Unicorn Point

12 - Troubot

Merle looked at the six hens, puzzled. “I have not been paying enough attention to you,” she remarked with concern. “You have become strangers to me.” Indeed, the birds seemed wary of her, huddling at the far side of the coop. “Come, Henrietta, come. Henbane,” she cooed, squatting and extending a hand. Her short skirt slid up her thighs; she wore nothing beneath. “Here. Henna—I have treat grain. Come and take it; I want to be friends again.” Slowly the hens approached, wary of her. She did not make any sudden motion, and eventually one essayed a peck at what she held in her hand. “That’s it, Henpeck; I certainly won’t hurt you. A man I might usher into Heaven or Hell, but not my pets. I’m sorry I neglected you. I’ve been so busy recently, but I won’t bore you with the details.” The hens formed a semicircle before her, looking at her quizzically. “You mean you are interested?” she inquired, smiling. She was a lovely woman, slender overall yet possessed of truly shapely anatomy that showed in somewhat indecorous manner as she squatted and leaned forward. Her hair was dark, with a blue tint; it changed color slightly every day, so that she never became stale. Similarly her clothing shifted color and style subtly but steadily. Merle was always fresh without being brash.

“Well, that’s very nice of you, Heningway,” she remarked, spreading some treat grain on the ground before them. “Trust you to have a literary bent! And you, Henline—always on the edge. Listen and I will tell you.” The hens settled, attentively. Merle leaned back and sat on the floor, carefully, so that her legs would not cramp. “You see, I am a friend of Citizen Blue,” she said conversationally. “It all started some years back when the serf Stile won the Tourney and became a Citizen. Now your average new Citizen quickly gets lost in the marvels of power and wealth to which he is vastly unaccustomed, but Stile was of different mesh. He was ambitious—oh, my, was he ambitious!—and he went right after the big money, which is the same as the big power. That was when I encountered him: in his preliminary gambles and games, when he was getting the hang of it. He took me for a hundred grams of Protonite in a poker game—a nice little haul for him, at the time. That won my interest, and thereafter I followed his career. In fact, in due course I became a bit smitten with him, though he was a youngster only a fraction my age.”

She paused, her gaze passing fondly across the hens. She reached out and stroked Heningway, who ducked her head nervously but did not retreat. “You make such a good audience, my pretties,” she remarked. “Never any backtalk, never any danger of my secrets being gossiped out. Not even a cackle when I confess something stupid. Ah, what a story you could tell of my indiscretions, if you were in the business!”

She smiled reminiscently, enjoying the indiscretions, then resumed her narrative. “In the end I made him a deal: my help in his endeavor in exchange for his single tryst with me. I called him my bantam—you may have noted my affinity for chickens—and I confess I was hot for him, both personally and as a matter of pride. You see, I have had an undisclosed number of rejuvenations; I am of great-grandmotherly age, not the maiden I appear. I knew my body interested him, as indeed it should; I crafted it to appeal to the masculine taste in subdued but potent manner. Some women believe that mass is everything, and have their breasts and buttocks expanded enormously; it is true that men notice these attributes, but they also convey a suggestion of cheapness. Proportion is the secret; modest projections whose contours are esthetic attract the male interest on a more subtle level, and the resultant desire can be more pervasive and lasting. It is the difference between fish eggs and caviar. So Stile wanted me, but could not admit it; I had to trap him into a commitment. He found my age to be more of a barrier than my nature; indeed, he was having relations with a machine at the time. Men are like that.”

She paused, eying the hens speculatively. “I don’t suppose you’d like to have a rooster here?”

The hens looked dismayed.

Merle laughed. “Yes, it is true that a rooster’s notion of love is what my kind would call rape. Not a really significant difference between the species, but we females can live with out it. That, perhaps, is an aspect of the attraction Stile had for me: not only was he small, being shorter than I, but he was a gentleman in the old sense. It was an unconscious chivalry I found most charming. He was more of a man in every respect than most, but small, and shy, and charming in his naivete. But what a change he wrought in Proton society! He assumed power, and brought the frames together, then separated them after alleviating the imbalance which had de veloped because of the export of Protonite. You see, the par allelism between Proton and Phaze is such that what is not equivalent tends to become so, but the Phazite had remained while the Protonite was diminishing, and that struck at the very root of the nature of the frames, and would have led to mutual destruction had he not acted. So he did what had to be done, and separated the frames so that no more mischief could occur, and settled in Phaze.”

