Sheen released his arm, stepping ahead of him to gaze in to the quivering green mess. “Permission to speak frankly, sir,” she said with-evident distaste.
“Denied,” he said, setting his cupped hand on her buttock and boosting her forward. She screamed and flailed wildly as she fell into the vat. The male members of the audience applauded. A Citizen, of course, could do no wrong. Some of the females looked as if they might have another opinion, but were not bold enough to express it.
Blue beckoned to the nearest serf. The young man scram bled up and came to him. “Sir?”
“Remove my garment and hold it clean until I emerge.” The serf did not answer, as no answer was required. He set his hands carefully at Blue’s shoulders and lifted the voluminous blue cloak. In a moment it was off, and Blue stood naked. He stepped out of his blue sandals while the serf folded the cloak and held it reverently. That serf would be famous for a day: he had Held Citizen Blue’s Cloak! The other serfs tried not to stare, but were obviously fascinated by the sight of a naked Citizen in public. Many of them would have seen naked Citizens before, but only in the privacy of personal services. The average serf was so far beneath the notice of the average Citizen that clothing counted merely as a matter of status. A Citizen could of course do anything he wanted, including parade naked in public, but it was rare for this to happen.
Blue knew himself to be quite fit for his age, and had no shame of his body. He stood for a moment, letting them admire it. There had been a time when a grown man who stood, in the Phaze system of measurement, an inch under five feet tall would have been an object of humor, sometimes of ridicule. That time was past. Today that stature was a badge of honor.
Sheen remained in the gelatin, treading slime, waiting for him. Thick froth matted her hair and clung to portions of her torso. She had been attractive in her normal nudity; she was doubly so when partially shrouded by the foam. Well she knew it, too; now a surprisingly firm breast showed, and now a segment of lithe leg, flashing amidst the green. At one point both legs showed, angling in toward a torso that was artfully masked. The folk of other cultures thought nakedness made a woman sexually appealing; those of Proton knew that it was selective concealment that had the most potent effect. A num ber of the serfs were gazing at her with envy, for her situation. Any serf woman would have been glad to trade places with her, even if only for this hour. There would probably be a rash of jelly baths following this event. And the watching eyes of the Citizens behind their spy lenses would have to track all of it, searching for continuing clues to Blue’s possible contact with his granddaughter. How could an engagement with one’s own wife in public accomplish this? Certainly Blue was not doing this without reason! He smiled. They would be right: he had excellent reason! This was as good a diversion as he could arrange, given the short notice he had had.
He dived into the vat. The froth was thin at the top, but thickened below, so that it sustained him and brought his body to a halt well clear of the bottom. He stroked until he was upright. There was Sheen, facing him with a hat fashioned of foam.
“Ha, woman!” he cried, and ducked below the bubbly surface. Sheen screamed again as he caught her ankles and dumped her down.
Now they were both below the surface, out of sight. But it was possible to breathe here, by sucking air between the teeth to strain out the bubbles. Sheen of course did not need to breathe, except when she needed air for speech. “Hold still, creature!” he cried for the benefit of the audience that peered closely at the heaving surface of froth.
“Is that an order, sir?” she replied defiantly. There was laughter from above; of course it wasn’t an order, in a game like this.
“Now I’ve got you—oops!” Obviously she had slipped out of his grasp. It was almost impossible to hold on to a person in this slippery stuff. Both remained out of sight. Sheen screamed again, signaling that he had caught her again.
“Spread your legs, wench!” he ordered.
“Spread them yourself, sir!” More delighted laughter from above; the audience could picture exactly what was happen ing.
“If you don’t, I’ll tickle you!”
There was a pause. Then, hesitantly: “Where will you tickle me, sir?”
“Maybe on the feet.”
“That’s all right.”
“Then maybe on the knees.”
“The knees? I think I can handle that.”
“Then maybe the thighs.”
A pause. “I’ll survive it somehow.”
“How about the belly?”
“Oh, no, not the belly! Anywhere but there!”
“Anywhere?” His voice was quivering with suggestion.
“Uh—just where else did you have in mind, sir?”
“WHERE DO YOU THINK, WENCH?”
“I’ll spread my legs!”
“Too late! I’d rather tickle you. Just let me get my finger in there—“ She screamed yet again, piercingly. The laughter from above was almost overwhelming.
What the audience did not realize was that the activity under the whipped gelatin was quite different from that suggested by the dialogue. Sheen opened a breast-cabinet and brought out heavy makeup materials. She applied paint to his hair, wherever it occurred, changing it to match her own. She put green contact lenses into his eyes, so that they also matched hers. She removed both her breasts and fastened them to his body with flesh-colored adhesive, and applied pseudoflesh to his hips and buttocks. She used more of it to cover his genitals and mold them into a mound like hers. This was feasible because her midsection was larger than his; there was room for layering. Soon Blue resembled her so closely that only a careful inspection would give him away. Meanwhile, instead of tickling her—it was difficult to tickle a robot—he was helping her to assume his form. He removed her hairpiece and put on one that resembled his hair. He used a special pen to draw lines on her legs that made them look thinner and more muscular. He used pseudoflesh to thicken her waist. He removed her ears and substituted a set she had brought that resembled his. And he applied to her crotch a prefabricated unit of pseudoflesh that was cast in the shape of his male genitals. Then he smoothed out her now-flat chest, and painted a few hairs. The double transformation was complete.
At this point they were grunting suggestively, as though engaged in heavy activity, while the audience above quieted, striving to overhear and interpret what was occurring. All sex was free on Proton, and serfs indulged at will (or the will of their Citizen employers), but again the concealment enhanced the fascination. Blue made a final, satisfied groan, and they were quiet.
Then Blue stroked upward through the froth so that his head broke the surface. “Well, I didn’t get tickled!” he said in his best emulation of Sheen’s voice.
“Liar!” Sheen called from below, in his voice. “You got well tickled inside. If you haven’t had enough—“ Blue looked alarmed, and clambered out of the vat. Patches of lather covered portions of his body, making it more difficult for anyone to tell that he was not a naked woman. He hurried out, as if afraid the Citizen was about to call him back for another round.
“It’s better when they resist,” his voice came from behind, as Sheen broke the surface in his likeness. “Next time, translucent gel!” The audience applauded. The serfs had seen far less than they thought, and were convinced they knew what had happened below. A majority of the males now had erections. There would be a mass sex orgy the moment Sheen, as Citizen Blue, gave leave for general use of the vat. It was significant that none of the women was trying to leave early. He hurried to the connected shower stall, and quickly rinsed the foam from his hair and body. Sheen, in the guise of the Citizen, would have a portable shower brought in, and the serfs would gladly operate it and the dryer, and help her back into his blue cloak. Then she would take his transport back to their suite.