Piers Anthony - Juxtaposition

“Of course. Spade.” Stile made a gesture of dismissal, and the man vanished.

Next was a voluptuously proportioned young woman with black tresses flowing across her body to her knees. “Of her it is said, let the rose hang its head,” Stile murmured, conscious that the rhyme would work no magic here in Proton-frame.

The girl took this as the signal to speak. “I am Dulcimer, your entertainer, sir.”

Stile glanced at Sheen. “What kind of entertainment do you suppose I need?”

Sheen was suppressing a smile in the best human fashion. “Duke, show the Citizen your nature.” Dulcimer put both hands to her head, took hold of her ears, and turned her head sharply sidewise. There was a click; then the head lifted off her body.

“At your service, sir.”

“A robot!” Stile exclaimed. Then, more thoughtfully:

“Are you by chance one of Sheen’s friends?”

“I am, sir,” the robot head said.

“Put yourself together,” Stile told her, and the head was lowered and twisted back into place. Stile waved her away, and Dulcimer vanished.

He turned seriously to Sheen. “Do you think this is wise?”

“Sir, I can not always guard you now. A Citizen depends on no single serf. You can use Dulce when I am not available.”

“A machine concubine? Forget it. You know I have no present use for such things. Not since I married the Lady Blue.”

“I know, sir,” she agreed sadly. “Yet you need protection, for you will be making rivals and perhaps enemies among Citizens. It would not do for a Citizen to take his cook or housemaid or gardener to social functions.”

“But Dulcimer would be okay. Now I understand.” He considered briefly, then decided to get his worst chore out of the way. “Before we arrive, set up a privacy barrier. I want to talk to you.”

“It is already in place. Others must not know that self willed machines associate with you. Sir.”

“You can drop the *sir’ when privacy is guaranteed,” he said a trifle sharply. “You were never my inferior, Sheen.”

“I was never your equal, either,” she said. “What do you wish to say to me?”

Stile nerved himself and plunged in. “You know that I love only the Lady Blue. What went before is history.”

“I have no jealousy of the Lady Blue. She is your perfect wife.”

“She is my perfect woman. Before her, you were that woman; but I changed when I became the Blue Adept. The marriage is only a social convention, applying to the frame of Phaze. Here in Proton I remain single.”

“Citizens do not have to marry, not even to designate an heir. I don’t see your problem.”

“Yet there are marriages of convenience, even among Citizens.”

“Especially among Citizens. They marry for leverage, or to pool estates, or to keep a favored serf on Proton beyond his or her twenty-year tenure. They hardly ever worry about love or sex or even appearance in that respect.”

‘Yet there are legal aspects,” Stile continued doggedly. “The spouse of a Citizen has certain prerogatives—“

“Entirely at the pleasure of the Citizen,” she said. “The spouse may be immune to tenure termination or molestation by other Citizens, but the Citizen can divorce that spouse merely by entering a note in the computer records. So it means nothing, unless the spouse is another Citizen.”

“It means the spouse is a person, for at least the duration of the marriage,” Stile said.

“A serf is already a person. Marriage to a Citizen merely enhances status for a time. The main hope of serfs who marry Citizens is that one of their children will be designated heir, since such a child shares the bloodline of the Citizen. But there is no guarantee. Each Citizen is his own law.”

“Sometimes a Citizen will designate the spouse as heir,” Stile said.

She shrugged. “All this is true. Stile. But what is the point?”

“I have it in mind to marry in Proton, and to designate my wife my heir.”

“Oh.” She pondered, her computer mind sorting through the implications. “A marriage of convenience to protect your estate. Not for love or sex or companionship.”

“For all these things, in part,” he said.

“What does the Lady Blue think of this?”

“She suggested it. Though she is able to cross the curtain, she has no affinity for this frame, and no legal status in it. You say you have no jealousy of her; neither does she have jealousy of you.”

“Of me? Of course she doesn’t! I’m a machine.”

“Yes. But she regards you as a person. Now, with this basic understanding, I—“ He hesitated.

“You want me to locate a suitable bride of convenience for you?”

“Not exactly. Sheen, I want you to be that bride.”

“Don’t be silly. Stile. I’m a robot. You know that.”

“I see I have to do it the hard way.” Stile got out of his comfortable chair. She started to rise, but he gestured her to remain seated.

Stile knelt before her, taking her hand. “Lady Sheen, I ask your hand in marriage.”

“I shouldn’t be sensitive to humor of this sort,” she said. “But I must say I didn’t expect it of you.”

“Humor, hell! Will you marry me?”

Machines were not readily surprised, but she was programmed to react in human fashion. She paled. “You can’t be serious!”

“I am serious, and my knee is getting uncomfortable. Will you answer me?”

“Stile, this is impossible! I’m—“

“I know what you are. You always bring it up when you’re upset. I am a Citizen. I can do as I wish. I can marry whom I choose, for what reason I choose.”

She stared at him. “You are serious! But the moment you tried to register me as—as—they would know my nature. They would destroy me.”

“They would have to destroy me first. Answer.”

“Stile, why are you doing this? The mischief—“

“I see I must answer you, since you will not answer me. If I many you, you will be the wife of a Citizen. By definition, a person. By extension, others of your type may then be considered persons. It is a wedge, a lever for recognition of the self-willed machines as serfs. This is a service I can do for them.”

“It really is convenience,” she said. “Using me to help my friends forward their case for recognition as people.”

“Which would be even more potent if something put me out of the scene prematurely and thrust the onus of Citizenship on you.”

‘”True,” she said.

‘Is that my answer? Does true equate to yes?”

“No!” she snapped, jumping up. “I don’t want your title, I want your love!”

Stile got off his knee silently. His love was one thing he could not offer her.

“In fact, I don’t want your convenience,” she continued, working up some unrobotic temper. “I don’t want the appearance without the reality. I don’t want to be used.”

“I don’t propose to use you—“

“I’m not talking about sex!” she screamed. “I would be happy for that! It’s being used as a lever I object to.”

“I’m sorry. I thought it was a good idea.”

“You in your flesh-male arrogance! To set me up as a mock wife to be a lever, the simplistic machine I am! You thought because I love you I’ll do anything you want. After all, what pride can a mere machine have?” What had he walked into? Stile brought out his holo receiver and called the Lady Blue.

The picture-globe formed. Stile turned it about until the Lady Blue came into view. She was brushing down Hin blue. “Lady,” he said.

She looked up. “My Lord!”

Sheen paused in her pacing. “You’re in touch with her?”

“Aye, Lady Sheen,” the Lady Blue answered, recognizing her voice. “And easy it is to understand the nature of thy concern. I confess I put my Lord up to it.”