She paused again, as if interrupted, but the hens were rapt. “What’s that, you say? How could he meet his commitment to me, if he was gone? Well he did, in his fashion. He left his beautiful bantam body here, taken over by his other self, the Blue Adept of Phaze. The Citizens had to accept this exchange, because many of them had other selves in Phaze and had agreed that in the event of the death of one of them, the Phaze alternate would be accepted in lieu. It was a device for ensuring proper succession, you see. So Citizen Blue ap peared, wielding the power of Stile, and the battle between them has continued ever since. The Contrary Citizens wish to recover control so that they can exploit the planet without regard for tomorrow, while Blue fights to maintain a proper balance, and also to liberalize Proton society. Philosophy is no concern of mine, but I do like Blue as I liked Stile, so I support him. And it was Blue who discharged Stile’s commitment to me.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, what a night we had! The man was between loves at the time, having lost his wife to his other self, and not yet committed to the robot woman; he had a lot to give. He really made me feel the age I looked. But that was it; thereafter he married the machine, and has been faithful to her since. Still, I am minded to play a little game with him, if you do not object. After all, I like to think that I am approaching parallelism with the Yellow Adept, who can use an elixir to make herself as blushingly beautiful as she once may have been, and who was once rather taken with Stile herself. We do have our little ways with those of the masculine persuasion.” The hens looked at her quizzically. They now had an excellent view of what she offered men, as they squatted almost within the area enclosed by her spread legs, but did not seem to understand.

“You see, things have heated up recently,” she explained. “Blue’s robot son Mach managed to exchange with Stile’s human son Bane in Phaze, establishing the first contact be tween the frames in twenty years. What a can of worms that opened! We humans don’t appreciate worms the way you chickens do. The robot boy, delighted to have a living body, fell in love with a unicorn there, while the human boy loved an alien creature here. Didn’t that make conventional folk sweat! Now both those couples have offspring, who have be come pawns in the larger power play. Little Nepe is captive of the Citizens, and little Flach captive of the Adepts in Phaze. So they have scheduled a big double tourney to settle it, and the winner will have the ultimate power. Am I boring you?” The hens gazed at her. They did not seem bored.

“Well, then, I shall tell you the rest of it. I have been busy helping Citizen Blue with the negotiations. The details of the Proton Tourney had to be worked out to satisfy the disparate interests of both sides, and this was most difficult to do, be cause of course each wanted the advantage. My mind has not been so pleasantly exerted in decades! We finally hammered out a compromise. For the first contest, each side would choose a player from the elder generation—the ones who fought each other when Stile was on the scene in Proton. Thus Citizen Purple met the robot Sheen, Blue’s wife, in a dragon duel, and I regret to say defeated her in fair play. For the third contest, each side will choose a representative from the middle generation, those who came on the scene when Mach and Bane exchanged places. And for the second con test, players have been chosen from the young generation, or those who entered the picture more recently. That completes the span of generations. But because this contest may be cru cial—there may be no third contest, if the Citizens win this one—they arranged another device. Each side got to choose the opponent the other side would put up.”

She laughed. “Yes, I see how that amazes you! How could such a thing be workable? Wouldn’t the choices be designed to be the worst possible players, to guarantee the loss? And the answer is, of course—but the array of choices is sharply limited. Only those who actually have participated in signif icant events were eligible. The Oracle passed judgment, re jecting ineligible nominations. Thus the Citizens came to be represented by a young woman named Tsetse—some time I really must explore the derivation of that name!—who has no Game training but who, being the secretary of Citizen Tan’s sister and the mistress of Citizen Purple, qualifies despite the defection to Tania. Her assets are said to be almost entirely in her body, not her brain. The Citizens are not pleased, but are stuck for it. And Blue’s side is to be represented by a robot friend of little Nepe’s called Troubot, former informa tion expediter for the Citizens. Now you might think such a robot would be ineligible to represent Blue, but the Citizens pointed out that he in effect defected when he helped Nepe’s alien mother to escape the planet, and to that logic the Oracle acceded. So Troubot it is; he will play against Tsetse for extraordinarily high stakes. But there is just one little problem.”

She paused again, artfully, and sure enough, the hens peered at her attentively, enraptured by her narration. Merle was good at making an effect, and she enjoyed it now. “But I doubt that you would be interested in such a detail. Perhaps it is time for me to go tease Blue.”

Heningway actually stood and came closer, as if to plead for the finale. Merle stroked her again and relented. “Very well, it is this: Troubot can not be found. He is hiding, surely fearing the vengeance of the Citizens, and though the call has been spread across the networks, he has not responded. I am not a robot, but I believe I can guess his concern: how can he be sure the call is legitimate? It could have been put out by the Citizens, to lure him in, so that they can capture and destroy him. Naturally he is cautious. But as it happens, the call is legitimate, and if Blue does not succeed in presenting Troubot for the contest by tomorrow. Blue will have to forfeit the game and the planet to the Contrary Citizens. So you can see the matter is critical. Blue is desperate—exactly as the Citizens hoped. They have found a ploy that may defeat him by default, and Tsetse will never have to play. It’s a beautiful tactic, I must confess; I could hardly have thought of one better.”

She stood. “Well, you have been an excellent audience, but I think I shall go call Blue and tease him a bit. I’ll make him come here, so you can see him sweat. Enjoy your selves!”

