Unicorn Point

by Piers Anthony

  The carriage halted, and Blue stepped out into a crowded hallway. Naked serfs were walking in both directions; they took no overt note of the voluminously cloaked Citizen suddenly in their midst, but all were careful to leave a clear aisle for him. That was the way of it; any serf ignored any Citizen, unless the Citizen spoke to him. Then that serf obeyed the Citizen implicitly.

  He was at the entrance to the android laboratory. Each Dome City had its own robot, android and cyborg labs, where units were custom designed for particular purposes or individual Citizens. Sheen had originated in the robot lab, a standard female format with a then-new and sophisticated program for the emulation of emotion. But because she was of the self-willed machine variety, that simulation was virtually indistinguishable from the reality experienced by living creatures. Stile had discussed this with her, and become satisfied that her programmed feeling was as valid as his unprogrammed feeling, for his feelings were the result of his nature and experience. Perhaps that had started him on the route to the acceptance of the self-willed machines as legitimate social entities: people.

  Blue had carried that concept further, setting up the experimental community that gave equal status to humans and four other categories in their human forms: androids, self-willed robots, cyborgs and aliens. This was in part his payoff to the self-willed machines who had helped him survive the malice of Citizens, when he had been a serf. But it was also simple cultural justice. The other entities had similar abilities and sensitivities, and desired similar justice. Blue’s experimental community had demonstrated the feasibility of the integration of these five categories as equals. He had placed his own robot son Mach into this community, with greater success than anticipated. Who could have suspected that Mach would exchange minds with his other self in Phaze, and set off a chain of events that threatened to overturn all that Blue had accomplished here!

  Still, this had also resulted in the appearance of Stile’s son Bane in Proton, and his association with the alien female Agape, and their intricately crafted child Nepe. Now Nepe was helping Blue to hold his position as nominal leader of the Citizens. As long as he controlled more wealth than his opponents did, his policies governed; when the balance of wealth shifted, theirs would govern. They would not be able to undo a quarter century of reforms in a day, but certainly the effect would be deleterious to individual rights. The Contrary Citizens preferred things as they had been before Stile started the great change: unbridled wealth and power to the ruling class, and human serfs dedicated to serving the will of the Citizens. It was in its way a classic liberal-conservative struggle.

  He entered the laboratory. “At ease,” a serf murmured, advising all employees that a Citizen was present.

  Blue walked through the linked chambers of the lab, inspecting the android production line. At the beginning was the tank of “soup”—the living pseudoflesh from which the creatures were formed. A human being was conceived and birthed and grown to adult status, and eventually died. An android being was fashioned complete at one time, and educated rapidly; thereafter it lived and functioned and died in the human manner. Unfortunately, androids tended to be stupid; there seemed to be no proper substitute for nature’s way, when it came to intelligence. Blue’s experimental community had turned out the smartest androids yet, by making them small and letting them grow and learn in the human manner. But this was an inefficient way to do it; for most purposes, an instant stupid android, trained to a special task, was far more cost effective than a smart one who was years in development. Most, of course, were not even humanoid; they were shaped for myriad tasks that were beneath the notice of humans, including cleanup of the grounds beyond the dome.

  The intense pollution tended to corrode robots, and was unbreathable for humans, but androids could be crafted who breathed it, needing no special suits.

  However, Blue’s purpose in visiting this lab had nothing to do with the manufacture of androids. He had come here because this was the most likely hiding place for little Nepe. She, as a creature of alien flesh with robot specifications, could assume any living form, so could readily emulate an android of the appropriate size. Obviously she would hide among the new androids of the lab, because it was in the familiar city and the new ones were not yet trained in specific tasks. She could accept the training and go out on assignment, and no one would catch on.

  Blue smiled faintly. Certainly that was the reasoning he wanted the Citizens to follow. The moment he left the lab, they should be closing on it, checking every current android, verifying its origin and nature. The ordinary machines could not distinguish between android and alien flesh, but lab personnel could. They would soon verify the legitimacy of every android, here and in all the other labs of Proton. And in a few hours they would know that Nepe was not among them.

