Piers Anthony - Unicorn Point

When the last ogre had departed. Clip assumed hawkform and flew up to the set of flags. Several sharp pecks with his beak loosened the red one. He hauled it clear, and flew with it toward the region of the other flag. The other unicorns followed, making no exclamations, watching for any ogres who might be lagging behind. The ogres had been too stupid to realize that the game had not yet finished, because the dead had not yet returned to life. The Adepts of course would know, but were barred from interfering; they could only watch and grind their teeth. They could not cry warning, because this would be so obvious a foul that their side would forfeit. Soon Clip reached the spruce tree where the dead ogre lay. He plunged into the foliage and set the red flag at the ogre’s ear with the blue one.

The two flags touched. There was the sound of a gong. The casualties came back to life, unicorn and ogre alike. This time the siege really was over, and the unicorns were the victor.

“That be our point!” Neysa exclaimed. “Unicorn point!”

Indeed it was. They had done it for Stile.

14 - Agape

“I hate this!” she protested.

“There be no other way,” Bane reminded her. “For the first game, each side chose its own champion. For the second, each chose the champion o’ the other. For this third, each had to compromise. We vetoed their first and second choices, so they vetoed ours; thus thou must bear our standard.”

“But against Citizen Tan!” Agape said. “He hates me!”

“Aye, and with reason,” he said, smiling. “Was thy body the mare used to tweak his hardware. But this be a game; thou hast merely to play the grid properly, and he can do naught ‘gainst thee.”

“Oh, Bane, I am afraid!”

He held her, but could not console her. “I would free thee o’ this duty an I could, but it be set. The games be e’en; thou must win this one for Blue!”

“I am afraid I will lose!”

“Just remember the strategy: keep it in Mental an thou canst, and in Machine if that be thine option. Then he can not get at thee directly.”

“He will find a way!” she said with dire premonition. “Oh, I could just melt!”

“Later, after thou has won the game,” he said, smiling. But she was not reassured. She felt singulariy inadequate to the occasion. How could she, an alien creature, hope to prevail against a hard-driving malignant Citizen? She wished most ardently that she had never had to return from Moeba, once she had escaped Proton. But that would have meant continued separation from Bane, and from Nepe, and that, too, was intolerable.

All too soon it was time. In the morning she approached the designated console. Citizen Tan was already there, staring at her fixedly. She knew that he did not choose to distinguish between herself and Fleta, and well remembered his pain of the body and pride, years ago, and he had never forgiven those injuries. He was a man bent on vengeance. “So the amoeba slides in,” he said, unsmiling. She did not answer. She took her place at the console and tried not to shrink too visibly from his gaze. The screen lighted. She almost dissolved with relief: she had the numbers!

She moved her hand carefully, so as to make no foolish error. She touched one finger to 2. MENTAL. There, she had done it! There could be no physical contact between them. She felt as if she had won a significant encounter already.

She could not have asked for a better break. Tan made his selection, as if it were a matter of indifference, and the screen blinked and displayed the secondary grid: 2D. ANIMAL-ASSISTED MENTAL. This meant that they would be playing through animals, commanding them or sending their directives to them by other means. Agape was surprised; she had not thought Citizen Tan to have any interest whatever in animals.

Then she suffered a wash of apprehension: surely he was up to something malignant! Somehow he hoped to get at her physically through those animals. Yet how could he, in the mental category?

Alas, that became all too quickly evident. The definition of “animal” included not only the conventional dogs, cats, horses and such, but also androids of all types, and also the human animal. Thus she found herself playing the primary grid again, this time for the nature of the animal encounter. Bemused, she made what she feared were bad choices, and found herself in the very category she most wanted to avoid:

NAKED PHYSICAL, HUMAN ANIMAL. This was a trap of MENTAL that she had somehow overlooked: it reopened everything else. She played the tertiary grid in a blur, certain that disaster was upon her.

Abruptly it ended: they were in Flat Surface Interactive, Human Animal-Assisted, Naked Physical-Surrogate Sex. “Do each of you understand the nature of the selected game?” the voice of the Game Computer inquired. “Naturally,” Tan snapped.

“N-no,” Agape confessed. She only knew it was trouble.

How could she have let the Citizen stampede her into this? “I will explain for the benefit of the one who pleads ignorance,” the voice said. “Each player will select an actor of the same sex from the available menu. The actors will be attuned to thoughts sent by their players, and will be responsive to such thoughts if they are not in conflict with the actors’ natural inclinations. One player will be designated the initiator, the other the receiver; these designations will reverse at three-hour intervals. The initiator will within the period seduce the receiver—”

“What?” Agape cried faintly.

“And be adjudged the winner of the fall,” the machine continued blithely. “If the initiator fails in that period, the receiver wins the fall. Then the receiver will become the initiator and will seduce the new receiver, with the fall similarly determined. For the final period the roles will reverse again. The strictures against force will be relaxed in the final period, so as to ensure a decision. If the initiator does not succeed, the victory will go to the receiver, as the winner of two of three falls.”

“What am I to do?” Agape cried in despair. Citizen Tan said something impolite and very much to the point. He, of course, was enjoying this. He had succeeded after all in bringing her to a sexual encounter, and he in tended to have his measure of flesh.

“The setting will be the Commons,” the Game Computer said. “Neither actor will be allowed to leave it until the game is concluded, on pain of default. Interference by others will not be tolerated. You will now select your actors, who will be routed to the Commons without being advised of their roles.”

“But do you mean real people?” Agape cried. “How can we—”

“A further explanation,” the machine said patiently. “The actors will be selected from a pool formed by volunteers that is maintained at a constant level. Each volunteer has been examined and approved, then awareness of this process has been deleted. Only after the game is complete will they understand that they have played their parts. They will be compensated, and of course they will have a certain notoriety because of the significance of this particular game. No onus attaches to them for what occurs. They are real people, but they understood the range of parts available when they vol unteered.”

“Oh.” It was all she could manage at the moment.

“Now you will make your selections. Touch the screen to enlarge a card, and touch SELECT when the card is the one you choose.” A pattern of pictures and very fine text appeared on the screen.

Agape nerved herself to glance at Citizen Tan. He was looking at his own screen. It was evident that he was having absolutely no trouble with this. He had probably played this game before. But how could she try to seduce him, or his agent—his actor? Even with her actress? What would Bane think?