“Nay. I—”
“They cut off the loser’s hand.”
She stared at him, speechless.
“That is to ensure that no native throws a game to a Hectare. There is no penalty for winning, and no loss to the Hectare for losing, other than its bets. They’re not really good at the game yet, being unused to our conventions, so they often do lose. But they are getting better. They’re not stupid, and they do not forget a ploy that defeats them. It’s like Phaze magic: it won’t work twice. So I have no certainty of winning.”
“But then why didst thou challenge—”
“I didn’t challenge!” he shouted. “But the Hectare evidently thinks I did, so I’m stuck for it. Now, woman, understand this: you will be my second, and you will see that I win. Because if I lose, you lose. Do you understand me?”
Brown didn’t need to ask how she would lose. Her secret was on the line. She would have to do her very best to help him to win. Which was exactly what Nepe had told her to do. She had for the sake of integrity urged him not to use her; now her course was clear.
“Aye,” she said slowly. “But let me bring Tsetse.”
“To remind you what you’re fighting for?” He shrugged. “Bring her, then. But be ready in ten minutes. I’ll be at my plane.” He swept out.
Flustered, Brown went to the storeroom. She opened the door—and paused, astonished.
Tsetse stood there, absolutely authentic. Brown knew it wasn’t her, but the likeness was so good that it was hard to believe. “Thou needs must come—” she said, faltering as the surprise continued to percolate.
“Yes, of course, Brown,” the woman said in Tsetse’s voice. “Whatever you say.”
Did the woman stand a little taller than before, and was she heavier? Brown peered closely at her, to see whether she had been magnified a size, but could detect nothing. This emulation would readily pass inspection. But how had they managed it?
She decided to treat the emulation exactly as if she were Tsetse, so that there could be no slip. “Something has come up. We must leave for Proton immediately with Citizen Purple. I am to assist him in a game against a Hectare.”
“A game against a Hectare!” Tsetse exclaimed, wide-eyed. “But don’t they make natives—?”
“Aye. Needs must we help Purple win. Now come.”
Tsetse followed her obediently. They went out to the waiting airplane.
“You can keep your clothing, Brown, but she’s a serf,” Purple reminded her as he climbed into the pilot’s seat.
“Remove thy apparel,” Brown told Tsetse. “Thou canst have it back when we return.”
The woman struggled out of her gown, in the confines of the plane. Brown helped her. She still seemed completely real, and even her struggle to get out of the robe was authentic. Her breasts shook and her hair got disordered. But when Brown’s hand touched her body, she found that it was a good deal more solid than it looked.
Illusion! That was the secret! The other person was larger, but looked the same. There should be no problem as long as no one actually touched her.
Purple was taxiing around, getting aligned for the takeoff. By the time Tsetse was bare, the plane had gotten up speed. Purple, concentrating on his piloting, had paid no attention to Tsetse. That was just as well, since he would have caught on instantly had he touched her. He had after all had an affair with her. This remained chancy business!
Soon they reached the Hardom dome, and landed. A Citizen transport was waiting for them. They entered the chamber, and it moved into the hidden transport network of the city.
Purple touched a console. “Replay my engagement to play a game with the Hectare,” he snapped.
A wall became a screen. It was as if they were looking through a picture window to a larger room. There was Citizen Purple, exactly as now, speaking from the screen of a phone. “I crave the honor of engaging my Hectare supervisor in a game,” the figure said politely. “I feel this would benefit our mutual understanding. Of course there is no obligation, if you have other business, and I apologize for intruding on your time.”
That was it. The inset screen clock showed that this call had been made just about the time Purple was arriving at the Brown Demesnes. It was an obvious frame—to those who knew what he had actually been doing.
Brown, true to her agreement, said what she could. “Someone somehow emulated thee, Purple. But that was when thou wast talking with me, as I will attest. If thou dost explain to the Hectare, maybe—”
“Too late for that. Once the Hectare accepted the challenge, that was that. I’m hoist. But once I catch the perpetrator…”
“Methinks only Mach could do it.”