Merle departed, closing the chamber door behind her. The hens remained where they were for a time, listening; only when they heard the second door close, signaling the woman’s entry into her house proper, did they rise. Then Heningway went to the door to peek out, while the others milled about aimlessly, pecking at stray grains. Heningway, reassured that the woman really was gone, re turned to the center of the little flock. She gave a coded series of clucks. Immediately the others clustered close. They hud dled, stretching their necks, touching their beaks together. With that contact, their nature changed. A person watching would have seen only their peculiar formation, but one who tuned in their electrical activity would have discovered the reality.

For the six individuals represented the components of a larger apparatus. The little flock was not a flock, but the parts of a self-willed robot. Each part was equipped with chicken legs and chicken head and feathers, but was not alive. Each was set up to emulate the simple acts of a hen: walking, pecking, defecating. The droppings were of pseudo-organic matter, because these hens had no digestive systems. The main brain unit was in the part labeled Heningway, with supplementary parts distributed among the others so that they could react to events in a reasonable manner. Fortunately, hens were not expected to be overly ambitious, and this was an extremely protected environment.

The whole entity was Troubot, the machine for which everyone was searching. He had delivered Agape to the spaceport, then gone into hiding, knowing that he was now a marked machine. From his years of association with Nepe he had learned much, and knew how to hide so mat he could not be found. The principle, she had explained, was surprise: to do the unexpected. Thus she had become a machine, the one form others thought impossible for her. Of course she had never been a true machine, but rather a cyborg, but she had so masked her living portion that it was virtually indistinguishable from inanimate substance. This was, she had explained, merely an extension of her natural ability to harden her substance into bonelike or hornlike rigidity. It was normally done only to part of the body, for the sake of stability, or to emulate the body of some other form, such as me human form. But with effort and practice she had extended it to al most the whole of her body, and had made her flesh harder than bone or hoof, so that it most resembled metal. Thus she had remained safely hidden despite a thorough search for her, because they were not searching for a robot. Troubot had learned the principle, and applied it well. First he had considered what would be the least likely form for him to assume, and concluded that it would be that of a living creature. But he realized that this would be a creature of at least his present size, and if others reasoned mat he might assume such a form, they had but to check for all new creatures at or above that size; that of a large dog. There were not many, and virtually all were on the estates of Citizens, and duly registered; verification could be very quick, and he would soon be isolated. That was too much of a chance to take. So he worked out a second ploy, reducing the size by breaking himself into components. He had learned how to do this by studying the manuals available in the information service that he used; it took some special engineering, but he had had years to work it out, and had done so. Now he had used it, becoming a flock of six hens, concealing himself by flesh, size, number and sex. He had replaced the flock of this Citizen, having ascertained that though she maintained her birds well, she had grown out of the habit of visiting them, so that for weeks at a time they were fed only by the auto-matic servitors.

He had come to her estate, bridged the security measures she really was not security conscious, being a socialite who lived mainly for the challenge of social relations—and taken her birds to a holding area for quarantine. He had set it up so that they would be fed just as before, in a chamber much as before, and no notice of this detention was fed into the planetary records. As a trouble-shooting robot, he was good at this sort of thing; he had taught Nepe how, just as she had taught him her skills, during the years of their friendship. Thus the hens were safe, and could be replaced in Merle’s coop at any time, no one the wiser. In this manner he had disappeared, and the searchers had had no better luck locat ing him than they had had with Nepe. Only the capture of her other self in Phaze had led to her exposure. Then he had resumed the job she had done for him, and when it appeared there would be suspicion because of his association with her, he had moved into other employment, remaining free. But after he helped Agape me search became far more intense. It seemed everybody wanted him, and he wasn’t sure for what reason. Nepe had put it succinctly: “Hide, Troubot, and don’t get caught!” That he had done. Now Merle had resumed paying attention to her hens. Did she know? If so, what did it mean? She was aligned with Blue, but was of an independent nature; no one ever knew what was in her heart. As a general rule, she did what was best for Merle, and never let an opportunity pass for some private advancement.

He could try to move out, bringing back the regular hens. But if she had caught on to him, she would have set new monitors, and the attempt would be foiled. Perhaps she only suspected—and was waiting for something mat would con firm her idea, without making an issue. This was her kind of subtlety. Troubot had decided to stand pat; Merle would ei ther expose him, or she would not, as her whim dictated. This last session had been the worst. Before, she had merely looked in on the flock; this time she had joined it. He had fashioned each part to resemble a specific hen, but could not pass more than a cursory inspection. His hope had been based on the assumption that the Citizen would pay no more atten tion to her hens than she had in the past. This change in her attitude was alarming. And for her to speak so openly and clearly of her history with Stile and Blue, and of his own disappearance . . .

