Well, she would tempt him a bit. She touched 1. PHYSICAL.
Immediately the secondary grid formed: ID. PHYSICAL ANIMAL. Just as she had known!
Then she did a doubletake, a programmed mannerism not often invoked. Animal? He had fooled her! She glanced up. There were his eyes, still fixed on her breasts. He was having his fun with her in two ways: ogling her body, and deceiving her about his intentions. He was of course a master player, and this was effective strategy. Would she have chosen PHYSICAL if she had guessed? She had the numbers again: 5. SEPARATE. 6. INTERACTIVE. 7. COMBAT. 8. COOPERATIVE. She tried again to guess what he might choose. His options were E. EARTH F. FIRE G. GAS H. H2O, translating respectively to the various surfaces: Plat, Variable, Discontinuous and Liquid. He was an old man, tough, but surely not as much so, physically, as he once had been. He should prefer to remain on his stout feet, on a flat plain or a mountainous slope. He would not like to get into the water, riding dolphins or sharks, and discontinuous would be beyond him.
That being the case, she should make it as hard for him as she could. She was nominally old and female, but actually her robot body remained as strong as ever. Strength counted in other ways than direct force of limb; she might not be able to overcome him in a wrestling match, but she could surely outlast him in a match requiring repetition or endurance. More of that was often needed in animal contests—that was gen erally recognized. Riding a horse, for example, was not a state of rest—not if the animal was frisky, as it would be in a racing or combat situation.
Combat. Well, why not? That could be jousting on horse back, and she had learned to ride, because Blue was the top rider on the planet. It had taken special modification of her programming, but she had done it for him, and had become capable of riding almost any animal, tame or wild. She knew that the Lady Blue (now the Lady Stile) in Phaze was expert, and as the years had passed she had felt steadily closer to the Lady. The mechanism of parallelism between the frames had never been well understood, and with the separation of the past decades there had been little chance to study it, but it seemed that it was a gradual thing. That individuals were not necessarily fixed from birth as parallels; some were, like the two Tanias, but some became parallel over the course of their lives. She liked to think that she was approaching other selfism with the Lady Blue. Certainly a number of Citizens, by position and inclination, had become increasingly like their Adept counterparts, by Mach and Bane’s accounts. So Sheen had learned to ride, deliberately fostering her emulation of the Lady. It had been no more than an exercise of a foolish dream—until Mach had exchanged with Bane, proving that a robot could be the other self of a living person. These thoughts took little time; they were a rehash of fa miliar ground. She was already in the process of touching COMBAT.
The tertiary grid appeared—and she had another surprise. Purple had chosen Discontinuity! That meant they would be doing physical battle in the air, or on broken surfaces. She was not well rehearsed in that. The cunning Citizen had out maneuvered her again.
Sheen knew she was in trouble. Purple would not have chosen GAS unless he felt competent in that medium. He must have practiced in some aspect of this, so that he could have an advantage when he needed it. She had practiced none but the flying horse, for private pleasure. Still, there were ways and ways. She remembered a little used option that Blue had discovered, that might be used to turn this grid to her advantage. She needed a way to be sure that she was not playing Purple’s game, and she no longer trusted her judgment in this respect. He had fooled her twice, and might maneuver her into accepting the very option he desired. But not if she invoked her ploy. The tertiary grid was empty, like the others, but unlike the others, it would be filled. A list of options was at the side: specific games they could choose to fill the grid. This was often the most dramatic part of a Game: the maneuvering in the final grid. When players of known skills competed, the actual playoff could be mainly a matter of form; the outcome was known, because of the unequal skills of the contestants. In the two early grids it was too indefinite; it could go either way. But here in the small grid, the one with only nine squares, the real nature and odds of the encounter were de termined.
All of the choices related to physical combat involving an imals. The definition of “animal” was broad; androids and even some cyborgs counted in particular cases, as well as true animals. Most of them involved birds, whether natural or artificial.
There was an advantage in placing the first choice, because the one who did would get five choices to the other’s four, weighting the grid in his favor. But this was offset by a corresponding advantage given to the other in the play: choice of color in chess, of offense or defense in football, or initial serve in tennis, and so on. Where this was not applicable, the other player would get the choice of numbers or letters, which could make a critical difference if placements were careless. Experienced players tended to go for the play ad vantage, being competent in most games; beginners preferred stacking the choices.
“Take it, wench,” Purple said, his eyes stroking her torso again. By this time a normal woman would be flustered by the direct and pointed attention, knowing that the Citizen had a far better than even chance to realize whatever ambition he had for interaction with her, regardless of the outcome of the Game. But Sheen was hardly normal; even had she been of fleshly nature, she remained Citizen Blue’s wife. Not even his compatriots would support him if he waylaid her. Thus he confined his aggression to his eyes and his voice, doing what he could to unnerve her. It was usually a good ploy; the slightest shakiness in either the choices or the actual play could make the difference in the outcome. So she had the first choice, as though Purple had no concern for any trifling advantage she might gain. Again, the psychological ploy was wasted on her; as a machine, she simply was not subject to irrational nuances of doubt, only rational ones. Her concern was to play correctly—and he had just given her the break she needed. Now she would have two chances in three to get a playoff she liked.
She touched the choice of Sparrow Sparring, and the center square of her grid. Immediately the words transferred. She had the best location, some thought, though in practice it made little difference. She had worked with animals, including birds, in her effort to emulate the Lady Blue, because the Lady had worked to heal many sick or injured creatures who came to the Blue Demesnes in Phaze. Sparrow Sparring in volved the projection of the player’s commands to living birds, who flew up and attacked each other with beak and claw. The birds, not naturally vicious, were trained for this, and both beaks and claws were capped by soft material that left a smear of color on the target rather than causing injury. The one who inflicted a severe enough “injury” on the other received the reward of especially tasty seed, and that bird’s manager won the game.
Sheen had developed a certain empathy with the small birds, and now had what she thought of as “sparrow circuits” so that she could direct them effectively. It was not just a matter of giving specific commands; it was a matter of proper motivation and superior strategy. She believed she could win this one, because Purple was liable to be too callous in his treatment of small, weak creatures. His turn: he set Cock Fighting into the upper left square, 9J. The numbers carried on from the prior sequence, and the letters skipped “I” in the standard manner to avoid confusion with the number “ 1.” These would be fierce flying roosters who could strike on the ground or in the air; the cock pit was a cage with assorted perches and baffles so that each com batant could choose his turf and dodge about tactically. As with the sparrows, the birds’ weapons were mock; the little blades affixed to their legs—the spurs—delivered color smears instead of lethal cuts. Once the fights had been real, but Citizen Blue had decreed that they be moderated: no real blood was shed in the name of entertainment any more. A number of die-hard players were disgusted, but Blue held the dominant hand. Sheen hoped to do her part to ensure that he continued to govern; if the Contrary Citizens prevailed, blood would flow again in more than the figurative sense. Her turn: she put Hawk Lasso in 11L, the bottom right comer. In this one the hawks carried loops of fine cord, and tried to snare each other. The first to get a tight loop around 5 the other’s neck, tail or feet was the victor. There were safe guards, and the birds were apt flyers; they seemed to enjoy it, though the command-impulses sent by the players prevented them from playing it their way.