“The tech for the call, yes, Mach/Bane,” he agreed, pronouncing the names as if they were one name, appropriately. “But the emulation, that would be Flach/Nepe. I’ve tangled with that brat before, and she’s more dangerous than any of the rest. I told the Hectare, nail her first, but they didn’t understand. Now she’s getting me back.” He glanced at Brown. “I know you’re on the other side, but this need be no secret. I’ve got a healthy respect for that one, and if I don’t kill her, she’ll kill me. But you have made a deal, and you will not allow her to attack me through you.”
“I made the deal with thee,” Brown agreed. “But that extends not to betraying those who support Phaze.”
“Don’t quibble, woman. If you know where the brat is hiding, you won’t tell me. But if you know the brat is about to do me harm, you will protect me from it. She shall not use you to harm me.”
Brown realized that Nepe had set up the bogus challenge to the Hectare before approaching Brown. In fact, she had probably recorded it, and then her father had sent it at the critical moment. Nepe was using Brown to fight the invaders in some devious way, not to harm Purple directly. But if Purple lost the game, he would be harmed, and Brown would have some share of blame for that, because she was cooperating with Nepe. It was a devious situation, ethically, but as she saw it, she had to make sure that Purple won the game. “Aye.”
“I am sure you have had contact with her,” Purple continued. “Your castle is being watched, but of course she can get around that. It will be thoroughly searched during your absence. But as long as you honor the deal, no harm will come to you. Your chances of inadvertently betraying her are as good as they are of helping her. I figure that balances it out.”
“Aye.” She was developing a grudging respect for Purple. He was an unscrupulous and personally loathsome person, but he had made it possible for her to retain her loyalty and lifestyle while helping him. It was a more generous deal than she might have expected. She knew that Nepe understood that no direct attack on Purple could be tolerated now, however tempting it might be; if such a thing occurred, Brown would be obliged to betray Nepe to the enemy. Perhaps Purple, whose mind was as devious as any, was hoping for that.
The transporter stopped, and the door opened. They were at the Game Annex, about fifteen minutes early.
“Where is the game studio?” Purple demanded of the nearest serf.
“I will lead you there, sir,” the serf replied. “You are expected.”
“My second and her maid are also to be admitted.”
“The Hectare has arranged it, sir,” the man said as he led the way.
Indeed, the Hectare was ready, It stood within the studio, huge and grotesque, its myriad eye facets glinting. Brown did her best to mask the revulsion she felt at its proximity.
“Sir, this is my second, the Brown Adept, and her maid Tsetse,” Purple said.
A man stepped forward. It was Citizen Tan, wearing his tentacle-cap. “I am the Hectare’s second,” he said. “What the hell are you doing, Purple?”
“A frame,” Purple said darkly. “We need better security on the phone system.”
Tan nodded. “The brat—and maybe serf Lysander, who has computer circuitry skills. I want that one myself.” Then he turned to the Hectare. “Sir, Purple is ready when you are.”
The Hectare walked to the console, in its fashion: dozens of fat little tentacles or feet or caterpillar treads buzzed it along quite adequately. There was a chirrup, and the translator spoke. “We shall indulge the Game Computer.”
“Of course, sir,” Purple said, moving to take his place on the other side of the console. He did not look easy, for it was known that the computer could be pixyish in its selections, and if it had a grudge against Purple, he would be finished. Brown hoped it had no grudge.
The Hectare extended a tentacle and touched its side of the console. Then Purple nodded to Brown. “As my second, how would you recommend I play?”
“Thou canst consult openly?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes, the Hectare permits this. It can overhear, of course. What shall I select?”
“But the Game Computer won’t give you what you select!” she said, shifting into her Proton self, because that one was better conversant with the rules of technology.
“It might. So I had better choose well.”
She saw that he had the numbers: Physical, Mental, Chance, and Art. “Avoid Chance,” she said. “And I think avoid Physical, because it might steer it into a contest where tentacles are a decisive advantage. As for Mental—that too is chancy. So it should be Art, where the human interpretations probably still prevail.”
