"Excellent. Take me to an appropriate and private place, and deliver."

"Don't I always-sir?" She led the way out of the Game Annex.

The place turned out to be a temporary roinidome set up on the desert. Its generator tapped an underground power cable, so as to form the force field that prevented the thin, polluted outside atmosphere from penetrating. A portable unit filled the dome with pleasant, properly cooled air. Sheen set up a table for two, put out crackers, cheese, and mock wine, adjusted the field to turn opaque, and planted a spy-disrupter device on the ground. "Now we are private, sir," she said.

"You don't have to say sir to me," he protested.

"Yes, I do, sir. You are a Citizen and I am a naked serf. We violate this convention at our peril."

"But you've been my friend all along!"

"And once more than that, sir," she reminded him. She had come to him as guardian and mistress, and had been good in both capacities. His marriage to the Lady Blue had deleted the second. Sheen, a machine supposedly without any human emotion not programmed into her, had tried to commit suicide-self-destruction. She had become reconciled after meeting the Lady Blue. Sheen still loved him, and for that Stile felt guilty.

"It occurs to me that, as a Citizen, I could have you reprogrammed to have no personal feeling toward me," he said.

"This is true, sir."

"Do you wish it?"

"No, sir."

"Sheen, I value you greatly. I do not want you to suffer. That poem of Rue's-I am absolutely opposed to giving you cause to feel that way. Is there anything within my present power I can do to make you happy?"

"There is, sir. But you would not."

She was uncompromising. She wanted his love again, physically if not emotionally, and that he could not give. "Aside from that."

"Nothing, sir."

"But I may be able to make your friends happy. As Citizen, I can facilitate their recognition as sapient ent.i.ties." Her friends were the self-willed machines of Proton who, like Sheen herself, had helped him survive Citizen displeasure in the past. He had sworn never to act against their interests so long as they did not act against the interests of man, and both parties honored that oath. Stile did not regard their desire to achieve serf status as contrary to the oath; he agreed they should have it. But such status was not easy to achieve; the Citizens were devoted to the status quo, "All in good time, sir. Now shall we review the appurtenances and privileges of Citizenship?"

"By all means."

Rapidly, in simple language, she acquainted him with his situation. He was ent.i.tled to use the proceeds from his share of the mines to purchase or construct a physical estate, to staff it with serfs, robots, androids, cyborgs, or anything else, and to indulge in any hobbies he wished. The amount of credit available from his share was sufficient to enable him to construct a moderate palace, hire perhaps twenty-five serfs, and buy six robots of Sheen's type. Expensive hobbies like exotic horse breeding or duplicating the Hanging Gardens of Babylon would have to wait until the palace was complete. The income of a Citizen was not limitless; it only seemed that way to serfs. It was possible, however, to increase one's resources by making and winning large wagers with other Citizens. Bets of a year's income were not uncommon. However, if a Citizen got two years in arrears, further wagers would not be honored until he caught up. It was never permitted for a Citizen to become dest.i.tute; a basic lifestyle had to be maintained. Appearance was vital.

"I'll have no problems there," he said. "I'm not a gambling man, outside the Game. I shall be a very conservative Citizen and live well within my income. Most of the time I won't even be here, as you know."

She nodded sadly. "Yes, sir. There's a note in the program from my friends. They warn it is not safe for you to stand pat. Forces are building rapidly. To protect yourself you must soon develop your estate to a hundred times its original magnitude. Within six months."

"A hundred times!" he exclaimed. "In six months!"

"And you must unravel the mystery that is a.s.sociated with your lasering, sir. Who sent me to protect you? My friends have disturbing new evidence that this is not an isolated event. Someone or something is interfering with your life, and my friends can't discover who."

"Yes. And in Phaze, someone set the Red Adept against me on a false alarm." He had had an extraordinary amount of trouble in that connection, ending in the banishment of the Red Adept from both Phaze and Proton. The Oracle had said Blue would destroy Red, and that had proved correct-but none of that mischief would have occurred if someone had not started the rumor that Blue intended to attack Red.

"And there was that earthquake, sir, which you believe is connected to events in Phaze," she continued. "Another portent, perhaps."

"Definitely. The Platinum Elves informed me that I would be involved in important developments, after my honeymoon." Ooops-he had not meant to mention the honeymoon to Sheen. He continued rapidly. "I'm not sure I like the implication. I don't know what the linkages between frames might be, but since a number of people can cross, there can be interactions, perhaps quite serious ones." He breathed deeply. "I was psychologically prepared for banishment from Proton when I got eliminated from the Tourney. I'm not so certain about how to proceed now that I have permanent tenure. I don't feel comfortable here in clothing."

"That is why you needed to isolate yourself, sir." Stile got up and paced the small enclosure. "I promised to return to Phaze by noon. I have already overrun that deadline. Why don't you set in motion the machinery for the establishment of my physical estate, and start hiring serfs, while I cross the curtain to-" "

That might not be wise, sir."

