have no data on that: only technical data on their modes of
perception, allowing us to make the Arena comprehensible to
the human nervous system. In this we had the assistance of the
Department of Neurology from the Kosmosity of the Nysa Corporate Treaty State."
Constantine's recruits, Lindsay thought. The Nysa rogue
wireheads, Mechanist defectors to the Shaper cause, combining
Mech techniques with the fascist structure of the Shaper
academic-military complex. "The very men -the very beings,
rather, for the job."
"So said the Chancellor-General. His party has assembled now.
Shall we join them?"
Constantine's group mingled with Lindsay's in one of the cavernous lounges of the Investor ship. The lounge was crowded
with towering rococo furniture: dizzyingly overdecorated settees
and slablike tables, supported on curved legs crusted with
ribbed domes and stylized scrolls. It was all far too large to be
of any conventional use to the score of human visitors, who
crouched under the furniture warily, careful not to touch any-
thing. Lindsay saw as he entered the lounge that the alien
furnishings had been sprayed with a thick protective lacquer to
guard them from oxygen.
He had never seen any of the young Constantine genetics.
Constantine had brought ten of them: five women, five men.
The Constantine siblings were taller than Constantine and had
lighter hair, clearly a percentage cut from some other gene-line.
They had that peculiar Shaper magnetism, an acrobatic
smoothness and fluidity. Yet something in the set of their shoulders, their slim, dexterous hands, kinesically displayed Con-
stantine's genetic heritage. They wore outlandish finery: round
velvet hats, ruby earrings, and gold-laced brocade coats. They
dressed for the sake of Investors, who appreciated a prosperous
look in their customers.
One woman had her back to Lindsay, examining the towering
legs of the furniture. The others stood calmly, trading meaning-
less pleasantries with Lindsay's people, a motley group of academics and Investor specialists on leave from Czarina-Kluster.
His wife Alexandrina was among them; she was talking to Constantine himself, with her usual perfect good breeding. Nothing
showed that all of them were seconds at a duel, witnesses
present to assure fairness.
It had been a two-year struggle, a matter of prolonged and
delicate negotiation, to arrange a meeting between himself and
Constantine. At last they had settled on the Investor starship as
a suitable battleground, one where treachery would be
counterproductive. The Arena itself had remained in Investor
hands; the Nysa technicians had worked on data freely available
to both parties. The costs were split equitably, with Constantine
assuming most of the financing, on an option against possible
technological spinoffs. Lindsay had received data through a
double-blind in Czarina-Kluster and Dembowska, to confuse
possible assassins. Constantine, to his credit, had sent no one.
The mechanics of their duel had been fraught with difficulty.
Varying proposals had been debated by an ever-widening circle
of those in the know. Physical combat was rejected at once as
beneath the dignity of the estranged parties. Those familiar with
the social gambling of the Shaper underworld favored a form of
gambling for suicide. An appeal to chance, though, presumed
equality between the parties, which neither was willing to grant.
A proper duel should assure the triumph of the better man. It
was argued that this required a test of alertness, will, and mental
flexibility, qualities central to modern life. Objective tests were
possible, but it was difficult to ensure that one party would not
prepare himself ahead of time or influence the judges. Various
forms of direct mind-to-mind struggle existed among the
wirehead community, but these often lasted for decades and
involved radical alteration of the faculties. They decided to
consult the Investors.
At first the Investors had difficulty grasping the concept. Later,
characteristically, they suggested economic warfare, with each
party granted a stake and offered the opportunity to increase it.
After a stated period the poorer man was to be executed.
This was not satisfactory. Another Investor suggestion involved attempts by both parties to read the "literature of the
(untranslatable)," but it was suggested that the survivor might
repeat something of what he had read and become a hazard to
the rest of humanity. At this point the Arena was rediscovered
in one of the booty-crammed holds of an Investor craft present
in circumsolar space.
Study quickly showed the Arena's advantages. Alien forms of
experience challenged even the finest members of society: the
emissaries to alien worlds. The extremely high casualty rate
among this group proved that the Arena would be a test in
itself. Within the Arena's simulated environment, the duelists
would battle in two alien bodies of guaranteed equality, thus
ensuring that victory would go to the superior strategist.
Constantine stood beneath one of the towering tables, sipping a self-chilling silver goblet of distilled water. Like his gaudily clad
congenetics, he wore soft lace-cuffed trousers and a gold threaded coat, its high collar studded with insignias of rank. His round, delicate eyes gleamed black with soft antiglare lenses. His face, like Lindsay's, was creased where years of habitual expression had worked their way into the muscles.
Lindsay wore a dun-brown jumpsuit without markings. His
face was oiled against the blue-white glare, and he wore dark
sunshades.
He crossed the room to join Constantine. A hush fell, but
Constantine gestured urbanely, and his fellow genetics picked
up the tag-ends of their conversations.
"Hello, cousin," Constantine said.
Lindsay nodded. "A fine group of congenetics, Philip. Con-
gratulations on your siblings."
"Good sound stock," Constantine agreed. "They handle the
gravity well." He looked pointedly at Lindsay's wife, who had
shuffled tactfully toward another group, visibly troubled by pain
in her knees.
"I spent a lot of time on gene politics," Lindsay said. "In
retrospect it seems like an aristocratic fetish."
Constantine's lids narrowed over the black adhesive lenses. "A
little more work on the Mavrides production run might have
been in order."
Lindsay felt a surge of cold fury. "Their loyalties betrayed
them."
Constantine sighed. "The irony hasn't escaped me, Abelard. If
you had only maintained your pledged faith to Vera Kelland
years ago, none of these aberrations would have occurred."
"Aberrations?" Lindsay smiled icily. "Decent of you to mop
up after me, cousin. To tie up my loose ends."
"Small wonder, when you left so many pernicious ones." Con-
stantine sipped his water. "Appeasement policy, for instance.
Detente. It was typical of you to fast-talk a population into
disaster and then sundog off when it came to the crunch."
Lindsay showed interest. "Is that the new party line? To blame
me for the Investor Peace? How flattering. But is it wise to bring
up the past? Why remind them that you lost the Republic?"
Constantine's knuckles whitened on the goblet. "I see that
you're still an antiquarian. Odd that you should embrace Wellspring and his cadre of anarchists."
Lindsay nodded. "I know that you'll attack Czarina-Kluster if
you have the chance. Your hypocrisy astounds me. You're no
Shaper. Not only are you unplanned, but your use of Mech