“Is it permissible to reconsider?” he inquired.
“It’s too late to skip the shower!” she cried, laughing.
“About indulging in copulatory activity. It occurs to me that this occasion might after all be suitable.”
“I thought it might,” she murmured, satisfied. Then she reached up and hauled in his head for a wet and steamy kiss.
Belatedly he realized that this had been her intent throughout. She was an expressive, open woman, and she liked full interaction. She had known the human condition better than he; not only was their sexual encounter feasible, it was quite positive. His reservations about the human form faded away; this was a human body, and this activity was natural for it.
Finally, both clean and sated, they emerged to lie on her bed and watch the show. He followed her cues, and began laughing when she did. Soon enough his mind followed, and he found himself genuinely enjoying it.
In due course they slept. But he woke in the night, discovering that she was stroking his body. There was a certain art to it, and before long it occurred to him that another episode of sexual interaction might be appropriate. So it turned out to be.
In the morning she woke him again, kissing him and rubbing her body against his suggestively. She was evidently interested in yet another copulatory encounter. “About this time, most men begin to get tired of me,” she said. “Are you tired?”
“Not yet,” he said. He regarded this as excellent experience.
Later in the day she showed him how actually to play the game. “There are these consoles,” she explained, approaching one. “We stand on opposite sides, and it has a grid. Or it used to, before the mergence. Now sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t.”
“The rules have changed?”
“Not exactly. I mean, the grids shift a little each year, and sometimes the numbers are down the side, and new games get added and old ones subtracted, but that’s routine. But now it’s really different. Maybe I can show you.”
Perplexed, he stood opposite her. Before him was a screen, on which was a diagram.
PRIMARY GRID
1. PHYSICAL 2. MENTAL 3. CHANCE 4. ART
A. NAKED B. TOOL C. MACHINE D. ANIMAL
“Ah, I believe I follow,” he said. Actually, he had been trained in this type of grid, and knew it well, but he preferred to let her have the pleasure of showing him. It might even turn out that she would have some pleasant surprises for him, as she had during the night. It would take a phenomenal effort to convince himself that she was an unappealing creature, physically, now that he had indulged in the human copulatory ritual. She did seem to feel that there was something special about this game. “One person selects a number, and the other a letter, and where the two intersect defines the nature of the game to be played. Or am I mistaken?”
“Not exactly,” she repeated. “I mean, that’s how it’s played, yes, only sometimes it doesn’t work. You’ll see, maybe.”
“Then let’s play it,” he said. He saw that the numbers were highlighted for him, so he touched 3. CHANCE. She would have no chance against him in any ordinary game, so this was the only fair way, as it largely negated skill.
“I’m choosing A. NAKED,” she said, touching her screen.
“But are you supposed to tell me? I thought the point was that the choices are hidden until the result is manifest.” Indeed, that was the essence of gaming: the hidden strategy and counterstrategy.
“Well—”
She broke off, and he saw why. Instead of highlighting the 3A box, the screen was flashing words. SOME TALK OF ALEXANDER, AND SOME OF HERCULES; OF HECTOR AND LYSANDER, AND SUCH GREAT NAMES AS THESE. GOOD MORNING, LYSANDER! HAVE YOU MADE ANY RECENT CONQUESTS?
He looked over the console at Alyc. “This is a joke?” he asked, uncertain whether to laugh.
“Not exactly,” she said. Her cheeks showed a becoming hint of a flush. “I mean, I didn’t do it. It’s the Game Computer.”
“The computer recognizes me?” But obviously it did, using the ubiquitous sensors of Proton. It was already talking again.
LYSANDER: NAVAL AND MILITARY COMMANDER OF SPARTA, WHO ENDED THE PELOPONNESIAN WAR IN 405 B.C. BY DESTROYING THE ATHENIAN FLEET AND REDUCING ATHENS TO A SECOND-RATE POWER.
“I am no military commander!” Lysander protested. But he wondered: could the computer know of his true mission?
