Piers Anthony: Robot Adept

Bane hesitated, not sure where to go from here. “Now we place games,” Agape explained. “May I have the first turn?”

Bane shrugged. “Thou mayst.”

She put her finger to her screen and evidently touched KNITTING, for that word brightened on his screen. Then she must have touched the center square of the grid, for abruptly the word was there.

“Knitting?” he asked. “What kind o’ game be that?”

“A woman’s game,” she said smugly. “I am not good at it, because we do not have it in my society, but I had to learn its basics in order to come here; I suspect that you, being arrogantly male, have never had experience with it.”

Bane opened his mouth, and shut it again. She had him dead to rights.

“Now you place one,” she said.

“Ah.” If knitting was a tool-assisted physical game of the female persuasion, there were many others of the male persuasion. He put his finger on BALL: Throwing. She would have trouble throwing a ball as far as he could! He touched the upper left square, and the expression appeared there.

She put SEWING beside it in the top row.

He scowled. If she got three lined vertically, then got to choose the numbers, she would be guaranteed one of her choices! But no, he remembered now that the turns alternated; the last person to place a game, which on this odd-numbered grid would be her, had to yield the choice of sides to the other. So he could choose the vertical and avoid that.

All the same, he played it safe. He put ICE SKATING in the middle of the bottom row.

She put BAKING in the left center, or 9K square. He quickly filled in the other end of the K row with BICYCLE RACING so that she would not have a horizontal line. He was beginning to enjoy this; he had thought they would not play the game until the grids decided what it would be, but realized that they were already in it. This was the aspect of strategy, where the game could be virtually won or lost, depending on the player’s cleverness in choosing and placing.

Agape put COOKING in the lower right corner.

Bane put SHOT PUT in the lower left.

She put SOAP BUBBLES in the upper right square, the final one. The grid was complete.

He chose the numbers, though there did not seem to be much difference. Then he wrestled with the decision over which column to choose. If he took the first, he had two chances to win one of his sports: Ball-throwing or Shot-putting. But she would anticipate that, so take the middle row, winning her choice of Baking. So he should take one of the other columns… where the odds were two to one against him. Except that if she figured him to take the first column, so she chose the middle row, he obviously should take the third column, putting them in Bicycle Racing. So the odds weren’t really against him. Unless she realized this, so took one of the other rows, so as to win. So he should—

He shook his head. He was getting confused! There was no way to be sure of victory; it was an endless maze of suppositions.

He decided to go with the odds. He touched Column 9.

This time she had not chosen before him, for the chosen box did not illuminate. His row highlighted; that was all.

At last she chose. The 9K square lighted, then expanded to fill the full screen. She had won it after all: they would play the game of Baking.

“Do you concede?” she asked.

It was only part of the ritual, but he was tempted. What did he know of baking? His mother, the Lady Blue, had always handled that. But he didn’t like quitting, even when it was only a game. Even when it really didn’t matter who won or lost. “Nay.”

“Will you accept a draw?”

That was a generous offer! He knew he should take it, but he decided to take his loss like a man. “Nay.”

She sighed. “I thought to bluff you,” she admitted. “I know nothing of baking.”

“Then methinks we both should learn,” he said. “The loser must eat the winner’s effort.”

“But you don’t even need to eat,” she reminded him.

“Aye, but I can. Mayhap I will not have to.”

She looked at her screen. “Oh, there is a list of baking choices. What do we want?”

“Something simple,” he pleaded. “Something we ne’er can mess up too much.”

“I agree.” She addressed the console. “What is simple, and tastes all right if poorly made?”

BROWNIES, the screen replied.

Agape looked at Bane. “Do you know what brownies are?”

“Nay, if they be not a species o’ the elves.”

“Neither do I. So we’re even. Let’s do it.”

“Aye.”

There was a message on the screen: ADJOURN TO KITCHEN ANNEX, BOOTH 15.

They had committed themselves. They made their way to the kitchen annex.

The booth was ready for them. Two chairs were at consoles, their screens lighted.

Agape took one seat. Bane the other. Both consoles faced the wall. Bane’s screen said: TOUCH WHEN READY TO PROCEED.

He reached out and touched Agape on the shoulder.

“It means the screen!” she exclaimed. But she leaned over and kissed him.

He had known that. Satisfied, he touched the screen. Nothing happened. “Thou hast to touch thine too,” he reminded her.

“There’s someone watching us,” she murmured. “You can see him in the reflection of the wall.”

He looked. It was a middle-aged serf, apparently one of the caretakers or troubleshooters of this section. He ran it through his brain’s storage bank, and culled a positive reference. The serf was legitimate. “He be an employee, likely assigned to watch lest some minion o’ a Citizen molest us,” he murmured back. “Blue be not one to let us be taken hostage again.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, relaxing. She touched her screen.

Now the game was on. A menu appeared on his screen:

1B5E 9K BAKING BROWNIES MACH (R) VS AGAPE (A)

1. GENERAL INSTRUCTIONS 2. OPTIONS 3. RECIPE 4. LIST OF INGREDIENTS 5. TERMINATE

“What be ‘R’ and ‘A’?” Bane inquired.

“Robot and android,” she replied.

“But—”

“This is a standard unit. It cannot distinguish between a robot and a human being inhabiting the body of a robot. See, you are also listed as ‘Mach.’ Similarly, it cannot distinguish between an android and an alien; it knows only the distinction between Human, Robot, Android and Cyborg. So I count as an android.”

He smiled. “Yet we be two other people.”

“Two aliens,” she agreed. “From Phaze and Moeba. That is what brought us together.”

“I would not change it.”

“Nor would I.” She returned his smile. They were doing a lot of that, now. “But let’s get cooking.”

“Aye.” He returned his gaze to the screen.

He did not understand much of it, so he decided to start at the beginning: GENERAL INSTRUCTIONS. He touched the number 1.

The original menu contracted and retreated to the upper right corner of the screen, evidently remaining functional. New words took over the left and center:

MOST COOKING AND BAKING IS DONE BY REMOTE INSTRUCTION. ALL DIRECTIVES INDICATED ON THE SCREEN WILL BE IMPLEMENTED IN THE ACTIVITY CHAMBER IMMEDIATELY BEYOND THE CONSOLE. IF YOU ARE FAMILIAR WITH YOUR OPTIONS AND RECIPE, PROCEED DIRECTLY TO THE LIST OF INGREDIENTS AND MAKE YOUR SELECTIONS. IF NOT, PROCEED TO 2. OPTIONS.

Well, that was clear enough. Bane touched 2. OPTIONS in the corner. He wondered how Agape was doing. She had come to Proton only a day before he had, but had been better prepared for it.

OPTIONS: YOU MAY GO DIRECTLY TO THE LIST OF INGREDIENTS IF THE RECIPE IS ALREADY FAMILIAR.

YOU MAY SPECIFY THE SYSTEM OF MEASUREMENTS EMPLOYED IN THE RECIPE AND LIST OF INGREDIENTS.

YOU MAY SPECIFY A MULTIPLE OF THE STANDARD RECIPE. WARNING: THIS MAY AFFECT THE BAKING TIME AND THE QUALITY OF THE PRODUCT.