There was little doubt now: she knew. He was surely at her mercy—which was perhaps where she wanted him to be. Why had she taken so much trouble to explain things to him? He had known of the intensity of the search, but had not known of this extra element. He had been chosen to represent Citizen Blue in a key Game-match? That was an amazing development. If it was true, he should certainly come forth and do what he could, because his association with Nepe had also put him firmly on her side, and therefore Blue’s side. But was it true? How could he be sure that Merie, for reasons of her own, was not teasing him, so that he might expose himself and fall into the wrong hands? If she did not want to betray Blue openly—because, as she so candidly put it, she hoped to arrange another sexual liaison with him—but actu ally sympathized with the other side, this could be a way. If that were her plan, the best thing he could do would be to sit tight, refusing to reveal himself. That would force her to do her own dirty work, and pay the penalty. Troubot was sure that Merle had no concern at all for his welfare, but only hoped to use him in some fashion to her advantage. But if what she said was true, and he did not come forth, Citizen Blue could lose his match by default. Probably the Citizens had selected Troubot in part because of this. They hoped that Troubot would not trust the summons, and so would serve their objective.

Troubot did not have feelings in the living sense, but he was a sophisticated self-willed machine who could react emo tionally when applicable circuits were set up and invoked. In the course of his association with Nepe, he had set up such circuits, and felt a reasonable facsimile of friendship for her, and loyalty to the principles she had adopted. Thus there was an emotional component involved, which he could cut out, but only at the cost of his feeling for Nepe. He did not like to do that, because his feeling toward Nepe was the only thing that really distinguished him from an ordinary self-willed machine. He knew that if he voided that circuit, he would be unlikely to re-invoke it later, because his nature would be changed; he simply would not care any more. It would be like death in a living creature. So he retained the circuit—and so he suffered now this agony of indecision. He knew he wanted to help Nepe and her grandfather Blue; he did not know in what way he best could do that. Should he believe Merle, or doubt her?

He lacked the circuitry to resolve such a conflict. He was not, after all, the Oracle, whose nature was more sophisti cated than that of any other machine. He was not even similar to Sheen, or Mach; he was just an ordinary self-willed robot who had been influenced by long and close association with a living alien child who understood robots because her father was one. Perhaps that had made him unusual among ma chines, but it did not provide him with superior intellectual competence. He had modified his body and his emotion, but his intellect was locked in to what it had been at the start. He had been smart at the start—too smart, for a machine, and therefore out of tolerance—but he had never been able to approach Nepe’s level.

So he waited, doing nothing. He let his components sep arate, and reverted to the lesser state that was not the sum of his parts. As six units he was conscious, but unable to utilize his full mental capacity; too much of it had been distributed to the others, to make them separately functional. As Hen ingway, he possessed the main awareness, and could make decisions, but was hesitant to without being able to draw on his full complement. He pecked up a seed, which he could not digest, biding his time.

Soon Merie returned. “Well, chickens,” she said brightly. “I have just called Blue, and prevailed on him to appear here within the hour, alone. Would you like me to enable you to witness my bit of sport with him?”

Troubot tried to reason whether he should make a response. If she did not know his nature, he did not want to give it away, but his brief mergence with his other parts had enabled him to think more comprehensively, and he had concluded that she did know; therefore there was no point in hiding from her. He did want to see Citizen Blue, because he understood that that was a man he could trust and possibly find sanctuary with. So he should make a positive response; that seemed clear enough.

He stepped forward, making one cluck.

“Well, now, Heningway! You are becoming positively literary!” she exclaimed, pleased. In the course of his researches he had encountered a name that resembled the one she had bestowed on this hen; perhaps she was making a pun. “Very well, I shall do it. He will be here within the half hour; I shall go change, and a servitor will install appropriate furniture here.” She looked sternly at the hens. “Do not drop anything untoward on it!”

She exited. In a moment a rolling transport brought in a couch that looked much like a bed. Then the machine set up a baffle that consisted of a curtain, so that the couch was concealed from the view of the main coop. Troubot reassembled his units, touching beaks, so he could ponder this development. It seemed obvious that Merle in tended to seduce Citizen Blue in exchange for the information about Troubot’s location. Was this proper? He doubted it, but was not certain of his proper response. He knew that if he were alive, he would resent being used this way; as it was, he merely noted it, and disbanded, making no decision. As scheduled. Merle returned, wearing a voluminous mock-fur coat, escorting Citizen Blue, who was in his usual blue cloak. She turned to close and secure the door behind them. “There—now we are secure,” she said. “This is the only chamber where I am assured that no monitors are active; no one can eavesdrop on us here except my flock of chickens, and they really do not pass judgments.”

Blue ignored the hens. “Merle, thou didst say thou hadst something important for me.”

“Indeed I do,” she said. “You may remember our tryst of some years back. I have a hunger for something similar.”

He frowned. “I be married now.”

“To a machine.”

“Aye. But still married. Thou knowest how I feel about this matter. I have problems enough without—”

“I love it when you talk Phazish!”