LYSANDER: A CHARACTER IN SHAKESPEARE’S MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM WHO FALLS IN LOVE WITH HERMIA, WHO FLEES WITH HIM TO THE WOODS IN ORDER TO AVOID MARRIAGE TO HER FATHER’S CHOICE OF MEN. HAVE YOU TAKEN A WOMAN TO THE WOODS, LYSANDER?
“Well, actually she took me,” he said. “Her name was Belle, and she was a unicorn. She spoke to me musically on her horn, telling me of the recent history of the planet and the mating of ‘rovots’ and the unwelcomeness of goblins. But she had no human form.”
YOU ARE PLAYING CAT AND MOUSE WITH ME, LYSANDER. THEREFORE I GIVE YOU THE GAME OF FOX AND GEESE. DO YOU KNOW IT? A pattern appeared, showing thirty-three dark circles arranged in lines of three and seven.
“I know it. But this is not the type of game we selected.”
IT IS CLOSE ENOUGH. REPORT TO THE GAME CHAMBER SHOWN BY THE BLUE LINE. A line appeared on the floor, leading away from the console.
“See?” Alyc asked. “It does what it wants. It won’t let us play any game but the one it chooses for us.”
“Intriguing. Do you think the magic affected it?”
“It must have. Now it’s a self-willed machine.”
“Well, let’s see what it’s like. Do you prefer to be the fox or the geese?”
“I have no choice. It marked you the fox.”
“Oh. I hadn’t noticed. Very well, I’ll play the fox. You have played the game before?”
“Yes, it’s fun, the way it’s set up. Only I don’t like the way other women cut in.”
“Women cut in? Are we talking about the same game? This should be a board, with marbles—”
“You’ll see.”
Something was definitely askew. Lysander shut up and followed the blue line.
The chamber was larger than necessary for a table and board game; indeed, neither was there. Instead there were rows of human-sized neuter mannequins standing as if ready to march to war.
“I think we have the wrong room,” Lysander said.
“No we don’t. It’s a life-sized game. Those are the geese, and you’re the fox.”
“But in the game, the fox tries to jump the geese and remove them, while the geese try to block in the fox so it can’t move.”
“See, the places are there,” she said, pointing to the floor. Sure enough, it was laid out in the game pattern—and each mannequin was standing in a circle. “You don’t literally jump the geese, you just touch each one so she gets off the board and you step beyond her. It’s the same, only larger.”
“She? Those mannequins are neuter.”
“No they aren’t.” She stepped up to the center of the forward line, which had one blank circle. As she did so, things changed. Suddenly all the mannequins were clothed in frilly dresses that were padded to make them look female, and all had wigs that contributed to the effect. So did Alyc—and in the dress and wig, she looked astonishingly like the others. Rather, they all looked like her. It was a transformation that seemed almost magical.
Almost? Now he knew that magic was literal, here; it could indeed be involved. “But you’re in clothing! I thought only Citizens—”
“In the games it’s okay. It’s costuming. But we would never go like this outside!”
He nodded. Special license for costumes made sense. It also gave serfs a chance to act out whatever fantasies they might have. He was coming to appreciate why the Game Annex was so popular among those who might not otherwise have been game-minded. It represented therapy on unspecified levels.
“Now play,” Alyc said. “You move first.”
Lysander saw that there were instructions playing on the screen, for any who happened
not to be conversant with the details of the game. He discovered that this was the archaic version: thirteen geese, and moves were allowed in any direction, including slantwise. He had not played that variant, but could adapt readily enough.
He stepped to the board, before the ladies. Abruptly he became clothed himself, in a fine coat of brown fur, reminiscent of a wealthy fox. The coat was real; he felt its pleasant heft. Now, zeroed in, he stepped diagonally toward the geese. He knew he was at a disadvantage; the geese could win every time, if played correctly. That was why the archaic form had given way to the modern form, where the geese could move only forward or sideways, while the fox was unrestrained. But the moves could be tricky, and Alyc was not the brightest person, so he should be able to win anyway. Not that winning was important, in this instance; he was just letting Alyc show him around.
