Juxtaposition aa-3

by Piers Anthony

  Stile suffered an explosive reaction of anger. Sheen made an urgent signal: do not offend this Citizen!

  Then Stile had a tactical inspiration. "Merle, I do care about the feelings of this serf. I was until very recently a serf myself. Until I have a better notion of her willingness to share, I can not give you a decision."

  Merle smiled. "Oh, I do like you, little man! You are like a splendid fish, fighting the line. I shall be in touch with you anon." She faded.

  "Sir, I never denied you the right to-" Sheen began.

  "Secure our privacy!" he snapped.

  She adjusted the communication controls. "Secure, sir."

  "Then why are you calling me sir?"

  "Stile, our relationship has changed. We are no longer even nominally members of the same society, and I prefer to recognize that in the established way. Sir."

  "You're mad at me?"

  "A machine can not be angry, sir."

  Fat chance! "Sheen, you know that our marriage is one of convenience. I'm doing it to give your friends leverage in their suit for recognition. The upcoming hearing will be a crucial step. If we prevail there, it will be a big stride forward for your kind. I do like you, in fact I love you — but the Lady Blue will always hold the final key to my heart."

  "I understand, sir." Her face was composed.

  "So being faithful to you, in this frame, is moot," he continued, wishing she would show more of the emotion he knew she felt. "It is the Lady Blue I am faithful to. But aside from that, there is the matter of appearances. If I am engaged to you, but have liaisons with fleshly women — especially Citizens — that could be taken as evidence that I am marrying you in name only, to designate a convenient heir, and that could destroy the leverage we hope to gain."

  "Yes, sir," she agreed noncommittally.

  "So there is no way I will make an assignation with Merle. If I do that with anyone in this frame, it will be you. Because you are my fiancéе, and because there is no one in this frame I would rather do it with. So, in that sense, I am true to you. I wanted to be sure you understand."

  "I understand, sir. There is no need to review it."

  So he hadn't persuaded her. "Yes, I needed to review it. Because now I have it in mind to do something extremely cynical. An act worthy of a true Citizen. And I need your help."

  "You have it, sir."

  "I want you to have your friends arrange a blind bet on the outcome of Merle's suit. An anonymous, coded bet amounting to my entire available net worth at the time of decision — that I will not complete that liaison. I will of course deny any intent to make that liaison, but I may at times seem to waver. You and I know the outcome, but other Citizens may wish to bet the other way. It would be a foolish bet for them — but they seem to like such foolishness."

  Sheen smiled. "That is indeed cynical, sir. I shall see to it."

  "And it would not hurt if you permitted yourself some trifling show of jealousy, even if you feel none."

  She paused. "You are devious, sir."

  "I have joined a devious society. Meanwhile, I shall remain on the fence with Merle, in all but words, as long as I can stimulate interest. See that Mellon is privately notified; he definitely has the need to know."

  The capsule arrived at the dome of the hearing. They emerged into a white-columned court, floored with marble, spacious and airy as a Greek ruin. Three Citizens sat behind an elevated desk. A fourth Citizen stood before the desk, evidently with another case; Stile's turn had not yet come.

  The betting Citizens were arriving. A rotund man garbed like a Roman senator approached, hand extended. "Greeting, Stile. I am Waldens, and I'm interested in your offer. What is its nature?"

  "Thank you, Waldens. I am about to face a hearing on the validity of my designation of my fiancée, a humanoid robot, as my heir to Citizenship. I proffer a wager as to the panel's decision."

  "Most interesting!" Waldens agreed. "I doubt they will approve the designation."

  "I am prepared to wager whatever my financial adviser will permit, that they will approve it," Stile said. '"It is, after all, a Citizen's right to designate whom he pleases."

  "Ah, yes — but a robot is not a 'whom' but an 'it.' Only recognized people can inherit Citizenship."

  "Is there a law to that effect?"

  "Why, I assume so. It is certainly custom."

