stile escaped it. His only crime was the sabotage of Red’s dome; that had probably annoyed her Citizen-mother, but might be attributed to a repair-machine malfunction. Red would have known the truth, but not wanted to report it and have her own situation investigated. She, on the other hand, had been responsible for the deaths of Hulk and Bluette—oh, a double pain and guilt there!—and these were recorded on holo-tape. She would be banished instantly, even if she won more tenure through the Tourney, once those murders came to light. Unless she won the Tourney and became a Citizen. Then she would be immune to all reprisal. Stile had to make sure she did not succeed in that.
They set out in quest of the enemy. Stile had a full day before Round Ten—and if that were not time enough, he would resume the chase after the Round. His oath of vengeance would soon be satisfied, one way or the other. First he went to the curtain at a remote spot and stepped across. Neysa was there—with the Lady Blue. Startled, Stile protested. “Lady, I wanted thee to be under the protection of the werewolves.”
“A wolf went to the Oracle,” she said. “And learned that his oath-friend Neysa was in dire peril from this mission. Since Neysa will not give over, the wolves and unicorns are now patrolling the curtain, ready to aid her if need be. Rather than interfere with this effort, I too patrol the curtain.”
Stile was not wholly satisfied with this, but realized that this was another device of the animals to help him. They wanted to be in on the action. “I expect to deal with Red in Proton,” he said. “My magic is stronger than hers, in Phaze, so she is unlikely to cross the curtain before settling with me. Do you all take care of yourselves.”
“Indeed,” the Lady agreed. “And thee of thyself, my love.”
How glad he would be when this was over, and he could love her without restraint. But that had to wait, lest he void his Oracular guarantee.
