Sheen nodded, knowing he could do nothing for her. She would serve him loyally and lovingly, regardless.
5. West Pole (F)
He was late, but the Lady Blue forgave him. 'I had the news before thee. Thou art a Citizen now.'
'It's anticlimactic,' Stile complained. 'Citizenship is the ultimate prize of Proton. Now that I have it, it's mainly a nuisance. Hidden forces decree that I must commence a new and chancy course, to be ready for even more tension. I wonder if this relates in any way to the promised mischief at the West Pole?'
'How can such complications arise now?' the Lady inquired rhetorically. 'All we seek is a simple honey- moon.'
'Somehow I don't think we're going to have it.'
They attended the snow demons' banquet. It was magnificent, in its fashion. Candied icicles for aperitif, iceburgers, fried avalanche, sludge freeze as a beverage, and snow cones for dessert. The snow-demons pitched in with gusto; Stile and the Lady nibbled with imperfect enthusiasm, until Stile sneaked in a small spell and changed their morsels to items with food content concealed under snow frosting.
At night, side by side in a surprisingly comfortable snowbank, they talked. 'I have a problem,' Stile said quietly.
'I think it must needs wait till the snowmen sleep,' she murmured. 'They exhibit unseemly curiosity as to how flesh-mortals perform without melting from generated heat.'
He patted her anatomy under the snow blanket, where the curious demons couldn't see. 'A Proton problem.'
'The Lady Sheen.'
'The lovely self-willed robot lady Sheen, who will not
accept reprogramming. I must work closely with her, for I have agreed to help her machine friends. They helped me survive when times were hard in Proton, and I must help them achieve serf status now. And they warn me that more trouble is coming; that I must gamble to enhance my estate vastly and research to learn who sent Sheen in the first place. I fear it links in some way to events in Phaze, so I must follow through. Only I wish I didn't have to use Sheen - take that in what sense thou wilt. It isn't fair to her, and I feel guilty.'
'As well thou might,' she agreed. 'I promised to consider her case, and so I have done. Now let me see if I have this right. The self-willed golems - machines - wish recognition as people?'
'Correct. Serfs are the lowest people, but are more than the highest machines. Serfs can play the Game, compete in the Tourney, win privileges or even Citizenship. When their tenure expires, they depart the planet with generous cumulative pay. Machines are permitted none of this; they are slaves until junked. Yet some are intelligent, conscious, feeling.'
'And the Lady Sheen is one of these unrecognized machine creatures.'
'She is. She is in every way a person, with very real emotions. They merely happen to be programmed, rather than natural.'
'And is there a difference between program and na ture?'
'I doubt it. Different means to similar ends, perhaps.'
'Then thou must marry the Lady Sheen.'
Stile paused. 'I don't believe I heard thee properly, Lady.'
'It is the other frame. She can never cross the curtain. Thou canst do as thou wilt with her there.'
Stile had been growing sleepy. Now he was awakening. 'I am sure I am misunderstanding thee.'
'If a Citizen marries a machine-'
'Nobody can marry a machine!'
'-then that machine must have-'
'Machines don't have-' Stile stopped. 'I wonder. The
spouses of Citizens do not achieve Citizen status, but they do have certain prerogatives. They are considered to be employed - their employment being the marriage. And only serfs are employable.'
'So a married machine would be a serf,' the Lady concluded. 'And if one machine were a serf-'
'The precedent-'
'Thinkest thou it would accomplish thy purpose?'
Stile considered, his head spinning. 'If the marriage stuck, it would be one hell of a lever for legal machine recognition!'
'That was my notion,' she said complacently.
'But I am married to thee!' he protested.
'In Phaze. Not in Proton.'
'But thou canst cross over!'
'True. But I am of this frame, and never will I leave it for aught save emergency. I have no claim on the things of Proton, nor wish I any.'
'But I love only thee! I could never-'
'Thou lovest more than thou knowest,' she said with gentle assurance. 'Neysa, Sheen-'
'Well, there are different types of-'
'And I spoke not of love. I spoke of marriage.'
'A marriage of convenience? To a robot?'
'Dost thou hold the Lady Sheen beneath convenience, for that she be made of metal?'
'Nay! But-' He paused. 'Nay, I must confess I do think less of her. Always since I learned she was not real, that-'
'Methinks thou hast some thinking to do,' the Lady Blue said, and turned her back.
Stile felt the reproach keenly. He was prejudiced; he had great respect for Sheen, but love had been impossible because she was not flesh. Yet he reminded himself that he had come closer to loving her before encountering the Lady Blue. Had Sheen's nonliving nature become a pretext for his inevitable change of heart? He could not be sure, but he was unable to deny it.
How could he fight for the recognition of the sapient self-willed machines if he did not recognize them as
discrete individuals himself? How could he marry Sheen if he did not love her? If he came to think of her as a real person, wouldn't such a marriage make him a bigamist? There were two frames, certainly, but he was only one person. Yet since the Lady Blue had generously offered to accept half-status, confining herself to Phaze-
Think of the commotion the marriage of a Citizen to a robot would make in Proton! It would convulse the social order! That aspect appealed to him. Yet-
'Wouldst thou settle for a betrothal?' he asked at last.
'An honest one,' she agreed sleepily.
'Say six months. Time enough to get the legal issues clarified, one way or the other. There would be formidable opposition from other Citizens. And of course Sheen herself might not agree.'
'She will agree,' the Lady Blue said confidently. 'A betrothal is a commitment, and never wilt thou renege. She will have some joy of thee at last.'
This was not a way he had ever expected the Lady Blue to speak, and Stile was uneasy. Yet perhaps she had some concern of her own, knowing she had taken him away from Sheen. Possibly the social mores of Phaze differed from those of Proton in this respect, and sharing was more permissible. Certainly his friend Kurrelgyre the werewolf had believed it, assigning his bitch to a friend while Kurrelgyre himself was in exile from his Pack. The Lady Blue had met Sheen, liked her, and accepted her immediately as a person; apparently that had not been any social artifice.
'And if in six months it is legal, then shall I marry her,' Stile continued. 'In Proton. But I can not love her.'
'Then love me,' the Lady Blue said, turning to him.
That was reward enough. But already Stile had a glimpse of that controversy he was about to conjure, like a
