Masters of Flux & Anchor

by Jack L. Chalker

  She’d wanted to travel World, not conquer it, as a girl, but that was next to impossible now. There wasn’t much fun in seeing the remains of what she’d built, in finding out that the changes had, after all, been mostly cosmetic. She felt as if she belonged nowhere, a ball adrift after plowing through a perfectly ordered display. Her failure at romance was the one thing she felt desperately.

  She took to having long, elaborate fantasies in the gardens, lying there naked and half-dreaming. She was fifty but looked twenty-five, and she had had sex only once in her life. Not that she couldn’t have it now, for she was a powerful wizard and all the binding spells limiting her were gone. Yet she feared failure and rejection more than ever, and feared hurting anyone else.

  She imagined herself as a voluptuous sex bomb, and knew that she could change herself into that image at any time, but she didn’t have the guts to do so. She imagined herself as a man, and thought that had possibilities. She’d always been a tomboy, always looked like a boy, dressed like a boy, and did a man’s job, and she was proud of that. She’d spent so much time acting as a boy she just about thought of herself as one. She liked the perfect female form, such as Spirit’s, but it just wasn’t her, and what attracted her in the men she did find attractive was an aura of strength, of competence, of being in control. Few men she’d met fit that description, and certainly if she took on a male form that quality, to her mind, would be lacking as well. She’d never liked living lies, yet she saw her whole life that way and wasn’t about to create another.

  Because she’d conquered half a world, creating and running a Fluxland, which she could learn to do through Mervyn, didn’t really appeal to her, either. The trouble was, the way her fantasies were, it’d wind up being too much like Coydt’s version of Anchor Logh.

  She was tempted by drugs, but was immune to them. Yet she did drink, quite a lot. It was pleasant to be drunk and know that one could banish an upset stomach and a hangover with a wave of the hand. She visited Mervyn’s Fluxland of Pericles and found in its vast and ancient library many spells for exciting the pleasure centers, and these helped. They stopped her brooding, anyway.

  Mervyn kept trying to get her interested in something—the Codex she’d begun to assemble of all the ancient writings, politics, and teaching at Globbus—but nothing really appealed to her after a while. She just drifted aimlessly, wallowing in her guilt and self-pity, feeling her life was over and wasted but unable to bring herself to terminate it.

  She thought often of Suzl, made over by binding spell into a gorgeous sex object, and wondered who’d gotten the better of the deal. Coydt had cursed Suzl to everlasting slavery, it was true, but no worse a one than citizens of most Fluxlands endured. And there were compensations. She’d been cursed to eternal beauty, to eternal sex appeal, and, most mercifully, to ignorance so that she would be happy. She had pitied Suzl for that, but Coydt had cursed Cass as well by removing from her every binding spell, setting her aimlessly adrift and showing the lie of all she had built up. One was free, and powerful, the other weak and a slave—and who was the happier?

  Damn Coydt van Haas! He had worked such exquisite, such perfect evil upon World and then died so that he paid nothing for those deeds. He was at peace, and his victims continued to suffer.

  And yet, Cass was still wanted. The Church would richly reward anyone who got rid of her. Its leaders feared her return as a renewed and this time perhaps fatal blow to the social structure. All the wizards she’d defeated who still survived wanted her—boiled, fried, or any other way—as did relatives of those thousands killed in her useless wars. None of this worried her. Between Mervyn’s powers and her own, home was secure. One could not even find it without an invitation, for no strings led to or from it. And she was a powerful wizard in Flux and a formidable opponent with gun or knife or sword in Anchor.

  Yet Coydt had beaten her, and broken her self-confidence forever. She could never be sure anymore just who was the stronger, and that made her reluctant to use her powers.

  She had lost all track of time, for it wasn’t relevant. Time was measured only in the growth of Jeffron, who now visited less and less frequently. He was a strapping one hundred eighty-two centimeters tall, lean, and muscular now, with coal-black hair and his mother’s green eyes. He was smart and powerful, but seemed rather aimless and impetuous, the sort of young man who knows he looks good and can get whatever he wants, but hasn’t decided what yet; willing to try almost anything once, but never satisfied. She loved him, and worried about him, but feared to give him any advice or direction. Who was she to screw up yet another life?

  One day Mervyn sent word that a stringer named Sondra wished to meet both Cass and Spirit. Cass wasn’t used to visitors and wondered what new trick Mervyn had up his sleeve to pry her from her seclusion, but he explained that Jeff had had enough of learning for a while and wanted to see the world. Sondra was willing to take him along as a wizard-dugger, and she had a long route in the northern Flux, far from Anchor. Cass decided she did very much want to meet this person.

  When she arrived. Sondra proved to be a shock. She was stunningly beautiful, and the silver hair and eyebrows against the chocolate skin was even more stunning. Irreverently. Cass wondered if Sondra’s pubic hairs were also silver, and finally decided they had to be. Flux magic had been used to color-coordinate horse and rider; even the saddle and butt of her shotgun were black embossed with silver.