  In this manner he was generating his first diversion. He was giving them a promising false lead. He knew they were watching him, and he hoped that they believed that he had either made passing contact with Nepe, or tried to and failed. They might believe that she was here, but that he had realized he was being watched, so had shied away. Regardless, they would have to make a thorough check.

  He walked slowly on out, having said nothing. He stepped back into his transport, and went next to the cyborg lab. The cyborgs were essentially robot bodies housing living brains; they were more intelligent than androids, but also more erratic. They tended to get notions of their own, and that could be inconvenient for an employer.

  Nepe was small enough to be able to form herself into the brain portion of a large cyborg. She could then direct it, and have a hiding place for some time in the otherwise metal body. The Citizens would thus have to eliminate all the cyborgs, too, and that would represent several more hours of effort, and divide their resources. They could hardly afford to make their search openly; they did not want others catching on. Thus a search that might be completed in one hour would take several, because of the inefficiency of secrecy. Again, it would prove fruitless.

  Stile returned to his transport. He was sorry there was no alien lab, to further divide the enemy force. But aliens were relatively few, and they were not generated in any lab. Nepe, being one alien herself, was unlikely to try to masquerade as another. In any event, the Citizens would already have run tracers on every alien on the planet. They would know the child was not among them.

  That left only the straight robots and the straight humans. Of these, only the robots had a lab. He went there next, though it should be obvious that Nepe could not emulate a completely inanimate being. His tour was cursory; evidently he didn’t expect to fool anyone this time. If they thought he was trying a double fake, and that Nepe was after all hiding here, they would have to expend valuable time anyway.

  At last he went to the Game Annex. Nepe had prevailed on her uncle to play a formal game here; he had made special note of the particular console they had used. The Citizens might suppose she had somehow left a message for him here; they would have to examine the console, perhaps even replacing it with another so that they could take it apart in privacy. All part of the game!

  Now he was going to give them something more challenging to ponder; so far he had merely warmed up. He touched a finger to the screen of the console.

  Words flashed on the screen. WHAT IS YOUR WILL, CITIZEN BLUE? Naturally all the consoles were programmed to recognize all Citizens; in fact, a Citizen could hardly go anywhere unrecognized.

  “I wish to play with my wife,” he replied with the faintest of smiles. The machine would not pick up the double entendre.

  In a moment Sheen’s face appeared on the screen. “Yes, sir?” she inquired. In the privacy of their suite she treated him with familiar deference; in public, the familiarity was absent.

  “I become bored,” he said. “Let me play with you.”

  A smile very like his own crossed her face. “Shall I come to you, sir, or will you come to me?”

  “Remain where you are, for now. Address your console.”

&nb
sp; “Yes, sir.” Her face faded out. The primary grid appeared. He had the numbers, and chose 2. MENTAL. It would be tricky to play a physical game without her presence.

  In a moment the secondary grid appeared: TOOL-ASSISTED MENTAL. 2B. “Two Bee or not Two Bee,” he murmured, frowning at it. He had the numbers again, so had to choose between 5. SEPARATE 6. INTERACTING 7. PUZZLE and 8. COOPERATIVE. He touched 6.

  Her choices were E. BOARD F. CARDS G. PAPER H. GENERAL: all tools for mental games. She had chosen G, for the new box was INTERACTIVE PAPER GAMES.

  They filled in the third grid with games from the proffered list: tic-tac-toe, sprouts, lines-and-boxes, life, magic squares and word games. When they made their selections, the result was CROSSWORD. They would play an interactive crossword game. Victory would go to the one who forced the other into an impossible word.

  Of course the watching Citizens would be sure that this was a pre-arranged game—and they would be correct. Blue and Sheen had played exactly as they had agreed to play, before he left the suite. They were playing “long-distance” to ensure that the Citizens could tap into the game.

