Stile was familiar with the story and with the poem, but was intrigued by the realism of the diorama. Every detail seemed perfect. But more than that, he was moved by the similarity of his own experience when he had fallen into a recurring vision of Clef's introduction to Phaze and later verified that all of it was true. There had been his first experience of the juxtaposition of frames! The poet Coleridge would certainly have understood.
The next chamber had a new episode. The scene was of a man standing just outside an open door, evidently a villager. "Hardly had the poet recorded thirty lines, the mere introduction to his vision masterpiece, before he was interrupted by a person from the nearby village of Porlock, who detained him for over an hour. When Samuel finally was able to return to his writing, he was dismayed to discover that his vision had dissipated. He could recall none of the marvelous lines that had coursed through his brain, and could write no more."
Ah, yes, Stile thought. The notorious person from Porlock, whose ill-timed interference had destroyed what might have been the creation of the ages. In Stile's own case, his poem had not been interrupted; it had become his Tourney winner, though his ability hardly compared to that of Coleridge.
The third chamber began the presentation of the poem itself. The diorama showed a view of a walled enclosure encompassing a number of square kilometers. There were copses of trees, neat meadows, and spring-fed streams — a wholly delightful hunting preserve, reminiscent of Phaze, stocked for the Emperor's pleasure with a number of fine game animals. Within it was a prefabricated kind of palace in the Oriental mode, luxuriously appointed. This, the narrator explained, was the palace of Xanadu as described in the text Samuel had been reading, set up by Kublai, grandson of the conqueror Genghis Khan.
The fourth chamber showed the caverns of a great underground river, winding down to a somber subterranean lake. "And this is the one described in Samuel's vision in a dream," the narrator said. Obviously the poet's imagination had enhanced the original. The narrator now quoted the opening stanza of the poem: "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan/ A stately pleasure-dome decree:/ Where Alph, the sacred river, ran/ Through caverns measureless to man/ Down to a sunless sea."
The fifth chamber was the main one — and it was truly impressive. It was a tremendous cavern whose walls were of ice — actually, glass and mirrors cunningly crafted to appear glacial. "It was a miracle of rare device," the narrator continued, quoting further from the poem. "A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!"
And within this marvelous setting was the palace of Xanadu as conceived by Proton artisans. It was the most impressive of all. It was fashioned of bright metal, bluish at the base, golden yellow in the mid-levels, and purple at the top. lights played glancingly across it, causing the colors to shift shades, with green showing at some angles in a kind of pseudoiridescence.
The architecture was stranger yet. The structure was all steps and corrugations and cubes, rising into artificial perspectives like so many sections of pyramids. The walls were thin, so that the stepped surface of one floor became the stepped surface of the ceiling of the chamber beneath it and the walls were fashioned in an intermittent mazelike network. There was no proper roof, only brief terraces of many levels, expanding from the tops of the walls. In one sense, the palace was like old-fashioned bleachers in a stadium gone haywire.
Citizens stood and sat on the steps and terraces and leaned against the walls. Many had donned appropriate costumes, resembling those of the medieval Mongol nobility. But any implication that this was a festive occasion was unfounded; it was ruin and murder these Citizens had in mind, for one who threatened their control of this planet. They dealt with such a challenge as the savage Mongols would have.
Sheen drew her trash bin quietly around the chamber, spearing stray refuse, ignored by all as the meeting began. The Chairone called it to order. The first item of business was a tabulation of those present no late entrances were permitted. This of course was to prevent Stile or any of his friends from arriving in the middle to protest his loss of Citizenship. The tabulation was made by oral roll call, to prevent any interference by a computer; evidently the other Citizens had some dawning notion of Stile's connections there. Thus it was time-consuming — and that pleased Stile, who needed every extra minute to obtain his proxies. He knew the computers and self-willed machines could work quickly, but he had given them very little time.
"Stile," the roll caller called. Then, with grim hope: "Not present? Let it be noted that-"
Stile burst out from the trash bin, sending dust and pieces of paper flying. "Beware! Beware!" he cried, quoting from Kubla Khan. "His flashing eyes, his floating hair!/ Weave a circle round him thrice,/ And close your eyes with holy dread,/ For he on honey-dew hath fed,/ And drunk the milk of Paradise."
For surely Stile was an apparition, confounding these evil-meaning people. In Xanadu, the weaving of a triple circle around such a wild man would help confine his malice, but here they would try to do it financially. The quotation was doubly significant here, because Stile really had fed on honey-dew and drunk the milk of Paradise — his experience in the magic realm of Phaze. And as it happened, this was where Coleridge's poem broke off, interrupted by the person from Porlock; no one knew what would follow.
"Present," the roll caller agreed glumly, and continued with the tabulation while Sheen cleaned Stile off. Stile saw the Rifleman, Waldens, Merle, and others he had come to know, but could not be certain what side any of them were on. He knew he would soon find out.
The first order of business was the clarification of financial credits, since voting would be strictly by wealth. Each Citizen made an entry with the Chairone: so many kilos and grams of Protonite as of this moment. Another Citizen verified those credits with the Records Computer, and a third issued tokens representative of Protonite, in kilo and gram units. It was much like buying chips for a big game of poker — and this would surely be the biggest game ever.
When Stile's turn came, there was a complication. "My fortune must be established by the settlement of two bets at this time," he said. "First, a wager with a consortium of Citizens that I would or would not appear at this meeting alive. I believe I have won that bet."
"Granted," the Chairone agreed soberly. He had played an identification beam across Stile, verifying that he was no android or robot replica. "What is your basic fortune prior to that decision?"
"My financial adviser will have to provide that information. He also has a number of proxies that should be included."
"Proxies?"
"I have complete authority to dispose the proxied funds, including wagering with them," Stile said. "You may verify that with the Records Computer." He hoped that his friends had succeeded in amassing the necessary total. If not, he was likely to be finished.
Mellon was admitted. He provided data on Stile's assets and proxies. The Chairone's eyes widened. "But this is more than six hundred kilos, total!"
Six hundred kilos! The computers had come through handsomely!
"I protest!" a Citizen cried. "He can't use proxies to multiply his own fortune!"
"Sir, I have here the proxy forms," Mellon said smoothly. "As you will see, they are carefully worded, and this particular use is expressly granted. For the purpose of this meeting, all proxies are part of Stile's personal fortune."