  Cass, who usually went nude, had dressed for the occasion in a rumpled shirt, faded jeans with holes in them, and a very old and worn pair of boots. She felt overawed and inadequate. This was no stringer like those she’d seen before—most of the female stringers were flat and bald—and she couldn’t resist the comment.

  “You are a wizard, I see.”

  Sondra smiled and nodded, dismounting and letting her horse graze. “Yes. Mervyn says I blew my chance at greatness by going with the Guild, but I’m strong enough for my needs.”

  I’ll bet you are, honey. Cass thought jealously, but aloud she said. “Well, I’m very strong and it didn’t get me anywhere. I can see why Jeff would be eager to ride your strings, though.”

  The stringer laughed. “I like the effect. People remember me, and it’s good for business. A little intimidating, too, I hope. If you knew what I really looked like, or the horse, either, you’d wonder why I ever left home.”

  It was a nice comment, although Cass didn’t really believe it. Except maybe about the horse. Still, Sondra might be good for Jeff. Might teach him some humility, too, if she knew her stringers. Sondra had the same inner strength she admired in men, a toughness and resourcefulness that shone through any disguise. She knew she could come to like, even admire, Sondra, if she weren’t so damned awesomely beautiful.

  “Mervyn says that your routes are all way up north, past Anchor. How’d you happen to meet Jeff?”

  “It was a set-up. I was brushing up on some technique at Globbus and Mervyn spotted me and suggested it. I took pains to look Jeff up—apparently he’d been talking about going out on a train lately anyway—and I liked him. If he learns some self-control, instead of going off half cocked at everything, he’s going to be quite a man.”

  That was the right thing to say to a grandmother.

  “Well, I can’t see any way of preventing him from doing anything he wants to do. What is he, now? Seventeen?”

  Sondra looked surprised. “Twenty.”

  Cass felt ancient. “Mind if I ask how old you are?”

  “Thirty-four, and I don’t mind a bit. But I’ve been riding string since shortly after Jeff was born. It’s still a dangerous profession, but less so for a full wizard. Most of the stringers are false wizards, you know.”

  Cass nodded. False wizards could conjure up anything as convincingly as a true wizard could—only it wasn’t real. Most stringers didn’t need the full power; there were just enough like Sondra to make most folks nervous attacking any stringer at all. “Uh—you say you’re from up north. You ever run int
o an old retired stringer named Matson?”

  “He’s my father,” Sondra said softly.

  Cass’s mouth dropped. ”You’re the little girl with the talent who was interested in the Guild?”

  “I suppose that’s how he’d have said it. That’s why I’m here, really. Spirit is, after all, my half-sister, and I’ve heard a lot about you that doesn’t make the rounds of history or gossip.”

  “I’ll bet,” she said sourly, recovering somewhat from her surprise. “So Jeff’s actually your half-nephew, or something like that. Does he know?”

  “No. I’m saving it for when he tries to put the make on me the first time on the trail. But if you think I should—”

  “No, no! It’s perfect! It’ll take him down three pegs! Come on—I’ll find Spirit, and then we’ll talk a while.”

  They spent the day just talking and roaming around the small garden. Spirit didn’t know who the stranger was, but was obviously as impressed by her appearance as Cass had been. Sondra was distressed by the woman’s spell-enforced condition—although Spirit seemed happy enough—and she examined the spell. She had been doing some work with more advanced sorcercy, but this one was a beauty, so complex and riddled with traps that she could well understand why no one had broken it. No one but one.

  For Suzl, supercharged briefly by the energy flowing directly out of the Hellgate, had managed somehow to do it, aided by the mysterious creature that guarded the gate. But no one else had ever been able to achieve that energy level, and no one else had ever directly contacted one of the mysterious spirits—and Suzl hadn’t known why.

  Sondra felt relaxed and with family, but she was difficult to get to know or understand, as were so many stringers. She loved her work, that was clear, and was very good at it.

  “You never think of settling down, having kids?” Cass asked her.

  “No, not really. This may sound a little cruel or selfish, but I don’t want the stuff that comes with kids. I was never very good with them, and they tie you down for years and limit your freedom. Some people are cut out for it and some aren’t. I’m surprised you never found somebody else and had more, though. Seems to me you could just pick a good-looking wizard and have at it.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Not now, anyway. I have to admit that there’s a temptation to try and replace some of the lives I’ve cost, maybe to really experience the joys and pains of raising a child, but I can’t bring myself to take that kind of responsibility anymore. We’re totally different, Sondra, but in one way we’re the same—we’re wizards, different from other people. Wizards don’t get sick, they never die of natural causes, and they live until some accident or attack kills them. Lite’s not the same with us.”

  “I know. That’s probably why there are so few wizard children. We once did as much of a trace as we could on Mom’s family, and found she was related to most of the best-known wizards on World. They’re mostly related, too, in one way or another. There’s probably no more than fifty or a hundred families that have it.”

  “Not me—I was an Anchor girl.”

  “But you have it in the blood somewhere. It’s passed down, sometimes full, sometimes diluted, sometimes skipping a generation or two, but it’s there.”