  The crossword grid was eighty-one squares: nine on a side. Blue had the first move, and represented the horizontal, so he wrote in the word ASTERISKS across the top.

  Sheen started with the first S and filled in SNOW, vertically, setting a solid end-block below.

  Blue pondered, then put in VOID, the O overlapping hers. He had to build on her word, because he was allowed no vertical words himself. Thus it was truly interactive.

  She countered with VOICES, extending down from his V. The words seemed to come naturally, but they were also suggestive. What message would a cryptography expert see in them? How could a child of four interpret such a sequence? What would he be trying to tell her, that was so important for her to know? Surely there were some very nice headaches being sown here!

  He took off from her O and made OWED.

  She formed KING descending from his K in ASTERISKS.

  He filled in FUN, to her new N.

  She made FORMS descending from his F.

  He made MORE crossing her R.

  She called out a pre-existing word by marking in a + above it: I. E. The game was getting tight. He filled in NO below the ER in ASTERISKS.

  A S T E R I S K S

  + N + N O + I

  V O I D + F U N +

  O W E D + O G

  I + + M O R E +

  C M

  E S

  S +

  +

  Sheen was abruptly left with an impossible word: the RO did not count against her, because he had formed it complete, giving her no chance to improve on it. But how could she make anything legitimate from the vertical letters ENDDM?

  “End DM,” she said, appearing on the screen, behind the grid, so that the letters crossed her face.

  “What does DM stand for?”

  “Dumb Machine.”

  Blue laughed. “Sorry, I don’t know any dumb machines, certainly not you. You lose.”

  She sighed. “I think the game was fixed.”

  “You have a suspicious inanimate mind.”

  “What is the penalty?”

  “You have to ask, woman? The usual, of course.”

  “Oh, no sir, not the usual!” she protested with mock affright. They had played this charade before, and always enjoyed it.

  “The usual,” he repeated grimly. “Get your torso over here.”

  “There? In public?” she asked, appalled.

  “The very best place. What good is a victory if not publicly savored?”

  “You are a monster, sir.”

  “To be sure. Do not keep me waiting, or it will go hard with you, serf.”

  “I hear and obey with alacrity, sir,” she said, fading.

  Blue touched the screen again.

  WHAT IS YOUR WILL, CITIZEN BLUE?

  “This game was but a prelude to another. Reserve a jelly vat for my use.”

  DONE, CITIZEN BLUE.

  “Audience is permitted for this game.”

  VERIFY: AUDIENCE PERMITTED? That was as close as the Game Machine ever came to astonishment.

  “Yes.” Normally Citizens conducted their affairs with paranoid privacy unless they had reason to chastise a serf in public; Blue’s wife was a serf, but he was not given to doing that to her. His permission for an audience was of course a requirement for one; serfs would be rounded up for the event. Actually this would be no punishment for the serfs; Blue knew himself to be by far the most popular Citizen of Proton, because of his steadfast efforts to mitigate the lot of serfs and his open marriage to a machine. Every group supported him, except the Contrary Citizens. That one exception, of course, more than counterbalanced the rest; had he not been set up with the dominant wealth of the planet by his other self, his tenure would have been brief. Wealth governed Proton, literally, and this was a power he had exercised ruthlessly against the other Citizens, maintaining his position. Only the sophisticated financial instruments devised by the Oracle from the input of the Book of Magic could wrest that power from him—and now he had a pretext to cut off that source of information from his enemy.

  He walked slowly to the bath region of the Game Annex, giving Sheen time to get there. Yes, wealth was the key—and the Oracle and Book of Magic were the ultimate keys to wealth, and he and Stile controlled both. They had monitored the progress of the enemy, and acted when necessary: just before the balance of wealth shifted. Nepe had kept him informed, and he had trained her, with the invaluable expertise of Agnes. Now her absence froze things as they were. If she remained hidden, Blue and Stile would retain power; if she were found, they would lose it. It was that simple.