  Now Mellon arrived. Stile quickly acquainted him with the situation. "How much will you let me bet?" he asked, knowing that Mellon, as a self-willed machine in touch with the network of his kind, would have a clear notion of the legalistic background.

  But the serf hesitated. "Sir, this is an imponderable. The decision of the panel is advisory, without binding force. If there is a continuing challenge, a formal court will be convened-"

  "Come off it, serf!" Waldens snapped. "We're only betting on this particular decision. What the court does later will be grist for another wager. How much Protonite can Stile afford to risk?"

  "He has limited me to one hundred grams," Stile said, catching Sheen's covert affirmative signal. That meant the machines had researched the issue, and believed the odds were with Stile. He should win this bet. But he was going to play it carefully.

  "A hundred grams!" Waldens laughed. "I did not come all the way here in person for such minor action!"

  "I regret that my estate is as yet minimal," Stile said. "But it is growing; I have won all bets made so far. I assure you that I have an appetite for larger bets — when I can afford them. I plan to increase my estate enormously."

  "All right, Stile. You're peanuts, but I like your spirit. Should be good entertainment here. I'll play along with a small bet now — but I'll expect a big one later, if you're in shape for it. Shall we compromise at half a kilo now?"

  Mellon looked pained, but under Walden's glare he slowly acquiesced. "Half a kilogram of Protonite," Stile agreed, putting on a pale face himself. Five hundred grams was half the ransom of a Citizen, and more than half Stile's entire available amount for betting. His fortune stood at 1,219 grams, but he had to hold 250 for living expenses. What he was laying on the line now was enough to buy a hundred sophisticated robots like Sheen and Mellon, or to endow the tenure of five hundred serfs. All in a single bet — which his opponent considered to be a minor figure, a nuisance indulged in only for entertainment!

  Meanwhile, other Citizens had arrived, intrigued by the issue. Novelty was a precious commodity among those who had everything. Two paired off, taking the two sides with matching half-kilo bets. Two more bet on whether there would be an immediate appeal of the panel's recommendation, whatever it was. Citizens certainly loved to gamble!

  The prior case cleared, and it was Stile's turn before the panel. "It has been brought to our attention that you propose to designate a humanoid robot as your heir to Citizenship," the presiding Citizen said. "Do you care to present your rationale?"

  Stile knew this had to be good. These were not objective machines but subjective people, which was why there could be no certainty about the decision. The wrong words could foul it up. "I am a very recent Citizen, whose life has been threatened by calamitous events; I am conscious of my mortality and wish to provide for the continuation of my estate. Therefore I have designated as my heir the person who is closest to me in Proton: my prospective wife, the Lady Sheen, here." He indicated Sheen, who cast her eyes down demurely. "She happens to be a lady robot. As you surely know, robots are sophisticated today; she is hardly distinguishable from a living person in ordinary interactions. She can eat and sleep and initiate complex sequences. She can even evince bad temper."

  "The typical woman," the presiding Citizen agreed with a brief smile. "Please come to the point."

  "Sheen has saved my life on more than one occasion, and she means more to me than any other person here. I have made her my chief of staff and am satisfied with the manner in which she is running my estate. I want to make our association more binding. Unless there is a regulation preventing the designation of one's wife
as one's heir, I see no problem."

  The three panelists deliberated. "There is no precedent," the presiding Citizen said. "No one has designated a robot before. Machines do well enough as staff members, concubines, stand-ins, and such, but seldom is one married and never have we had a nonhuman Citizen."

  "If an alien creature won the Tourney one year, would it be granted Citizenship?" Stile asked.

  "Of course. Good point," the Citizen said, nodding. "But robots are not permitted to participate in the Game, so can not win the Tourney."

  "Do you mean to tell me that a frog-eyed, tentacular mass of slime from the farthest wash of the galaxy can be a Citizen — but this woman can not?" Stile demanded, again indicating Sheen.

