'I don't
'Within half an hour?' Waldens asked.
'I suspect that if I don't pass this nexus in that time, I won't pass it at all. It is pass-fail right now.'
'And you are staking your life on it,' Waldens said. 'That makes the bet most interesting. Suppose we give you odds? We think the chances are one hundred to one against you; you evidently think you can do it. We could compromise at ten to one, with several of us covering the bet.'
'That's generous enough,' Stile agreed. 'Since I have to make the attempt anyway.'
'Sir, I do not recommend this wager,' Mellon said. 'I know of no persuasion you can make to obtain Citizen Cirtess' acquiescence, and you lack the facilities for intrusion against resistance. My expert advice can bring you far more favorable betting opportunities than this.'
'Fifteen to one,' Waldens said. 'I won't go higher; I don't trust you to be as naive as you seem.' The other Citizens nodded agreement. Their faces were becoming flushed; this was the essence of their pleasure. Negotiating a large bet on a highly questionable issue. Gambling not merely with wealth but with the deviousness of human comprehension and intent. They knew Stile had something in mind, and it was worth poorer odds to discover what his play would be.
Stile spread his hands in ordinary-man innocence. 'Mellon, I'm sure your way is more practical. But I stand to win a great deal on this, with these levered odds. If I lose I'm in trouble anyway, because this intrusion may be physically hazardous. Wealth is very little use to a dead man. So I must do it my way this time. One kilogram of Protonite against their fifteen kilos, half an hour from now.'
'Yes, sir,' Mellon said with doleful resignation.
'But no interference from you Citizens,' Stile cautioned. 'If you give away the show to Cirtess-'
'No cheating,' Waldens agreed. 'Well watch via a routine pickup, hidden in the lavatory.'
'Thank you.' Stile turned to the machine-operating serf. 'Show me how to work this contraption,' he said.
'Merely locate it over the line or nexus, sir. It will emit code lights and bleeps to enable you to orient correctly.' He demonstrated. Stile tried the procedure on the section of cable under the floor, getting the hang of it. He knew he would have no trouble, since this was another self-willed machine, which would guide him properly.
Now Stile turned to one of the betting Citizens who wore an elaborate headdress that vaguely resembled an ancient Amerind chief's bonnet of feathers. 'I proffer a side bet, my clothing against your hat, on the flip of a coin.'
'How small can you get?' the Citizen asked, surprised. 'I have staked a kilo, and you want my hat?' 'You decline my wager?' Stile asked evenly.
The Citizen frowned. 'No. I merely think it's stupid. You could buy your own hat; you have no need of mine. And your clothing would not fit me.' The man touched his bulging middle; his mass was twice Stile's.
'So you agree to bet.' Stile looked around. 'Does anyone have a coin with head and tail, similar to those used in Tourney contests?'
Another Citizen nodded. 'I am a numismatist. I will sell you a coin for your clothing.'
Now Stile was surprised. 'My clothing has already been committed.'
'I'm calling your bluff. I don't believe you plan to strip, so I figure you to arrange to win the toss. If you win, I get your clothing as due rental for the coin.'
'But what if I lose?'
'Then I'll give you my clothing, in the spirit of this nonsense. But you won't lose; you can control the flip of a coin. All Gamesmen can.'
'Now wait!' the headdressed Citizen protested. 'I want a third party to flip it.'
'I'll flip,' Waldens said. 'I'm objective; I'll be happy to see anyone naked, so long as it isn't me.'
Stile smiled. 'It might be worth the loss.' For the coin-loaning Citizen was especially portly. 'Very well. I will rent your coin.'
'This grows ever more curious,' Waldens remarked. 'What is this fascination we seem to share for nakedness in the presence of Stile's lovely robot mistress?'
'Fiancee,' Stile said quickly.
Now the other Citizen smiled. 'Maybe we should all strip and ask her opinion.'
Sheen turned away, blushing. This was sheer artifice, but it startled the Citizens again; they were not used to robots who were this lifelike. 'By God,' one muttered, 'I'm going to invest in a harem of creatures like her.'
Stile accepted the coin. It was a pretty iridium disk, comfortably solid in his hand, with the head of Tyrannosauras Rex on one side and the tail of a dinosaur on the reverse. Stile appreciated the symbolism: iridium had been associated with the extinction of the dinosaurs, and of course the whole notion of coinage had become a figurative dinosaur in the contemporary age. Iridium, however, remained a valuable metal, and numismatics was popular among Citizens. He passed the coin over to Waldens.
'How do we know Waldens can't control the flip too?' another Citizen asked suspiciously. They were taking this tiny bet as seriously as any other.
'You can nullify his control by calling the side in midair,' Stile pointed out. 'If you figure him to go for heads, you call tails. One flip. Agreed?'
'Agreed.' The Citizen with the headdress seemed increasingly interested. He was obviously highly curious as to what Stile was up to.
Stile was sure the Citizen's inherent vanity would cause him to call heads, as a reflection of self-image, so he hoped Waldens would flip it tails. The coin spun brightly in the air, heading for the tiled floor.
'Heads,' the Citizen called, as expected. He hardly seemed to care about the outcome of the bet now; he was trying to fathom Stile's longer purpose.
The iridium coin bounced on the floor, flipped, rolled, and settled tails. Victory for Stile!
Stile held out his hand for the hat, and the Citizen with the coin held out his hand for Stile's clothes. All the rest watched this procedure solemnly. Even Sheen had no idea what Stile was up to.
Stile removed his clothing and stood naked, seeming like a child among adults. He took the hat and donned it, arranging it carefully to conceal his hair and complement the lines of his face. Then, with covered head and bare body, he marched to a holo unit set in an alcove. It was a small one, capable of head-projection only, available for emergency use. Any demand by a Citizen was considered emergency.
'Cirtess,' Stile said crisply to the pickup. The device bleeped faintly as it placed the call. He knew the self- willed machines were tapping in, keeping track of him without interfering.
The head of a female serf formed in the cubby. 'Sir, may I inquire your identity and the nature of your call?'
'I am Stile,' Stile said, rippling an aristocratic sneer across his lips. merely wish to inform your employer that a line-maintenance crew is about to operate on his premises. The maintenance is phony, and the crew is other than it appears. There is nothing wrong with that line. I believe Cirtess should investigate this matter personally.'
'Thank you, sir,' the serf said. She faded out.
'Now that's something!' Waldens exclaimed. 'You warned him you were coming! Do you have a death wish?'
Stile removed his hat, but did not seek new clothing. He took the wheeled machine and started down the hall.
'Aha!' Waldens exclaimed. 'Of course he would know how to emulate a serf! But Cirtess won't let a serf intrude, either, especially when he's been warned by a Citizen that something's afoot.'
'We shall find out,' Stile said. 'You may watch me on the general pickup system to verify whether I succeed. Serfs, come along.' He moved on toward the dome entrance.
The Citizens turned on the little holo unit, crowding around it. Stile knew they would follow his every move. That was fine; he wanted them to have no doubt.
He led his party to the Circle-Tesseract emblem. Cirtess' dome adjoined the main public dome closely; an on-ground tunnel about fifty meters long extended between the two. The communication line was buried beneath the floor of the tunnel.
Two male serfs stood guard at the tunnel entrance. They snapped to alertness as Stile's party approached.
