Then she clenched rhythmically, milking him, taking in all that he had left to give.
Henceforth he would shield his thoughts more carefully.
You had better, she agreed, turning her face to kiss him hard on the mouth.
She wasn't just amenable, or even eager. She was demanding. Such a sustained barrage of sexual demand by a woman was new to him, and he wasn't sure he liked it. But he kept that thought strictly to himself.
At the end of a long day of sex and sightseeing, they retired to their hotel suite. Iolo had a nice mat on the floor. And of course they had to share a bed, and Weft was constantly on him.
Is this realistic, Red? he inquired almost plaintively.
Affirmation. This is exactly how she would be, given opportunity.
Point made. I will see that she never has opportunity. May we relax long enough to get some sleep?
And step out of character? But she had mercy on him, and let him sleep as long as he remained in close contact with her. Yet when he got a nocturnal erection in sleep, she took it in and worked it for another feeding.
They spent several days on Resort World, indulging in its assorted pleasures. Only Havoc's Glamor enhanced sexual ability got him through. He was relieved when it was time to visit another world. Indeed, he had learned the lesson: he was no longer tempted by the notion of a tryst with Weft. Red had served him well in that respect, truly wearing him out physically and emotionally. Exactly as the real Weft would have done.
They invoked the ticket, and found themselves standing on the roof of a monumentally massive stone building overlooking a buzzing beehive of machine activity. They were in a glassed-in chamber; evidently there was no air on the planet itself. Iolo was intrigued, sniffing the transparent wall.
"Awe," Weft murmured. "This must be a hub."
"Correct," a speaker in the chamber replied. "This is a central planet, where the campaign for this sector of the galaxy is coordinated. It is a staging site for thousands of space ships destined for the reduction of foreign cultures."
"Reduction," Weft said. It was not Havoc's place, as a robot, to maintain this dialogue. "Killing creatures."
"We do not refer to killing in an operation of this scale," the machines voice said. "It is destruction. These ships carry what in your vernacular are referred to as planet-buster bombs. Seeded planets explode and become gravel. In more extreme case, the host stars are seeded, becoming nova, taking out all life in their systems. Only rarely do we invade with small machines to take over governance of a culture, usually for optimal mining of its resources, and it is destroyed when those resources are gone."
"Horror! What did those living cultures ever do to you?"
"Nothing. They exist, therefore they must be destroyed."
"You are destroying whole cultures just because they are there?"
"Affirmation."
"But why?"
"This is the program."
Weft regrouped. "Why are you showing me this?"
"In your vernacular, it is carrot and stick. Positive and negative. Resort World is a carrot: something desirable.
Campaign Central World is a stick: something undesirable. We are equipped to destroy your culture, and will do so on schedule, unless the proffered deal is made. We wish to encourage you to facilitate your culture's agreement."
Weft looked at Havoc. "What do you make of this, Ikon?"
"According to my data bank, in medieval times back on Old Earth, when they had a recalcitrant prisoner, they might show him their torture instruments. He knew those instruments would be used on him if he did not cooperate. It was persuasive. This is that."
"Aversion! What else?"
"This is an either/or challenge," he said. "Normally those are suspect. There should be gradients, opportunities for compromise."
"Machines do not compromise," the machine said.
"False. They do what they have to to achieve their ends. Already they have offered to spare the human culture if Voila enlists. That's a compromise."
"It is either/or. She enlists, or you are destroyed."
"Not necessarily," Havoc said.
"This is not a proper robot response." There was a pause as the unit concentrated on the physical nature of the three of them. This time it could not be avoided; they had seen it coming. "You are not a robot. You are the living Havoc, king of the human culture."
"Exaggeration," Havoc said. "I am king of Planet Charm."
"You will be a useful hostage against your daughter's commitment. Our study indicates that she will enlist to save your life."
"Dad," Weft said urgently. "Let's get the expletive out of here."
"They can't hold us, honey. I'd like to learn more about their military capacity."
"It is overwhelming," the machine said, echoing what another tourist had said. "As our captive, you will see it all. You would have no chance in battle."
"Doubt," Havoc said. "I want specifics."
"Dad," Weft said. "They are gathering an electronic net to prevent us from conjuring ourselves back the way we came. The longer we dawdle here, the tighter it closes."
"Maybe it can hold regular creatures," he said, evincing unconcern. "But we are Glamors."
"Dad—"
Then they verified a connection. A pseudo ikon had come to rest in a suitable location. Just in time, for the machines' net was almost tight. Red had been tracking it while he distracted the machine's attention by arguing.
Iolo had put pseudo ikons onto ships departing Resort World for other sections of the machines realm. Those ikons had had three days to get where they were going. With wormhole travel, that could be anywhere in the machines realm. The net blocked Glamor conjuration to any living culture world outside the machines domain, but not within it. They could go just about anywhere.
Mischief, Red thought. Now I find that the machines tracked Iolo's excursion and learned about the pseudo ikons.
They can't stop us from using them, but they have placed capture units in their vicinity. We can't go home.
That was mischief indeed! They could lead the machines a merry chase, but it would in the end be pointless if they were unable to cross into living territory. Their near-future paths seeing had not seen far enough ahead. The machines would be alert for them anywhere near the boundary.
But Idyll Ifrit's intermediate future paths seeing had reached this far. Now her planted message opened in Havoc's mind. This one. An ikon was indicated.
Havoc put one hand on Iolo and the other on Weft, ensuring their physical as well as mental linkage. He conjured them to that ikon. Because it was not full-real it served only as a beacon; they could not draw power from it. But Iolo carried physical ikons that would serve.
They were in a warehouse on a near-human-compatible planet. The air was not ideal, but as Glamors they could breathe it, and Iolo was naturally adaptable. Large travel-tainers of goods were stacked, ready for local distribution. Machines were loading them on floaters. These were non-sentient machines, mere tools for brute labor.
Havoc, Weft, and Iolo walked out of the warehouse, passing the laboring machines, and onto the living surface of the planet. Where were they?
The indication is that this is the origin planet, Idyll's recorded thought came. The one you are looking for.
No wonder the machines had not put an interceptor net around this one. How could unimaginative devices have anticipated that Havoc's real goal was their source world?
For on this world should be the answer to why and how the machines had revolted, killing their Makers and setting off in pursuit of the remnant that had fled. Actually he was suspicious of that history, because it had been too conveniently yielded by Shee's junk programming. Had it been put there for them to harvest? Voila had agreed that they needed to verify the situation first hand. If it turned out to be just a story, then what was the real history?