  Cass walked her back to the garden entrance, where the great horse still grazed. Sondra hugged her and mounted the horse, and Cass walked with them to the Fluxland border, which would open only to Cass or Mervyn or a few trusted aides of Pericles from either side. Cass walked through the barrier and into the void, and Sondra followed.

  “You take care of him, Sondra—and yourself, too!”

  “Don’t worry—and thanks. I’ll be back.” And with that, the strange, dark, beautiful woman rode off into the void.

  Cass sighed and watched her vanish, then turned to the garden once more.

  She felt a sudden, tremendous shock and jolt, then collapsed in a heap.

  Sounds were deadened in the void, but Sondra heard the sharp crack of some kind of weapon and immediately turned and rushed back, drawing her shotgun at the same time.

  They were on her in a moment—horrid, drooling, yowling creatures of a dugger cult. She pushed them away and continued, and when others jumped up she fired both barrels of hard shot into the throng.

  She didn’t see Cass anywhere. Had she been somehow killed or taken, or had she made it back inside? Sondra halted, and her great horse reared on its hind legs and came down again. Now she charged straight at the densest part of the group, and before her swept a fierce wall of flame that caught those who could not retreat. There was another sudden loud crack, and a blue-white ray lashed out and missed her and her horse by several meters. She turned in the direction from which the ray had come and saw an ugly dugger dressed in tattered furs and jewelry made from human bones fumbling with a large device on a tripod.

  She sent out a line of force that struck the projector and caused the dugger using it to cry out and fall back. She was about to close on the thing and make it tell what this was all about when she was suddenly struck by nausea and dizziness. She reined up short and looked back and saw immediately what was happening.

  The Fluxland was dissolving!

  She abandoned all thought of the duggers for the moment and stared at the phenomenon. A Fluxland was just a thought, a tiny world created out of a wizard’s imagination and held together by the force of that will. Mervyn had created this place, but it was modified and fine-tuned by Cass, and now she knew that Cass was either dead or so nullified that not the tiniest thought or will concerning this Fluxland remained. Mervyn’s structure should still have held, but it was under some sort of psychic assault from outside as well, taking advantage of Cass’ incapacity.

  She couldn’t tell exactly where the assault was coming from, but she knew in an instant that its power was more than a match for hers. The beautiful setting was visible now; the trees, plants, and flowers seemed to be dissolving, like a watercolor in the rain.

  She thought of Spirit, alone and with no substantial power, and headed into the decomposing mess.

  She found the bodies, eventually, of several of Mervyn’s people, but of Spirit or Cass there was no trace. Angry at whoever had done this, knowing that she had to track them down now and make them pay, she nonetheless set off for Pericles. Not only had they harmed kin, but the only way they could have found the place was by following her there. Well, they’d made an enemy who would give her life to apprehend them, but who was smart enough to know when she needed reinforcements.

  4

  WELCOME TO HAPPINESS

  The men stood around the still, small body of the woman and examined it as if it were some sort of specimen. One was Zelligman Ivan, ever his dapper self, while a second was a tall, beefy-looking man with a thick black moustache and the uniform of an officer in the New Eden forces. Looming over the figures was the black cubical shape of a full-blown Flux amplifier.

  “Something is troubling you, old comrade,” Ivan noted. “You stare at her as if she will suddenly rise and strike you down.”

  “She looks so tiny, so frail, so—vulnerable.“the other man noted. “Not at all like one who toppled the old Church and gave us a real run for our money.”

  “Not to mention beating you in a head-to-head fight.” Ivan retorted. “I fail to see why she makes such an impression. You have met before.”

  “Long ago and before we knew what we had,” the big man pointed out. “She is the only one who ever bested me.”

  “And now you wish revenge?”

  “No, no. That’s not it. I have an innate respect for power. For those who have it and those who have the guts to use it. In a sense, that’s us lying there, Zelligman. Somehow—I just don’t know how to put it so you’d understand—it seems wrong to do this, particularly this way. To lose a fair fight is one thing, but there’s something in this business that threatens us as well. These machines make us obsolete. Anyone with the tiniest bit of the power can best the strongest of us with one of those.” />
  And Ivan did understand. World was a rough and brutal place, but it was based on power—power inherited and the skill and will to develop and use it. There was a certain honor and comfort in the system despite that, one which the amplifiers violated.

  The little wizard sighed. “World as we know it is in its final days anyway, Gifford. You know that. New Eden is our tool and our weapon. Don’t despair so much yet, my friend. It will take great knowledge, skill, and finesse to do what must be done here. This is using a cannon to trim a gnat’s wings without killing it.”

  What they were attempting was in fact that sort of operation, and it had never been tried before. Ivan mounted the console command chair of the amplifier and trained the beam focus to its narrowest point, then concentrated on the still figure as Gifford Haldayne stood behind him looking nervous.

  The first problem was the removal and memory storage of the spells Cass had on her. Many of these were protective in nature and self-imposed; others were placed there by ones with skills perhaps equal to or superior to Ivan’s own, such as Mervyn. The amplifier certainly helped, but while the spells were far clearer and easier for him to read and understand, it required intense concentration, since the amplifier quite literally gave him a million times more details and information than he needed. It was simply not designed for this close work.