expanding!
A police craft appeared. Alp rode down the belt himself, gesticulating as if in dire embarrassment. He was one of several—and the policeman could not distinguish him from the others!
Alp jumped into another elevator. This time no alarm rang. Good! He made it to the highest level and charged forth as though crazed.
But more police craft had assembled. Evidently they were taking no chances and were rounding up all the naked citizens. One flying machine oriented on Alp, gaining on him.
Alp dived for a special booth marked GAME ENTRY. 'Sanctuary!' he cried as the police came up.
The door slid closed, and the clamor outside abated. 'Identity?' a neutral voice inquired in Galactic.
'Anonymous,' Alp said. He had rehearsed this dialogue in his mind during the chase.
'Entry fee?'
'Advance credit.'
'Advance credit is not granted on an anonymous basis.'
This was the crux. 'I plead an exception. I am not a Galactic citizen.'
'Your hand.'
Alp held out his hand. Something touched it. 'Intriguing,' the voice of the Game Machine said. He knew it was the Machine, because there was now a superior quality about it, indicating intelligence. He knew the Machine would have the truth from him—if it so desired. He was at its mercy.
He also knew that machines did not care about human concerns. He was gambling that its disinterest in whether he lived or died was matched by its disinterest in the need of the police to capture him. The Game Machine could learn the truth about him—and not bother to give it away.
But it probed no further. 'What indication is there that prospective winnings will be sufficient to repay such advance credit?'
'Technical expertise.' The words came with difficulty, for both language and concepts were foreign. What he was really saying was that he would be a skilled player.
Now the police were peering in the transparent aperture, but they could not intrude until the Machine ejected him. He had to convince it to accept him into the Game!
'Of what nature?'
'Extrapolation of events.' That meant he would be a lucky guesser. He could not claim to know the immediate future of Steppe—the past ten years of his own life—for then the Machine might suspect he had snooped on the program.
'One technical question.'
'Agreed.' As if he could refuse! This was another point of decision. If he could convince it that he was a good risk despite his anonymity, it would stake him to the minimum entrance fee of one hundred points. If not—
'What is the likely fortune of Wu-Kiai?'
Alp's hopes collapsed. 'I do not know that name.'
'Perhaps you know him as Uga.'
Alp thought. 'I do know of a chief by that name. A Uigur; a strong, violent man.' He considered carefully. Actually he knew Uga very well, for that man had also been out of favor with the Khagan and had assumed much greater power when the Khagan died. But supposedly Alp was extrapolating, and he had to be cautious. 'I believe he will rise high—but he lacks the judgment to be a really effective leader. No doubt he will die in battle.'
'Here is a sampling of available parts. Make your selection.'
Alp's pulse leaped. 'You are extending credit?'
'That depends on your selection.'
The Machine was candid! But Alp was half there.
A picture-screen illuminated. As the voice named each man, an image showed. This was followed by a brief description: current family and position and personality. The summary was fair; Alp had known several of these men personally. Obviously the Machine had done thorough research.
Could Alp himself be in the Game records? There was a nervous twitch down his back. At this historical date he would be but a stripling, as yet not come into his demesnes, as yet unmarried. But later he would be a chief... and perish in the gorge. An inferior part!
Credit was never extended for more than the minimum, which meant he could not obtain a really promising part. The quality of the part offered depended on the amount of the entry fee paid. Yet even the least likely prospect could turn out to be a winner; that was part of the appeal of the Game.
Alp knew that more than one of these prospects had died in the decade following the present Game-time of 831. Naturally the Machine knew this, but the players did not. If Alp chose wrongly, he would 'die'—actually, be ejected from the Game—very soon, with no chance to succeed in the manner that would earn him back his entrance stake. Such figurative death would soon become literal, for him, since the police would be waiting outside.
'These are all Uigur,' Alp said.
'Those are the most commonly desired parts at the moment,' the Machine said. 'There are many others. What group do you prefer?'
'Kirghiz.' Alp was disgusted, having to consider a barbarian part, but he needed quick success.