He had taken his turn. Now she took hers. She could not jump him or attack him; she could only try to box him in. But she had thirteen pieces, and as few as six could box him, if the position was right, and eight otherwise. So he had to eliminate a sufficient number of geese to make her win impossible. If he got her down to five, that was it; she could not claim a draw by skulking along the sides. A draw was possible if both players were conservative; that, again, was reason to modify the old form of the game.
It was odd, seeing thirteen women just like Alyc. She had remarked that clothing was a sexual turn-on for serfs, instead of nudity; already he was coming to accept that. Alyc nude was an interesting figure of a woman, as he had come to appreciate during the night. But Alyc clothed was exciting. When she walked, the dress swung about her legs and accented her hips, making the legs seem more shapely and hinting at further marvels beyond. The bodice nominally covered the bosom, but somehow showed a fair amount and made the remainder intriguing. The woman was now twice as appealing as she had been before.
In fact, all the women were appealing. The mannequins had assumed the mannerisms of life. Each was breathing and blinking, and a girlish tremor went through any one of them he looked at. In fact, they were warm and soft, as he discovered when he tagged one for removal; he had caught her unflanked and “jumped” her. She gazed at him with muted hurt and walked sadly off the board, making him feel guilty—and she was only a mannequin. There had to be magic!
Alyc was not a skilled player, as he had suspected, and he won the game handily. The last one he removed from the board was her; he had almost lost track as the positions changed during the game. It had been an experience quite different from what he had anticipated.
The mannequins lost their clothing and returned to their immobility. Lysander and Alyc became as they were, naked serfs. The whole thing was a bit hard to believe.
They were about to depart the chamber, when another serf woman stepped up. “I wish to challenge the winner,” she said.
Lysander looked at her. She was spectacular, with golden hair, deep green eyes, and a figure that made Alyc’s look somewhat dumpy. “Is that permitted? We were assigned this game by the computer.”
“It is permitted if there is no other assignment for the chamber,” the woman said. “Let me introduce myself. I am Jod’e, android; I work for Citizen Troal.”
“I am Lysander, android, working for Citizen Blue,” he said. “This is Alyc, who also works for Citizen Blue. She is showing me around, and I’m not sure—”
“It’s the custom,” Alyc said with disgust. “They can cut in if they want to, and you have to play a challenger one game.”
He sympathized with Alyc’s annoyance. Apparently a handsome new serf was fair game for the sharks. It surely was worse when the new serf was a shapely woman. But he did not want to make a scene. “One game, then,” he said shortly.
“A variant,” Jod’e said. “I will be a goose. You must kiss each goose you jump, and if you jump me without recognizing me, I win regardless of the position.”
He looked at Alyc. “A variant?”
“She challenged you,” Alyc said grimly. “You can insist on the same rules as the prior game. But usually a serf goes along. It’s all supposed to be fun, after all.”
Lysander was not pleased. He was a spy, true, and his loyalty was not to this planet. But apart from that, his sense of fair play was straight. It was a matter of honor, a concept which was ingrained in the Hectare brain. He had made a commitment to Alyc, and he did not care to abridge it. Jod’e was trying to lure away Alyc’s boyfriend, and that seemed less than right at this stage. Evidently this sort of thing had happened before, and Alyc was used to it, but he did not like being a party to it. Let his association with Alyc run its natural course; if later they agreed to break it up, then he was fair game for predatory women. Also, Alyc was a useful contact with Citizen Blue, so he had reason to remain with her.
Well, he would play the game. But the interloper would get nothing from it. “I agree,” he said. “Your variant.”
Jod’e smiled. It was a phenomenal smile, crafted to impress, and he was impressed. At the same time he wondered why she was making this effort to vamp him. Was it just because he was here? Or to spite Alyc? But Jod’e seemed not to know Alyc, or to have known of Lysander before seeing him at this game. Was she a shark who simply took whatever offered and threw it away when finished?