Words flowed across the screen. SO FATSO WANTS TO WAX ARTISTIC, AND THE BEM WANTS TO PLAY WITH MACHINES. VERY WELL, THIS TIME I SHALL HUMOR BOTH. YOU SHALL BECOME ARTISTS OF THE STAGE, WITH HUMANOID ROBOTS AS ACTORS. SINCE YOU BOTH ARE ARTISTIC CRETINS, I WILL MAKE THE SETTING CRETAN. BEHOLD: THE PALACE OF KNOSSOS, 1550 B.C., WHOSE LABYRINTHINE PASSAGES AND CHAMBERS ARE AN EXCELLENT SETTING FOR A MYSTERY.
The chamber darkened and expanded, assuming the likeness of a great stone castle or palace whose hard walls were brightly painted and whose massive columns were both cylindrical and block-shaped. The pillars were slightly larger at the top than the bottom, enhancing the seeming scale of the building. The thing was a monument to the grandeur of a bygone age that stunned Brown. She knew that much of this representation had to be holographic, for there was no room within the Game Annex for it, but still it was awesome.
Now the Game Computer spoke through its speakers, its voice sounding artificial to only that degree it chose to indicate its origin. “The king has suffered an indisposition, and it has been determined that an attempt was made to poison him. Fortunately he consumed only a trace of the tainted food before his food-taster succumbed, so ceased immediately, and survived. It was determined that the poison was in the dates, and six residents of the palace had access to those dates in the prior day. These are therefore the six suspects. One of them is the guilty party, and will be proffered to the Minotaur for whatever pleasure the bull-headed brute cares to take before it consumes the person. It should be an excellent show, as the Minotaur has been restless lately, tossing his horns about. That is to say, horny. Three suspects will be with each player, and each player will make the case against one or more of the suspects of the other player. The victor will be the one who succeeds in condemning an opposing suspect. Choose your suspects.”
A curtain lifted on a stage that had not been evident before. On it stood an assortment of humanoid robots garbed in the costumes of the time: men with belts and codpieces, otherwise naked, and women with multitiered skirts and breast-baring boleros. Older men wore robes over their briefs, and older women shawls that were allowed to cover their open bodices. All were barefooted. Behind them, a great fresco showed a young man and a young woman engaged in the dangerous sport of bull-leaping, a prominent activity of the day. At the borders were pictures of ornate double axes, religiously significant.
Citizen Purple looked at the prospects. “Take first choice, sir,” he suggested to the Hectare. “I will settle for first move.”
The Hectare moved to the stage. Its tentacles extended and took hold of a lovely damsel whose skirt layers alternated colors: red, blue, white, and tan. Her black hair was bound with chains and beads, combs, and a band above the forehead. One lock passed before the ear to dangle down the side of her face. The Hectare lifted her high and carried her to the center of the set. “So BEMs do lust after femmes,” Tsetse murmured. “I don’t care to watch this.” She backed away, and in a moment was out the door. No one challenged her; if anyone other than Brown noticed her departure, that person didn’t care.
The girl-figure came alive. “Put me down, you monster!” she exclaimed, kicking her feet. She spoke in contemporary Proton dialect, not the ancient Cretan language; the Game Computer could go only so far.
The Hectare put her down. If it felt any affront, it did not show it. Brown realized that the creature was alien to human culture, and did not understand human ways or reactions, and probably would not have cared had it grasped them.
Purple glanced at Brown. “What for me?”
“Chances should be even if you match with a similar suspect,” Brown said. “That may be safest, until we know the Hectare’s strategy.”
“Umph,” he agreed, gazing intently at the young women. He had always had extreme interest in the female human form, Brown remembered; his activities in that respect were notorious. He might want to choose three young women, even though he knew they were only robots. Robots could perform almost any task as well as living folk, and all he cared about was the form and the obedience.
