Piers Anthony - Steppe

"Not a foulup!" Uga said. "Mythology in the making! This document must date from after the Uigur time, so that the author misread the comparison and took it literally. Maybe that's how all myths begin! But if this is a page of mythology—"

Then their effort had been for nothing. Rather than admit that, Alp went back to the reading. "...a tribe of great shaggy dogs with human wives, descended from the union of a princess with a dog come from heaven. The women gave birth to human females and canine males..."

"This is potent stuff!" Uga said. "Did your grandfather explain that one?"

"He said the men were dark brown and of mongrel visage, covered with hair," Alp said. "The women were catlike in shape and doglike in manners. Those people hunted with dog packs and had a canine totem; they had a legend that their first dog was hatched from the egg of an aged vulture."

"Amazing!" Uga said. "Mythology feeding on mythology! But still, if there is no actual history—"

Alp looked ahead. "Here is the compiler: This summary of Khitan folklore was prepared the summer of the Year of the Dragon on order of Jenghiz Qan, Lord of the Sons of Light among the Mongols and Master of the World, by Tata-tunga the Uigur."

"When would that be?" Uga asked. "What year?"

"The cycle of animals goes twelve years," Alp said. "Surely the Khagan can't be a Mongol!" He had a longstanding contempt for all the tribes of the Mongols.

"We must go where history leads," Uga said more philosophically. "Who are the Khitans? They must have power too, if their folklore is being recorded."

"The Khitans? A minor tribe of the Mongol family."

"I think we have the information we need!" Uga said. "The Khitans can't be minor for much longer! This Jenghiz Qan who rules them—even if the title is exaggerated, it points the direction of history. We have to get Khitan parts, and watch for the birth of a baby named Jenghiz—and keep an eye out for the Uigur scholar Tata-tunga too, for he will lead us to Jenghiz! You and I and Pei-li—three chances to land what may be a really major part!"

Alp nodded regretfully. "We must seek the Mongol."

In 840 the savage Turk Kirghiz threw off Uigur's control and invaded his territory. Uigur was chopped into dwarf-size, and he fled south, his glory gone. In 847 he lost his new head in battle, again.

"Where is the Khagan?" the others asked as Alp and his battered party returned.

"Khagan Uga is dead," Alp said grimly. "We must retreat again." In the future the literate, educated dwarf Uigur would have to be content to serve other giants by handling their written work. His days of empire were done.

But the new Khagan, distrusting Alp's philosophy and his affiliation to Uga, had him assassinated shortly thereafter. Alp did not even know what killed him. One moment he was leading a patrol near the shrinking border; the next there was a fierce pain in his back... and then he was reviving in a Galactic chamber, feeling the prickle of stun-recovery all over.

"Your Dramatic Balance for the role stands at 610 Points," the voice of the Machine said. "From this is subtracted 100 Points advance against prior admission fee. Positive balance of 510 Points."

Alp was quick to reorient. It had only been seventeen days, objectively, since he left the entry booth. Even in Game terms, he had not survived very far beyond his own historical time. But because his help had enabled Uga to become Khagan after the Kirghiz invasion, Alp had made a decent score. "That means I can take another part!" he exclaimed.

"You have five days grace period in which to make selection without leaving the Game. Entry fee is payable before selection and is not refundable."

Alp understood that much. After five days he would be booted out into the galaxy—where the police waited. Certainly he wasn't going to change his mind after paying the new fee! But it would be smart to use those free days to rest and reorient, so as to enter the new part in a suitable frame of mind. Seventeen days—yet it seemed like so much longer!

"Your Audience Quotient for the prior part is now available," the Machine announced.

"Let's have it, then," Alp said, not knowing what the term meant, but eager for relevant information.

"Average Daily Spread: 574-92. Peak Spread: 1,029-395. Overall graph—"

"Wait!" Alp cried. "I don't understand that! What do the figures mean?"

"The figures mean that your performance was successful."

"I mean what do they stand for? This 'Daily Spread'—where does it spread from , where does it go? I think I need the beginner's indoctrination."

The Game Machine obliged: "The Game is both a participant and a spectator sport, aside from its basic purpose: the instruction of history in a nonliterate society. The ratio of spectators to participants is approximately 1,000 to one. However, at any given moment only two or three students are watching any given player, on the average, because of the time required by other Galactic pursuits. In the course of a typical day approximately one hundred viewers will survey that part, however briefly. Accordingly, the standard spread comprises the survey figure together with the steady viewing figure: 100-2.5. For popular parts this rises—"

"Wait!" Alp cried again. "Do you mean people have been watching me?"

"Correct."

"They can tune in on me—the way I call another player on the screen? Only I can't see them?"

"Correct."

"Every moment of the whole part—two-and-a-half people were watching me, listening to me?"

"Incorrect. That is the standard spread. Your personal figures differ, as shown by your Audience Quotient."

Alp pondered this. He had had no idea he was being watched! Other players must have known the system, however, and been restrained by it. Perhaps his ignorance had even contributed to his success.

No, that wasn't right. Uga and Pei-li would never have gone along with the search for the document... "If the Galactics know about this, why—?"

"They do not know when participating. That aspect is blocked from their awareness for the duration of each part. This is to prevent players from being unduly influenced by the knowledge and playing incorrectly."

That made sense. Uga had been as ignorant as Alp, despite his seeming knowledge. "Would you give me my own figures again, please? With a running explanation, even if I am going to forget it all the moment I enter a new part!"

"You will remember it when the next part terminates," the Machine said. "Your average Daily Spread was 574-92. This means that on a typical day you were surveyed by 574 spectators, while 92 watched you at any given moment. A favorable Spectation ratio."

"Not two-and-a-half watching me all the time, but ninety-two," Alp said, musingly. "What was so interesting about me?"

"The manner in which you dealt with Uga at the outset. He was a player of some competence, yet you managed favorable terms. This alerted the viewers to your potential, and you picked up a number of fanatics."

"Fanatics? What are they?"

"Enthusiasts who follow a particular part exclusively, watching it for many hours a day. The number of such fans a given player accumulates is another indication of the depth of his popular appeal. Your total increased steadily to 105 by the time your part terminated."

"A hundred-and-five? But if only ninety-two were watching—"

"You still do not understand the basic mathematics. Even fans must sleep, if nothing else. Normally it requires four or five fans to maintain a steady figure of one. Your 105 fans constituted only 22 steady watchers, statistically. The rest were partial fans and random viewers. Also, we are speaking of averages; the actual figures are variable—"

"That's enough," Alp said. "Mathematics is not my strong point. When was this 'peak' you mentioned? I mean, when in the Game?"