Unicorn Point

“Evoke it? ‘Corn, this is not Phaze! We have no amulets here.”

“Evoke its message. This is why I sought you. You are the only one left who can do this.”

“I? I know nothing of this!”

“Just touch it, please!”

She extended her hand and touched it with one finger.  The key glowed. A picture of a man appeared in its surface: thin, evidently of the older generation. He wore archaic spectacles on his face, and his hair was shading well into gray.

“I don’t know this man,” Agape said. “Do you?”

“No. But maybe—“ ‘Corn turned over the key.  There on the other side was a name and address. “Clef, musician,” Agape read. “But he’s on a far planet!”

“Clef,” Tania said. “I have heard that name. Wasn’t he the one who played the—the famous Flute, and brought the frames together?”

“That one?” Agape asked, amazed. “I have heard of a friend of Stile’s who—who turned out to be the most amazing Adept of all, even though he was just a serf of Proton. But—“

Tania was staring at the picture on the other side of the key. “That must be him. What an elegant man!”

“But so far away! How can he have anything to do with what is happening here?”

“I—I think—“ ‘Corn said hesitantly. “Maybe—you have to fetch him?”

Agape stared at Tania. “So he can play again?”

Awed, they realized that this could be it. “We need to get offplanet in a hurry anyway,” Tania said. “Before Citizen Purple and my brother catch us.”

“I can take you to the spaceport,” ‘Corn said bravely.  “Then I can travel around, leading them away—“

Agape put her arms around him and hugged him to her.  This was a unique experience, for young as he was, he understood the nature of her beauty. “We can not leave you, ‘Corn. You must come too.”

“But I am a minor,” he protested with mixed emotion. “I can’t leave planet without my parents’ consent.”

“And we dare not call them,” Agape said, frowning.

“We’ll have to sneak him out,” Tania said. “Ship him as baggage.”

“But baggage is shipped in the cargo hold,” Agape said. “Not pressure or temperature controlled.”

“He’ll have to be drugged and sealed into a capsule,” Tania said. She glanced at ‘Corn. “You have the use of Citizen Troal’s carriage; can you also authorize his luggage?”

“Yes,” ‘Corn said, brightening.

“Make out a routing slip in your father’s name for one sealed capsule, and an authorization for two serfs to see to its security. We shall be those serfs. The port officials won’t question it unless the alarm is already out, and my guess is that Purple will try to make his coup secretly until all opposition has been eliminated. Remember, he’s doublecrossing his own, too; Citizen Translucent’s personnel will be in an uproar. We’ll leave planet together on the first ship out—specify that in the order. This can be done, but it has to be fast.”

‘Corn took a slip from the papers in the carriage and filled it out. “But how can I be drugged? The moment we go to a medic—”

“I am able to contact the self-willed machines,” Agape said. “I have a code. They support Citizen Blue completely.”

“Don’t make a call!” Tania warned. “They will be monitoring all calls!”

“No call,” Agape agreed. “There will be a private access at the spaceport.”

They arrived. There was no alarm, so far. Actually, only a few minutes had passed; Citizen Purple was probably still securing his base elsewhere.

Agape paused at a maintenance panel. She tapped on it, then spoke a few words. There seemed to be no response, and ‘Corn was afraid she hadn’t gotten through. But then a cleaning vehicle rolled up, its lid lifting to reveal a dark in terior chamber.

“Get in,” Agape said quietly.

“But—“ Corn protested, abruptly nervous.

“Do you not know me, friend?” the machine inquired.  “Troubot!” ‘Corn cried. Without further protest he climbed in, and the lid closed. He was in darkness, a pris oner, but now he felt secure.

He wanted to inquire how the machines were arranging things, but before he could do so he was unconscious.  He woke, disoriented. Where was he?

Then a lovely female form leaned over him, her arms reaching around his body to draw him to a sitting posture.  “You’ll be a little woozy, ‘Corn, but that will pass in a moment,” she said.

“Tania!” he exclaimed. “But you have clothing on!” Indeed she did. She wore a silken tan dress cinched at the waist by a blue sash, and there was a blue ribbon in her hair.  She was amazingly beautiful; the clothing made her look every inch a Citizen.

She smiled. “We’re offplanet, ‘Corn. You’ll have to don clothing too. Offworlders don’t necessarily understand about serf nakedness. We have a red suit for you.”

“Red suit?” He was still dazed, as much by the changed circumstance as the effects of his drugging. Obviously he had been put under in Troubot—trust his friend to make it easy!—and sealed in and shipped, and now they were—where?