Purple made his selection: a woman whose skirt bands alternated gold with blue, and whose bare breasts were especially robust; they fairly burst out of her bolero. Her hair was styled like that of the first woman, with her dark front tresses trailing down beside her bosom. She wore three separate necklaces of differing sizes, so that one fit close about the column of her neck, a second hung lower, and the third dangled across the upper curvature of her breasts and down between them. “You, cutie.”
The figure animated, and stepped down from the stage, now exactly resembling a living woman. She came to stand near Purple, expectantly.
The Hectare chose a young man. He looked athletic, perhaps being one of the bull-leapers, but his waist was so slender, and cinched yet more narrowly by the belt, that from behind he could have been mistaken for a woman. He wore a pointed cap, but no beads in his hair, which trailed almost to his waist, with a single strand behind each ear.
“Match him?” Purple inquired. He seemed determined to have Brown’s input at every stage, so that if he lost the game, she could not avoid implication.
But Brown was beginning to work out a possible plot for this play. “No. Choose parents for the girl.”
Purple shrugged, and chose a stout older man that vaguely resembled himself.
The Hectare chose a second young man. Now its cast consisted of three youths, two male and one female.
Purple selected an older woman who, Brown realized with dismay, could be likened to herself, if allowance was made for the different costume and hair style. Her breasts made the mandatory appearance, but were modest, and the shawl was a blessing. She had an apron hanging from her waist that overlaid several of the tiers of the skirt, which reached all the way to the floor.
Now Purple’s complement consisted of the elder couple and the young woman.
“You will have five minutes to consult with your seconds privately and establish your strategies,” the Game Computer said. “Then Citizen Purple will make the first statement: why he believes one of the Hectare’s players is guilty of attempting to poison the king. I will serve as referee, but a selected audience who does not know the identities of the players will make the decision as to the victory.”
They withdrew to separate private chambers to their strategy consultations. Their chamber was in keeping with the set: it resembled the architecture of ancient Crete, with a stone floor and a flower mural on the walls. The Game Computer must have been working on this set for some time, Grafting every aspect of the illusion, and had drawn on it when opportunity offered. The onset of magic in Proton had evidently brought creativity to th
e computer. But Brown couldn’t help responding to the setting; she found herself longing for that culture, four thousand years before, on the distant planet of Earth. She felt the nostalgia of the loss of those artistic folk, perhaps foreshadowing the loss of her contemporary culture. Had the barbarian Greeks overrun Crete and exploited its resources and made of it a secondary or tertiary power—as the barbarian Hectare were about to do with Phaze? Perhaps, but they had been assisted by a volcano, whose horrendous detonation had smashed apart the lovely palaces and buried them in ash. Phaze lacked that excuse.
“Now what are you thinking of, woman, with your family group?” Purple demanded.
Brown was jolted back to the unpleasant reality: she was helping a man she detested to save his hide. She had to succeed, or she would pay a price that horrified her. “A family group would be unlikely to seek harm to the king,” she said. “These must be nobles of the palace, favored by the king, and their highborn daughter can be a prospective match for one of the king’s sons. They would want the king to prosper, and his son after him.”
Purple nodded. “But the Hectare will make the case that the nobleman wanted to take over the throne himself, bypassing the middleman.”
“Yes, that’s an obvious target. So we must prepare a defense, while working out an offense of more devious nature, that may catch the Hectare by surprise and lead to its disadvantage. Your devious mind should be able to craft such an attack. Let me work out the family defense, while you work out the attack.”
“My devious mind,” he said. “I would take that as a compliment, if I didn’t know you.”
“I agreed to help you,” she retorted. “I never agreed to like you.”
“And you will do the one, and not the other,” he agreed. “I would rather have an honest enemy in my camp than a dishonest friend. This is why I chose you, apart from your propinquity.”
She nodded. Purple was awful in every way except cunning. Certainly she was more to be trusted than his ally Tan. His choice of her for his second made sense despite her lack of experience with the game. He had had to make a decision quickly, and it would have taken precious time to run down someone else, while she had been right there. Nepe must have figured on that. Still, Nepe was a nervy player herself.