-Her constant "sirs" were still getting on his nerves, but he knew this was good conditioning. "Not wise?"

"You will need your money as a stake to multiply your estate, sir, so should not fritter it away on nonessentials. And if it became known that a machine was disposing your a.s.sets-"

"I am a Citizen, aren't I? I can use a machine if I want to, can't I?" Stile was irritated, not liking the implied slur at Sheen.

"Yes, sir."

"So I'm appointing you my chief of staff, or whatever the appropriate office is. I'd better hire a staff of serfs, for appearances, and become a compulsive gambler. But I'll lose my new fortune unless I have competent input. Will your friends help?"

"They will, sir."

"Then ask them to locate an appropriate adviser for me. One who knows how to break in a new Citizen."

"And how to escalate a Citizen's fortune rapidly, sir."

"Precisely. Now I'll go finish my honey-uh, my business in Phaze. a.s.suming I can get out of Proton un observed."

"A Citizen can, sir," she a.s.sured him. "If you will make a brief, formal holo statement of authorization, so I can draw on your funds-"

"Ah, yes." Stile took care of that immediately.

"Thank you, sir," she said, accepting the recording. "I shall set the wheels in motion."

"Excellent. And I'll ponder what I can do for you and your friends."

Sheen nodded, knowing he could do nothing for her.

She would serve him loyally and lovingly, regardless.

CHAPTER 5 - West Pole.

He was late, but the Lady Blue forgave him. "I had the news before thee. Thou art a Citizen now."

"It's anticlimactic," Stile complained. "Citizenship is the ultimate prize of Proton. Now that I have it, it's mainly a nuisance. Hidden forces decree that I must commence a new and chancy course, to be ready for even more tension. I wonder if this relates in any way to the promised mischief at the West Pole?"

"How can such complications arise now?" the Lady inquired rhetorically. "All we seek is a simple honey moon."

"Somehow I don't think we're going to have it." They attended the snow. demons' banquet. It was magnificent, in its fashion. Candied icicles for aperitif, ice burgers, fried avalanche, sludge freeze as a beverage, and snow cones for dessert. The snow-demons pitched in with gusto; Stile and the Lady nibbled with imperfect enthusiasm, until Stile sneaked in a small spell and changed their morsels to items with food content concealed under snow frosting.

At night, side by side in a surprisingly comfortable s...o...b..nk, they talked. "I have a problem," Stile said qui etly.

"I think it must needs wait till the snowmen sleep," she murmured. "They exhibit unseemly curiosity as to how flesh-mortals perform without melting from generated heat."

He patted her anatomy under the snow blanket, where the curious demons couldn't see. "A Proton problem." "The Lady Sheen."

"The lovely self-willed robot lady Sheen, who will not accept reprogramming. I must work closely with her, for I have agreed to help her machine friends. They helped me survive when times were hard in Proton, and I must help them achieve serf status now. And they warn me that more trouble is coming; that I must gamble to enhance my estate vastly and research to learn who sent Sheen in the first place. I fear it links in some way to events in Phaze, so I must follow through. Only I wish I didn't have to use Sheen-take that in what sense thou wilt. It isn't fair to her, and I feel guilty."

"As well thou might," she agreed. "I promised to consider her case, and so I have done. Now let me see if I have this right. The self-willed golems-machines-wish recognition as people?"

"Correct. Serfs are the lowest people, but are more than the highest machines. Serfs can play the Game, compete in the Tourney, win privileges or even Citizenship. When their tenure expires, they depart the planet with generous c.u.mulative pay. Machines are permitted none of this; they are slaves until junked. Yet some are intelligent, conscious, feeling."

"And the Lady Sheen is one of these unrecognized ma chine creatures."

"She is. She is in every way a person, with very real emotions. They merely happen to be programmed, rather than natural."

"And is there a difference between program and nature?"

"I doubt it. Different means to similar ends, perhaps."

"Then thou must marry the Lady Sheen."

Stile paused. "I don't believe I heard thee properly, Lady."

"It is the other frame. She can never cross the curtain. Thou canst do as thou wilt with her there."

Stile had been growing sleepy. Now he was awakening.

"I am sure I am misunderstanding thee."

"If a Citizen marries a machine-"

"n.o.body can marry a machine!"

"-then that machine must have-"

"Machines don't have-" Stile stopped. 'I wonder. The spouses of Citizens do not achieve Citizen status, but they do have certain prerogatives. They are considered to be employed-their employment being the marriage. And only serfs are employable."

"So a married machine would be a serf," the Lady concluded. "And if one machine were a serf-"

"The precedent-"

"Thinkest thou it would accomplish thy purpose?"

Stile considered, his head spinning. "If the marriage stuck, it would be one h.e.l.l of a lever for legal machine recognition!"