Blue paused. “I revert to it unconsciously when under stress. I apologize. Now I assume you did not call me here to waste my time and yours. What do you really have on your mind?”

Merle opened her coat, then slid out of it. She was nude beneath, of course. “I just told you. Blue.”

“Impossible!” he snapped.

“By no means, my bantam lover. See, I have prepared.”

She drew the curtain, revealing the couch.

“What makes you think I would indulge you at this time?” he asked, openly irritated.

“Suppose I were to say that I had information you very much wanted, for a price?”

“The only information I want is—“ He paused. “You know—?”

“Where Troubot is. Yes, I believe I do, bantam. And I might even tell you. Would that information be worth the price?”

Now he hesitated. “I would have to ask my wife.”

“I shall be happy to query her for you, Blue. I am sure she will understand. She did before.”

He reconsidered. “That will not be necessary. Merle, are you saying you have this information, or are you teasing me?”

“I am doing both, dear boy. Join me on the couch, and in due course I will tell you.”

“Damn thee!” he swore. “To put such a price on such a need!”

Merle sighed. “Now I have made him angry, and that spoils the mood. Very well, I will postpone my satisfaction. I will give you Troubot, and you will be the judge of the nature and the timing of my reward. I believe that is more than fair; don’t you agree?”

“Damn thee!” he repeated.

Merle turned to face the hens. “As you can see, this is definitely Citizen Blue. Any lesser man would have taken my offering and damned with the price. Show yourself.” Troubot, as Heningway, stepped forward. He clucked to the others, and they joined him.

Citizen Blue stared. “The chickens?”

“A most effective ruse, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m not sure I believe this! How could he be in six living parts?”

“Six parts yes, living no. That is pseudoflesh. Take him and verify him; you will discover him to be a single self willed robot.”

Blue began to believe. “I never thought to check for some thing like this, and neither did the Citizens. It just could be! But I’m not sure I can distinguish one self-willed machine from another; this could be a plant by the Citizens.”

“That had occurred to me,” she said. “Therefore we must take the next step with suitable dispatch. We must bring in the one person who can identify Troubot without doubt.”

“That can only be Nepe! But she be captive o’ the enemy!”

“So we deal with the enemy. They have a similar interest, after all; what is to stop us from planting our own imitation, a machine designed to be a likely winner in a Game?”

“Mine honor!” he flared.

“But the Contrary Citizens hardly believe in honor. They will distrust yours, without reason, and mine, with reason. They must be assured of Troubot’s identity too. So call them; they will bring her here.”

Citizen Blue considered, and nodded. “Thou be earning thy keep,” he said.

“I always do. I only regret that it requires such a situation to entice you to do what any other man would do without price.”

Now he laughed. “It were a good night, that one! Me thought the dawn would ne’er come!”

“I delayed it by retiming the lights.”

He stared at her, then shook his head. “Mind thee, my wife will have thy head for this!”

“Make the call; time is short.”

“Aye.” He opened the door and stepped out, while she picked up her coat and put it on. Then she sat in the couch and waited.

“You see, chickens, there is more than just coming for ward,” she said. “You have to be verified. This is the only way to do it. I do have your best interest at heart, and I trust you will do what needs to be done. If you fail to convince Nepe, all is lost. Make sure you appreciate that.” Troubot appreciated it. Merle was more of a person than he had credited. Again he understood that the intricacies of human logic and action went beyond his own capacities. Later that afternoon a second party arrived: Merle, Blue, Citizen Translucent and Nepe. The contrast between the two men was sharp. Translucent was large and stout in his almost transparent robe, while Blue was so small in his blue robe as to seem childlike; Nepe looked more like his sister than his granddaughter. This was a parlay under truce between those who could be trusted; Translucent was the only one of the Contrary Citizens with a sufficient sense of honor.

Translucent and Blue sat on the couch, and Nepe sat on her grandfather’s lap and hugged him. She knew she would have to return to captivity with Translucent; this was her only chance to visit with the one who by appearances meant more to her than her father. Troubot knew that Blue had not expected issue from a man in the body of a robot with an alien creature, yet it had happened, and Blue had taken the child to his heart at the outset. He had also used her as a tool against the Contrary Citizens, but with her full consent. Nepe had told Troubot everything, needing a confidant in her iso lation, and in the process he had become more human than could otherwise have been the case.

“Now that we are private, here is the situation,” Merie said. “The Contrary Citizens have chosen the self-willed ro bot servitor identified as Troubot to represent Citizen Blue in the second contest of three, to decide who shall have ultimate power in the frame. But Troubot is in hiding, and Blue will have to default if Troubot is not found in time. Only one person can identify this machine, and that person is Nepe, who is his friend.” Merle looked at the child. “Nepe, do you understand that you must speak the truth and only the truth in this matter?”

“I do,” Nepe said.

Merle glanced at the two men. “Do each of you accept her veracity in this?”

