Piers Anthony - Steppe

Alp was getting to like this man, too! He might be imitation-Uigur, but he had the basic spirit. Uga's eyes-front march to the throne room had been an impressive act of nomad bravado. The Chinese would remember that!

But Pei-li counseled caution again, even as his sword dazzled another guard. "Reinforcements will come soon. We are surely finished in these roles if we delay further before going for our horses."

"Ko-lo says these roles of ours cannot be terminated here," Uga said. "Do you now call him liar?"

Alp knew Pei-li had been observing his technique, just as Alp himself had been observing Pei-li's. Pei-li was more proficient with this particular type of weapon at this time—but Alp's strength and reflexes were faster. Was Uga trying to set them off against each other?

Pei-li stifled an explosive bark of laughter. "Not while I yet live!"

Alp relaxed. Pei-li had identified the essential conflict: they would have to die to prove Alp wrong. It wasn't worth it!

" You two won't die here," Alp said, parrying another aggressive guard. "Unless the Game diverges from history. But I have no such assurance. My own future is blank to me."

"Still," Uga said, as if that were a mere quibble, "we might as well put it to the test." And he walked forth into the bristling blades of the Emperor's reinforced guard.

Pei-li and Alp, caught by surprise, were not able to protect him immediately. The T'ang troops were astonished. They fell back, daunted by the assurance of the unarmed nomad who stepped so blithely into their midst.

Now Alp was quite curious. The theory was simple enough: the Game Machine would not permit an important character to die unhistorically. But the practice could become complex. What would happen if a guard struck directly at Uga, and no one was there to foil it? Alp had observed no direct intervention, and all characters in this play seemed to possess free will. So how did the Machine preserve the lives of those players fated to live—and how did it ensure their demise when the proper time came?

Uga strode on through the ranks, Pei-li and Alp following. The guards, abashed, did not attack. There was now an aura of invincibility about the Uigur group. Did the guards suspect that the Game plan protected at least two members of the party? Were the Chinese afraid of what might happen if they pushed that limit too hard?

The question bothered Alp increasingly as he followed the chief. History was too intricate; there had to be control if the Game were not very quickly to diverge far from history. Yet there was not control—and little diversion so far. Some element was missing.

He could test it very simply: all he had to do was try to slay Uga himself. The Machine would either act—or it wouldn't. But he couldn't —because he had sworn loyalty. Aside from the fact that treachery against one's leader was not the Uigur way.

But he was a special case; most players were Galactics and so not bound by true Uigur codes. They would try to get ahead by cheating.

Then he saw a possible solution. In life, death was final. In the Game, it was not. A player could assume a new part—and no doubt an old part could be reactivated by a new player. If Uga died here, a new Galactic would be sent in to fill his place, and Game-history would continue with only a momentary hiatus. Who else would know the difference? The part would terminate when history decreed; the player remained mortal. Despite his overall immortality!

They had been taking ridiculous chances! How many other players had thought they were untouchable—only to wash out early, while replacement players reaped the fruits of their labors? The Game Machine didn't care about people; its concern was the proper re-enactment of history.

Uga walked rapidly from room to room of the great palace searching for his princess, while the guards followed helplessly. Less helpless than they knew, perhaps! But this brought up another problem. What would happen if they actually found the princess? Success of this mission was not fated, either!

Obviously they would not find her. The Emperor would not have left a royal daughter here while he departed. So this was futile, if Uga would only recognize that.

Uga shoved aside the curtain of an upstairs chamber. A girl screamed. Alp felt a shock of alarm before reminding himself that there would be a thousand servants and slaves here for every royal figure.

She was a child about nine years old—but a black-haired regal beauty. "Who are you?" Uga demanded, striding into the room.

Though terrified, she put up some show of hauteur. "I am the Princess Kokachin, and if you don't get out of here—"

"Take her," Uga said to Alp.

"...my father the Emperor will have you—"

Alp moved to sheathe his sword—but had no sheath. For the moment this minor problem upset him more than the major one: they couldn't take this princess!

"...boiled in oil," she finished defiantly.

Uga took the blade from his hand. "I've passed up some of the fun; now it's my turn to fight!" he said. "And if what you predict is true, I couldn't get her out of here anyway—but maybe you can!"

For Alp had a nonhistorical part... maybe it would work, after all! Uga wasn't going to take the girl to the Khagan; he just wanted to punish the Emperor. Would the Machine allow that variation?

Chapter 9

KOKA

Meanwhile, the immediate problem. Alp knew the little princess would not come willingly. She had meant her threat literally. But at least this represented a fair test of Game policy and might offer insights that would assist his private effort. He grasped the girl by the arm and leg and heaved her over his shoulder.

He expected her to kick and claw and bite, but she didn't. Apparently it was beneath the dignity of a princess to fight, even a child-princess. Dire threats would have to do! Or perhaps she was now terrified into immobility—though she didn't seem afraid. But she really had little to fear; the palace guard would surely rescue her long before the Uigurs reached their horses.

Now it was Uga and Pei-li who wielded the swords on either side of Alp. If they wanted to ditch him, now was their chance. He was almost helpless, for even the nonresisting burden of the young girl was too heavy a load to permit effective combat—even if he had his sword. And it was death to any common man to touch a Chinese princess; that was a policy of centuries.

But the guards, strangely, remained cowed. They followed closely but did not attack again. Why weren't they fighting and dying for the princess?

"I think you're right," Uga said to Alp as they moved out of the palace. "The mission is phony. We can't be killed—but we also can't steal a princess."

Alp looked at him, perplexed. "We seem to be doing it!"

"She's a double, obviously. Worthless."

Then Alp's captive began to struggle. He needed no further proof of the accuracy of Uga's suspicion; the decoy could expect no mercy from the raiders when exposed! But Alp hung on to her, determined not to risk the counter-ruse: princess impersonating a decoy, and thus getting away.

"I have resources to re-enter the Game even if I take a loss in this role, as you know," Uga said. "It was worth the risk to see whether your foreknowledge was accurate. I believe it is; we should otherwise all have been killed in that fracas. The princess-ruse is the Machine's way of keeping the script straight; we can't be killed here."

Alp decided not to voice his new suspicions about the risk to players as opposed to roles. It was only a notion, and perhaps an erroneous one. They had survived an impossible situation; that could not be coincidence!