"That was my notion," she said complacently.

"But I am married to thee!" he protested.

"In Phaze. Not in Proton."

"But thou canst cross over!"

"True. But I am of this frame, and never will I leave it for aught save emergency. I have no claim on the things of Proton, nor wish I any."

"But I love only thee! I could never-"

"Thou lovest more than thou knowest," she said with gentle a.s.surance. "Neysa, Sheen-"

"Well, there are different types of-"

"And I spoke not of love. I spoke of marriage."

"A marriage of convenience? To a robot?"

"Dost thou hold the Lady Sheen beneath convenience, for that she be made of metal?"

"Nay! But-" He paused. "Nay, I must confess I do think less of her. Always since I learned she was not real, that-"

"Methinks thou hast some thinking to do," the Lady Blue said, and turned her back.

Stile felt the reproach keenly. He was prejudiced; he had great respect for Sheen, but love had been impossible be cause she was not flesh. Yet he reminded himself that he had come closer to loving her before encountering the Lady Blue. Had Sheen's nonliving nature become a pretext for his inevitable change of heart? He could not be sure, but he was unable to deny it.

How could he fight for the recognition of the sapient self-willed machines if he did not recognize them as discrete individuals himself? How could he many Sheen if he did not love her? If he came to think of her as a real person, wouldn't such a marriage make him a bigamist? There were two frames, certainly, but he was only one person. Yet since the Lady Blue had generously offered to accept half-status, confining herself to Phaze- Think of the commotion the marriage of a Citizen to a robot would make in Proton I It would convulse the social order! That aspect appealed to him. Yet- "Wouldst thou settle for a betrothal?" he asked at last.

"An honest one," she agreed sleepily.

"Say six months. Time enough to get the legal issues clarified, one way or the other. There would be formidable opposition from other Citizens. And of course Sheen herself might not agree."

"She will agree," the Lady Blue said confidently. "A betrothal is a commitment, and never wilt thou renege. She will have some joy of thee at last." This was not a way he had ever expected the Lady Blue to speak, and Stile was uneasy. Yet perhaps she had some concern of her own, knowing She had taken him away from Sheen. Possibly the social mores of Phaze differed from those of Proton in this respect, and sharing was more permissible. Certainly his friend Kurrelgyre the werewolf had believed it, a.s.signing his b.i.t.c.h to a friend while Kurrelgyre himself was in exile from his Pack. The Lady Blue had met Sheen, liked her, and accepted her immediately as a person; apparently that had not been any social artifice.

"And if in six months it is legal, then shall I marry her," Stile continued. "In Proton. But I can not love her."

"Then love me," the Lady Blue said, turning to him. That was reward enough. But already Stile had a glimpse of that controversy he was about to conjure, like a savage magic storm.

In the morning they resumed their tour of the curtain, recrossing the White Mountain range and bearing south west. There were some deep crevices on the ground; when their steeds' hooves knocked sand into them, it fell down and away beyond the limit of perception, soundlessly. "Deep caves, mayhap," Stile remarked, a bit nervous about a possible collapse of the footing. But Clip tapped the ground with a forehoof, indicating that there was no danger of a fall as long as a unicorn picked the way. Stile checked his contour map and discovered they were heading for the Black Demesnes. He did not like the Black Adept, and by mutual consent they spelled rapidly past the grim castle and well on toward the Purple Mountains. Now the curtain bore directly south. Suddenly there was an explosion of fire before them. Stile squinted at the flame, trying to determine whether it was natural or magic.

"The warners!" the Lady exclaimed. "The Green Adept!"

"It must be," Stile agreed. "I promised to bypa.s.s him." They went around, rejoining the curtain southwest of Green's marked territory. The curtain was curving back westward, through the foothills of the southern mountains. The scenery was pleasant; waist-high bushes covered the rolling terrain, topped with faintly purple flowers. The steeds trotted through, finding firm footing beneath. The midaftemoon sun slanted down.

Suddenly a creature jumped in front of Hinblue. The thing had the body of a powerful man and the head of a wolf. It bayed-and the horse spooked. The Lady Blue, an expert rider, was not in any trouble; she brought her steed about and calmed her.

Then a second creature appeared, this one with the head of a ram. It bleated.

Stile's mind formulated a spell while his hand went for his harmonica. But he withheld his magic, uncertain whether it was necessary. He had heard of the animal heads, but understood they were not aggressive toward human beings. Was his information mistaken? More animalheads appeared, making their a.s.sorted noises. Cats, goats, hawks, bears, turtles-none of them with the intelligence or verbal ability of a man, but each quite formidable in its fashion. They were all snarling, squawking, roaring, or growling aggressively. A pighead charged toward Stile, grunting.

"I fear they mean mischief," the Lady Blue said. "This is not like them. Something has angered them, methinks."