  The Citizens of the panel and of the group of bettors looked at Sheen, considering her as a person. She stood there bravely, smooth chin elevated, green eyes bright, her light brown hair flowing down her backside. Her face and figure were exquisitely female. There was even a slight flush at her throat. She had been created beautiful; in this moment she was splendid.

  "But a robot has no human feeling," another panelist said.

  "How many Citizens do?" Stile asked.

  The bettors laughed. "Good shot!" Waldens muttered.

  The panelists did not respond to the humor. "A robot has no personal volition," the presiding Citizen said. "A robot is not alive."

  This was awkward territory. Stile had promised not to give away the nature of the self-willed machines, who did indeed have personal volition. But he saw a way through.

  "Sheen is a very special robot, the top of her class of machine," he said. "Her brain is half digital, half analog, much as is the human brain, figuratively. Two hemispheres, with differing modes of operation. She approximates human consciousness and initiative as closely as a machine can. She has been programmed to resemble a living woman in all things, to think of herself as possessing the cares and concerns of life. She believes she has feeling and volition, because this is the nature of her program and her construction." As he spoke, he remembered his first discussion with Sheen on this subject, before he discovered the frame of Phaze. He had chided her on her illusion of consciousness, and she had challenged him to prove he had free will. She had won her point, and he had come to love her as a person — a robot person. He had tended to forget, since his marriage to the Lady Blue, how deep his

  feeling for Sheen was. Now he was swinging back to her. He truly believed she was a real person, whose mechanism happened to differ from his own but resulted in the same kind of personality.

  "Many creatures have illusions," a panelist remarked. "This is no necessary onus for Citizenship."

  Stile saw that more would be required to overcome their prejudice. He would have to do a thing he did not like.

  "Sheen, how do you feel about me?" he asked.

  "I love you, sir," she said.

  "But you know I can not truly love a machine."

  "I know, sir."

  "And you are a machine."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I will marry you and designate you as my heir to Citizenship, but I will not love you as man to woman. You know it is a marriage of convenience."

  "I know, sir."

  "Why do you submit to this indignity?"

  "Because she wants Citizenship!" a Citizen exclaimed. He was one of the ones betting against the acceptance of the heir designation.

  Stile turned to the man. "How can a machine want?" Then he returned to Sheen. "Do you want Citizenship?"

  "No, sir."

  "Then why do you accede to this arrangement?"

  "Because your wife in Phaze asked me to."

  "Oh, a stand-in for an other-frame wife!" Waldens said knowingly. "Cast in her image?"

  "No, sir, she is beautiful," Sheen said. "I can never substitute for her."

  "I am interested," the presiding panelist said. "Robot, are you capable of emotion? Do you feel, or think you feel? Do you want anything?"

  "Yes, sir, to all three," Sheen replied.

  "Exactly what do you want, if not Citizenship?"

  "I want Stile's love, sir," she said.

  The panelist looked at his co-panelists. "Let the record note that the robot is crying."

  All the Citizens looked closely at Sheen. Her posture

  and expression had not changed, but the tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  "Why would any woman, human or robot, cry in response to simple, straightforward questions?" a panelist asked.

  Citizen Waldens stepped forward suddenly, putting his cloaked arm around Sheen's shoulders. "For God's sake! She is not on trial! Spare her this cruelty!"

  The presiding panelist nodded sagely. "She weeps because she knows she can never have her love returned by the man she loves, no matter what else he gives her. Our questioning made this truth unconscionably clear, causing her to react as the woman she represents would act. I do not believe she was conscious of the tears, or that this is a detail that would have occurred to a man." He pondered a moment, then spoke deliberately. "We of this panel are not without feeling ourselves. We are satisfied that this person, the robot Sheen, is as deserving of Citizenship as is a frog-eyed, tentacular mass of slime from the farthest wash of the galaxy." He glanced at his co-panelists for confirmation. "We therefore approve the robot Sheen's designation as heir, pending such decision as the court may make."

  The Citizens applauded politely. Waldens brought Sheen back to Stile. "I'm glad to lose that bet, Stile. She's a good woman. Reminds me of my wife, when she was young and feeling. This robot deserves better than you are giving her."