Jod’e stepped into the key circle, and the mannequins walked to their places. The transformation occurred again. This time all looked like Jod’e, and a stunning collection it was. Every one of them was a vision of delight.
“Turn your back a moment, while I shuffle,” Jod’e said.
He turned away. When he turned back, the assembly looked the same—but he knew that Jod’e had switched places with one of the mannequins, so that he could not identify her by location. He thought it would be easy to pick her out from among the mannequins, but discovered it was not; he did not know her as well as Alyc, and there was nothing to distinguish her. Those mannequins were amazing!
He made his move, and a figure made the counter. He saw right away that Jod’e was a more experienced player than Alyc, and knew how to press her advantage. Now he wondered how the figures knew when and where to move; there was no separate layer giving directions, because she was right there among them, as silent as they. He would have to ask Alyc about that, later; there was indeed more to this game than he had thought.
They maneuvered, each side taking turns. Then he got a chance to trap and jump one of the figures. He suspected that Jod’e had done it deliberately, for she had played flawlessly until then. True to the new rule, he kissed the doomed figure.
She felt exactly like a woman. Her lips were warm and soft, and he felt the tickle of the breath through her nose. Her breasts pressed against him enticingly. He let a hand slip down behind her, out of Alyc’s view, and squeezed a buttock through the cloth; it felt exactly like living flesh. This must be the real Jod’e, presented because she wanted to kiss him. But he had already seen amazing things, when there was magic, and there had to be magic here; how could he be sure it was her?
So he pressed in with his fingers, not only squeezing the buttock but feeling as far as he could into the cleft between buttocks. How far could a neuter mannequin emulate a living woman? It still felt real. He hooked a finger, giving a slow, personal goose, no pun. How long could a living woman keep from reacting to this impertinence? Alas, he found evidence neither way; she seemed to be perfect, physically, and she didn’t react.
But he could delay his decision, and announce his guess when he game ended. So he released her, and she walked to the side, off the board.
The play continued. The geese had been reduced by one, but in here were still more than enough to barricade him against the side, and he was hard-pressed. Then another opportunity offered, and he stepped up to kiss another figure off the board. He came in slowly, looking down into the décolletage of her dress, to see whether the padding that made the figure look female was visible. What was there was visible, but it wasn’t padding; the dress covered a very firm pair of heavin
g breasts, with an extremely nice cleavage. He pressed against that bosom as he kissed her, and it still felt genuine. If this were not the real woman, he was up against a much stiffer challenge than he had realized.
He released her without a word, and she walked away to join the other. The two of them stood motionless at the side, not seeming much more like dummies, despite their costumes.
There were more moves, and still he was hard-pressed. Then a third opportunity came, and he took it. He was now far more intrigued by the riddle of identity than about the game itself. There had to be some way to tell!
This time he placed himself so that his body blocked most or hers from the view of Alyc, and as he bent to kiss her lips the fingers of his right hand gathered in the back of her dress until he hauled up the hem and was able to get in underneath. Slowly kissing her, he reached into her cleft and felt most intimately. She wore no panties; the costuming was only external. He explored until he found the aperture he sought: damp and hot. She definitely had the equipment of a living woman.
Yet so had the other two, as far as he had been able to ascertain. Could the magic have made the mannequin alive, just for the game? Or was it illusion, so detailed that it was complete She had tolerated his exploration with the patience of the inanimate; she never flinched or reacted in any way. He was inclined to believe that all three were mannequins, because of their lack of reaction, but he wasn’t sure. He released her, and she joined the others.
On the fourth one he tried a deep kiss. He opened his mouth on hers, and forced his tongue between her lips. He met her tongue, completely human and ready, matching his, move for move. This had to be real—yet maybe not. If magic could transform a boy into a unicorn, why couldn’t it give a mannequin functioning mouth? Or an anatomically correct cleft? Or were the mannequins fashioned as complete android women who seemed lifeless between games, but could animate their bodies for the game? Still, he had seen them without breasts before the game started, yet now they all had them.
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