Each man nodded.

Merle spoke to Nepe again. “Then I ask you, Nepe: do you see your friend Troubot here?”

“Here?” Nepe asked, startled. “I thought we were going to go find him!”

“We may be. Please answer the question.”

“But there’s no one here but—“ Her eyes fell on the hens, and went abruptly round. “Gosh! It is!” She jumped down and ran to the little flock. She plumped down on the ground and opened her arms, trying to hug all the hens at once. “How clever of you, Troubot! You even had me fooled!”

“But how can you be sure?” Merle asked.

“He’s my friend! I’d know him anywhere, if I looked.”

Merle smiled.. “You must pardon those of us who lack your ability. How can we be sure?”

Nepe considered. “We have a secret code that only the two of us know. Let me tell it to you, and he will respond to you only when you use it.”

“Fair enough,” Merle said.

Nepe got up, went to the woman, and whispered some thing. Then Merle spoke to the two men, who had remained passive. “Agree among yourselves when I should give the code, and see whether the response is there.” Translucent shrugged, and brought out a stylus and pad. He wrote something, then tore off the sheet and passed it to Merle. Blue brought out a similar pad and made a note, also passing it to Merle. She looked at each, then folded them, smiling. “Each of you has written a number, and the one modifies the other. I shall use the result, which neither of you know.”

She faced the hens. “Troubot, here is the code: three, fifteen, one.”

Troubot did not respond. The code was numeric, but she had the wrong numbers.

“Troubot,” she said again, “here is the code: nine, twenty nine, ninety-nine.”

Again he did not respond.

“Troubot, here is the code: four, four, four to the fourth power, forever four.”

That was it: Nepe’s age when they had met, formed into a cherished memory. Heningway clucked, and the others came together to huddle. They formed their pattern in front of Merle, all beaks touching.

“We seem to have a response,” Merie said. “Is it the right time?”

“I wrote the number six,” Translucent said.

“I divided by two,” Blue said.

“Indeed you did,” Merle agreed. “And six divided by two is three; I gave the code the third time. This test may have been crude, but seems indicative. Are we satisfied?” They looked at the flock, which was clustered around Nepe again. They were satisfied.

Troubot assembled himself, removing the fleshly vestments and becoming a single entity again. Now he could function fully. They took down his stats: the part numbers of his components and the electrical pattern of his brain circuitry, so there could be no subsequent confusion about his identity. Then Translucent and Nepe left, and Citizen Blue took Trou bot with him. Merle was left to recover her hens from the quarantine chamber.

It was good being legitimate again, the doubt gone. But now he had a new responsibility: to represent Citizen Blue in a contest that was already partly lost. If he lost the game, Blue was done for. Troubot had never before played a Game, though he was familiar with its rules. He understood that his opponent Tsetse had not played either, but still it seemed doubtful. The matchup was too odd, for stakes too high. Citizen Blue gave him access to the information net, and he spent the night reviewing strategies of the grid, and check ing the course of past games. He was as ready as he could be, considering that he had not been designed for this en deavor.

Tsetse entered the chamber after Troubot had taken his place at the console. He was a machine, but he had learned to catalogue living folk according to their physical esthetics by human definition, and she was what was best described as luscious. He had of course researched her stats, and learned that she was of average intelligence and creativity and per sonality, and below average in motivation; only her outstand ing body displaced her from the ordinary. He would do well to engage her in a mental game, where he should have an advantage. But she would seek to avoid this, being property coached. In fact, she might well seek to avoid all games of skill, and go for CHANCE, making the issue random. This might indeed be the Citizens’ best strategy; if they won, they won everything, while if they lost, they would still be even. He had the letters. That meant he could not put it into the MENTAL arena. He was already a machine, so would have less advantage than she by drawing on the powers of a ma chine; the same went for tools. The animal category had po tential complications he preferred to avoid. This being the case, he went for the simplest: NAKED.

To his relief, she too selected the simplest: PHYSICAL. It would be just the two of them, with their own unaugmented abilities.

For the secondary grid he had the numbers. Again he chose the simplest: SEPARATE. That meant that they would do, essentially, their own things, not being dependent on each other. A foot race was separate, while a game of tag was interactive. Of course she could get him in trouble by her choice of surface: if she chose a water contest, he would have difficulty. He could modify his body to move in water, but this might not be permitted. She, in contrast, had a body that seemed designed by nature for swimming. However, he had found no reference to swimming in her record, and hoped that she was of the type who went to the water only for appearances.

She chose Variable Surface, again to his relief. He might have to navigate a slope, but that was easier than dealing with water. He would try to line up good options, and hope for the best on the tertiary grid.

She made the first placement, and Sand Dunes appeared in the center. Sand was another prospect he did not relish; his wheels would lose traction in it.

He put Maze Path in the top row, center. That brought a mental element into it, giving him the advantage. She put Snow Bank in the upper left comer. There was another problem for him: snow. She had been well enough rehearsed, and was playing correctly.