  "Yes," Stile agreed.

  Waldens started to turn away, then snapped back in a double take. "I'll be damned! You're crying too!"

  Stile nodded dumbly.

  "And you think you don't love her." The Citizen shrugged. "Care to make a bet on that?"

  "No," Stile said.

  Sheen turned to him with incredulous surmise. "The illusion of nonfeeling — it is yours!" she said. "The Lady knew!"

  The Lady had known. Stile was indeed a man of two loves, suppressing one for the sake of the other-in vain.

  "Well, I'll bet you on something else," Waldens said.

  "One kilo, this time. I happen to know you can afford it."

  Stile wrenched himself back to the practicalities of the moment. He looked at Mellon. "Can I?"

  "Sir, your betting is becoming more hazardous than necessary."

  "That's his way of saying yes," Waldens said. "I feel you owe me one more bet. It wasn't right to use your girl that way. You set her up for it, knowing how she loved you."

  "Yet he gave back more than he took," Sheen said. There was now a certain radiance about her, the knowledge of discovered treasure. Stile had actually set himself up.

  "I'll give you your bet," Stile agreed. "And I'll match anybody else, if I don't run out of grams. Right now I have to trace an old message to its source. Care to bet whether I make it?"

  "No. I don't know enough about the situation. But I'll bet when I do. You are involved in odd things, for a new Citizen. Usually they're busy for the first month just experiencing the novelty of having serfs say sir to them."

  "I have some equipment waiting at the site," Stile said. He gave the address, and the other Citizens dispersed to their private capsules.

  Alone with Sheen and Mellon in his own capsule, Stile looked at Sheen. Emotion overwhelmed him. "Damn!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Sheen."

  She paused momentarily, analyzing which level he was on. "You had to do it, sir. It was necessity, not cruelty, sir."

  "Stop calling me sir!" he cried.

  "When we are alone," she agreed.

  "Maybe I am fooling myself. Maybe what I feel for you is what most others would call love. But since I met the Lady Blue-"

  She laid her soft hand on his. "I would not change you if I could."

  Which was what the Lady Blue had said. Sheen could have had no way to know that.

  "It is
an interesting relation you share," Mellon said. "I am not programmed for romantic emotion. I admit to curiosity as to its nature and usefulness."

  "You are better off not knowing," Sheen said, squeezing Stile's hand.

  "I do experience excitement when a large property transaction is imminent."

  "If the self-willed machines gain recognition," Stile said, "you will receive whatever programming you wish, including romantic. For now, she's right? you are happier as you are."

  "I will be ecstatic if I complete your target fortune. So far I have had little to do with it. I fear my circuits will short out, observing your mode of operation."

  Stile smiled. "Now that I have inordinate wealth, I find it does not mean much to me," he said. "It is merely the substance of another game. I want to win, of course — but my real ambition lies elsewhere." He glanced again at Sheen. "My emotion is so erratic, I really think it would be better for you to accept reprogramming to eliminate your love for me. It would save you so much grief-"

  "Or you could accept conditioning to eliminate your love for the Lady Blue," she said.

  "Touché."

  "Or to diminish your prejudice against robots."

  "I'm not prejudiced against-" He paused. "Damn it, now I know I could love you, Sheen, if I didn't have the Lady Blue. But my cultural conditioning… I would prefer to give up life itself, rather than lose her."

  "Of course. I feel the same about you. Now I know I have enough of you to make my existence worthwhile."

  She was happy with half a loaf. Stile still felt guilty. "Sometimes I wish there were another me. That I had two selves again, with one who was available for Citizenship and who would love you, while the other could roam forever free in Phaze." He sighed. "But of course when there were two of me, I knew about none of this. My other self had the Lady Blue."

  "That self committed suicide," she said.

  "Suicide! By no means! He was murdered!"

  "He accepted murder. Perhaps that is not clear to your illogical and vacillating mind."