The holograph formed. The Rifleman stood before them. “I pondered before relaying this edited report to you, Stile,” the Citizen said. “But a wager is a wager, and I felt this was relevant. I suspect this tape reveals the general nature of the information you would have given me, had you lost our ballgame, so I hardly feel cheated. I was not able to ascertain who has tried to hurt you, but it seems likely that you were the intended victim of this sequence, and there-fore this does provide a hint.” He frowned. “I apologize for acquitting my debt in this manner. Yet it is best you have the detail. I hope that this at least forwards your quest. Adieu.” The Citizen faded out with a little wave.
“Why is he so diffident?” Stile asked. “That’s not the way of a Citizen.”
“He uses the term ‘victim,’” Sheen pointed out. “This will not be pretty.”
“Hulk! Something’s happened—“
The holograph formed a new image: Hulk, talking to Sheen herself. The man seemed even larger than normal, in the confines of the apartment. His head barely cleared the doorway. “Thank you, Sheen,” Hulk said, smiling down at her. Sheen was lovely, looking absolutely human, but of course Hulk knew the truth.
“I never knew this was being recorded!” the actual Sheen exclaimed, looking at her holo-image.
“Citizens can have anything recorded,” Stile reminded her. “All the holo-pickups spread throughout the domes of Proton are at their service.”
“I know that. I just didn’t realize I was the subject, in your absence.”
“You may be the subject right now.”
“Oh, shut up and watch the show.”
They watched the holo-Hulk depart, the image sliding in and out of the scene to simulate his motion. He stopped at a communication screen, called Information, and received a slip of paper, evidently an address. The self-willed machines had provided it, of course; Stile hoped the Rifleman had not pursued that ramification.
Hulk read the address and started walking again. Suddenly he was entering a jetporter—and as suddenly emerging at a far dome. The edited tape, of course, skipping across the nonessentials. It was easy to follow, since standard entertainment-holos were done the same way. Hulk arrived at an isolated dome, similar to so many favored by Citizens. This one was accessible by monorail across the sand, so that any visitors were visible well before arrival. Hulk stepped down as the carriage halted, and stood on the lawn, looking at the main building.
It was an almost perfect replica of the Blue Demesnes.
Stile could well understand the amazement of the big man. Who would have thought that such a castle existed in the frame of Proton? It was probably on the same geographic site, too, conforming perfectly to the alternate frame. The frames did tend to align, as Stile had discovered the hard way; when a person died in one, he was likely to die in the other too. Stile had narrowly escaped death in Proton at the time the Blue Adept was murdered in Phaze. Then, in what was apparently another way for the frames to equalize, he had discovered the curtain and crossed over. Thus each frame had Stile, again—in turn. This suggested that the use of the curtain was not coincidental, but in-evitable—when an imbalance existed between the frames. But now here was Hulk—seemingly back where he had started from. And surely the Lady Blue was here, for this was where Sheen had sent him to find her, based on the information her machine friends had provided. But the Lady could not hold the position here that she did in Phaze...
Hulk, evidently having completed a similar mental sequence, strode forward toward the castle. There was one way to find out!
There was a guard at the gate. He stood up straight as Hulk approached, but there was no way he could match Hulk’s height. “What is your business here, serf?”
“I am Hulk, on leave from employment pending the expiration of my tenure. I wish to meet Bluette.”
The guard turned to a communication pickup. “Serf with message for Bluette.”
“Thank you; I will be down.” It was the Lady Blue’s voice. Stile felt a prickle at his spine, though he knew this was merely the Lady’s alternate self. Of course she sounded the same; she was the same, in everything except situation. “I’m not sure I should watch this,” Stile muttered. “It doesn’t relate to my situation.”
“The Rifleman thinks otherwise,” Sheen reminded him. “You can just sit there and watch someone else making time with someone you love. The experience will do you good.”
How bitter could a robot get? But probably she was 1 right; he was doing it to her, and he needed to know how it felt to have it done to him.
Hulk waited, and in a moment she appeared. She was indeed the Lady Blue. The Phaze clothing was gone; she was a naked serf. But she was the same. “She’s lovely,” Sheen said. “I can see how you would like her.”