He countered with Limestone Cliff in the lower right cor ner. He could project points to grip the rock and climb well enough, while she should have more trouble. She put Glass Mountain in the upper right comer. That was mixed, for him; the glass would be too hard for his points, but his wheels could get traction when it was dry. He put Tight Rope in the left column, down one. As a machine, he could achieve almost perfect balance, and his wheels could remain firm on the rope, while the woman might become highly unstable.

She put Greased Hills in the bottom left column. That was a mistake on her part; he could handle grease by poking his points through to the sand beneath.

He put Cross Country in the center of the third column, then realized that he should have put it in the bottom center column, giving him three good choices in the bottom row. She filled in the last box with Dust Slide. He liked dust no better than snow; that spoiled that row for him. Now the grid was complete.

TERTIARY GRID: 1A5F

Physical Naked Separate, Variable Surface

Snow Bank Maze Path Glass Mm

Tight Rope Sand Dunes Cross Country

Greased Hills Dust Slide Limestone

He had the choice of rows or columns. He chose the rows. She would figure him to take the middle row, because two of his choices were there, so she should choose the center col umn, to stick him with Sand Dunes. Therefore he chose the top row.

But she, for what reason he might never understand, had selected the third column. The result was Glass Mountain: one of her choices, but really not bad for him. They adjourned to the mountain. As true mountains went, this was small, but as inner-dome artifacts went, it was big. The mountain was indeed formed of glass, or at least had a glass exterior. It was broad at the base, and slanted up to a peak about ten meters high. It was ridged and channeled, with many facets and some almost vertical cliffs which rep resented impassable barriers to naked—i.e., bare-handed—folk. Its contours were changed for each game, so that there was no point in memorizing its outline. It was normally so constructed that a person could not simply pick a gentle slope and mount to the top; he had to ascertain, usually by trial and error, which route was feasible, and do it before his opponent did. The first one to the top was the winner. This was “separate”; that meant that one player could not directly interfere with the other, such as by shoving him off the mountain. But the categories were seldom pristine; there was inevitably some interaction, as when one player got to the best route before the other and so forced the other either to follow behind or to choose another route. In this case there was an added fillip: water bombs. These were little balloons filled with water which, when burst against the glass, made it too slippery for progress. A player could take as many bombs as he could hold, and use them to reduce the friction of the path his opponent had chosen. The effect lasted only a few seconds, but could make the difference when both were racing toward the top on different paths. Troubot feared that his wheels would be more susceptible to slipperiness than Tsetse’s feet, because she could step over wet spots while he could not. But he had greater capacity to hold water bombs. He could fill his hopper with them, while she could carry only what she could hold in her arms. Still, he did not know how agile she was, or what the best route was. This was still anybody’s game. The audience evidently thought so; the monitor lights indicated a massive viewing, which could not be accounted for solely by the importance of the contest.

Of course. Tsetse was a lovely young woman. That would account for a significant enhancement of the number of view ers. She would be bending over to scramble up tricky slants, and perhaps taking spread-legged tumbles. That sort of thing was always big with the serfs. They would be rooting for her, to win or tumble or both, but their reactions did not matter, because they would not be audible here. They started. Tsetse ran to the mountain and clambered nimbly enough up the first channel that offered. Troubot went instead to the bomb dispensary and carefully set a dozen into his hopper. This might raise his center of gravity and make his climb more difficult, but the bombs should be more of an asset than a liability.

Tsetse’s channel faded out, leaving her on a flat facet whose tilt was more to the vertical. She climbed this carefully, her toes just beginning to skid. She was about four meters up. Troubot waited below, watching carefully, analyzing the slope she navigated; it did not matter who tested it, for this pur pose.

Then, just as she was about to reach the top of the facet so that she could step onto a more promising new channel above, Troubot flexed a metal arm and lofted a water bomb. His aim was good, of course; the bomb landed just above her, and the water coursed down across her feet. Friction diminished abruptly. She screamed as she lost her footing and slid down to the base of the mountain, in exactly the fashion the audi ence had hoped for.

Troubot did not wait to watch; he was not a living human male and would have had no gratification from the sight. He had merely taken the opportunity to test the efficacy of the 3 water so that he could estimate the coefficient of friction be fore and after. He believed she was on the wrong path, but wasn’t sure, so this would set her back while he tried an alternate route himself.

He found a facet that started steep, but curved to diminish the angle above. He started up this one, his wheels barely holding at the base. Yes, this seemed more promising; above the facet was a channel that curved upward around the moun tain. He rolled up this.

Splat! A water bomb struck his body. It burst, and the water cascaded down around his wheels. Traction was gone; he slipped helplessly, and in a moment was at the bottom. The mountain had a soft curtain or buffer at the base, to absorb the shock of landings, so that players would not be hurt by their involuntary slides. But he had lost his progress. Tsetse had retaliated.