  He reached the bath region. Sheen was there, having found swift transport. She took his arm, and they went to the reserved vat. They could have found their way simply by zeroing in on the clamor, for as they entered the chamber they spied the audience: about a hundred naked men, women, children, androids, humanoid robots and humanoid cyborgs. They had been clamoring with excitement, for the privilege of watching a living Citizen in an event like this was rare indeed. There was a sudden hush as they saw Blue and Sheen.

  In the center of the chamber was the vat, its sides dropping sharply away from the floor. It was round, about four meters in diameter, and was filled with whipped pseudo-gelatin, lime-flavored. This differed from the real thing mainly in being harmless to living flesh even when it got in the eyes, and in being two point three times as slimy.

  Sheen released his arm, stepping ahead of him to gaze into the quivering green mess. “Permission to speak frankly, sir,” she said with evident distaste.

  “Denied,” he said, setting his cupped hand on her buttock and boosting her forward. She screamed and flailed wildly as she fell into the vat. The male members of the audience applauded. A Citizen, of course, could do no wrong. Some of the females looked as if they might have another opinion, but were not bold enough to express it.

  Blue beckoned to the nearest serf. The young man scrambled up and came to him. “Sir?”

  “Remove my garment and hold it clean until I emerge.”

  The serf did not answer, as no answer was required. He set his hands carefully at Blue’s shoulders and lifted the voluminous blue cloak. In a moment it was off, and Blue stood naked. He stepped out of his blue sandals while the serf folded the cloak and held it reverently. That serf would be famous for a day: he had Held Citizen Blue’s Cloak!

  The other serfs tried not to stare, but were obviously fascinated by the sight of a naked Citizen in public. Many of them would have seen naked Citizens before, but only in the privacy of personal services. The average serf was so far beneath the notice of the average Citizen that clothing counted merely as a matter of status. A Citizen could of course do anything he wanted, including parade naked in public, but it was rare for this to happen.

  Blue knew himself to be quite fit for his age, and had no shame of his body. He stood for a moment, letting the
m admire it. There had been a time when a grown man who stood, in the Phaze system of measurement, an inch under five feet tall would have been an object of humor, sometimes of ridicule. That time was past. Today that stature was a badge of honor.

  Sheen remained in the gelatin, treading slime, waiting for him. Thick froth matted her hair and clung to portions of her torso. She had been attractive in her normal nudity; she was doubly so when partially shrouded by the foam. Well she knew it, too; now a surprisingly firm breast showed, and now a segment of lithe leg, flashing amidst the green. At one point both legs showed, angling in toward a torso that was artfully masked. The folk of other cultures thought nakedness made a woman sexually appealing; those of Proton knew that it was selective concealment that had the most potent effect. A number of the serfs were gazing at her with envy, for her situation. Any serf woman would have been glad to trade places with her, even if only for this hour. There would probably be a rash of jelly baths following this event.

  And the watching eyes of the Citizens behind their spy lenses would have to track all of it, searching for continuing clues to Blue’s possible contact with his granddaughter. How could an engagement with one’s own wife in public accomplish this? Certainly Blue was not doing this without reason!

  He smiled. They would be right: he had excellent reason! This was as good a diversion as he could arrange, given the short notice he had had.

  He dived into the vat. The froth was thin at the top, but thickened below, so that it sustained him and brought his body to a halt well clear of the bottom. He stroked until he was upright. There was Sheen, facing him with a hat fashioned of foam.

  “Ha, woman!” he cried, and ducked below the bubbly surface. Sheen screamed again as he caught her ankles and dumped her down.

  Now they were both below the surface, out of sight. But it was possible to breathe here, by sucking air between the teeth to strain out the bubbles. Sheen of course did not need to breathe, except when she needed air for speech.

  “Hold still, creature!” he cried for the benefit of the audience that peered closely at the heaving surface of froth.