Troubot realized that neither of them would be able to make progress if things continued like this; one could always re main at the base and bring down the other. But they were hardly likely to cooperate. So he rolled around the mountain, looking for a third route of ascent; he would have to let the woman try her own at the same time. If she got ahead of him, near the top, he would throw another bomb and stop her, while she would be unable to carry bombs aloft and still use her hands effectively for climbing.

She did not follow; evidently she was satisfied to return to her first path and follow it farther up, while he tried his new one. He was certainly ready for that, because he believed the odds were against either of the others being the right one. He found a new route, and moved up it. This was the best one yet; it slanted slightly to the side, but took him two thirds of the way up toward the peak. If it went all the way—

It did not, exactly. It abruptly became vertical, and he could not ascend farther. Would he have to go all the way back down, while Tsetse continued on up? No, he saw a gentle ledge to the right that sloped toward her original route. He maneuvered very carefully, and managed to get fairly on it. He rounded the curve of the mountain—and there was Tsetse coming up toward him.

He picked up a bomb from his hopper, but hesitated. If they met on this path, there was evidently no future in it for either of them. What was the point in washing her off it? Better to leave her here, where she could go nowhere. But she seemed to have a similar notion. She clambered to the side, and down the mountain. Her feet skidded, but it didn’t matter; she was going down anyway. Before he could do it himself, she was down and around, going for the first path he had tried.

He pondered. He could go down and around himself, and loft a bomb at her, stopping her progress. But she would do it back to him the moment he tried. Meanwhile, he was al ready well up on the mountain, now; if he could find a way to intercept that other path, and get on it ahead of her, he could win.

He tried, but the mountain was implacable: he could not get to the other path. He could only see her head come into sight as she reached the point he had before she bombed him. She seemed on the way to victory.

But he didn’t have to be at ground level to stop her! He threw his bomb in a high arc over the curve of the mountain. It came down neatly on her head. “Oh!” she sputtered, but she did not lose her footing. His aim had been good, but she had moved, so that the bomb had hit her instead of the path before her.

He lofted another. This time she lifted her hand and caught it. It broke, but did not dislodge her. The water needed to strike her feet, or the path upslope, to be effective; her head or hand dissipated its effect too much. If he threw another, she might manage to catch it unbroken, and hurl it back at him. He decided to wait for her to resume her climb, so that he could score on the path while her hands were occupied in climbing. But she waited, watching him. She might not be the smartest of women, but she was canny enough for this! It was a standoff. But as he waited, another thought came to him. The first path had not gone anywhere, and neither had the third. It seemed likely that none of the paths that started at the base went all the way up. More likely, the final path would begin somewhere farther up. The player who figured this out first, and got to it, should be the winner.

But where could such a path be? He had been balked by the vertical tilt of the third path, and managed to cross to this one. The mountain was not large enough for many more sites.

He retraced his route. This time he saw it: another slight ledge piking up on the other side of the vertical path. It looked as if it did not go anywhere—but that could be deceptive. He moved slowly and carefully, and managed to cross to that other ledge. Then he heard something: there was Tsetse, well up toward the peak, on the other side; all he saw was her right shoulder. Her path did go all the way up, and he had wasted time trying for this other one. But he still had a chance. He brought out another water bomb. He threw it up, not at Tsetse, but at the peak of the mountain itself. The bomb came down on the point and broke; its water flowed down mostly on Tsetse’s side. She made an exclamation of horror; then she slid down. But the slope immediately below her was not steep, and the amount of water had been slight; she managed to recover after only a meter or two.

Meanwhile, Troubot found that his new path did move on up. It was a better path than it seemed from below; the cur vature of the mountain tended to conceal it. He followed it up, and soon realized that it, too, reached the top. Tsetse was climbing again. Troubot threw another bomb, and rendered her path slippery again. She had to wait for it to clear before proceeding, and meanwhile he continued his ascent. She apparently had no bombs of her own. His deci sion to load up on them seemed to spell a critical advantage for him.

Then, as he was almost close enough to touch the peak and win, she moved. She did have a bomb; now it was looping toward him.

Its aim was good; it was going to splatter on the path just above him. He could not reach it in time. He did not try. Instead, he hurled a bomb of his own, not at Tsetse, but at the other bomb.

The two bombs met in air, and exploded. But his had been thrown later and harder, and its force carried the spray of water away from the path. Some water fell, but not enough to dislodge him. He paused to be sure the path was not too wet, then proceeded on up.

Tsetse, peering around the slope, saw this, and scrambled toward the peak herself. Troubot lobbed another bomb at her, and washed her back down to the lesser slope again. Before she could recover, he made it the rest of the way and clapped his metal arm on the top of the peak.

A gong sounded. He had won!

Tsetse, below, looked so forlorn that he knew he would have felt terrible remorse, had he been a living man of her species. But as it was, what he felt was more like joy.