Juxtaposition

One barred the way. 'This is private property.'

Stile halted. 'I'm on Citizen business,' he said. 'I'm tracing an important message along the communication line.'

'Have you my employer's permission to pass?'

'He knows we're coming,' Stile said. 'I expect him to attend to this personally. Now give me room; I don't have all day.' He pushed on by, trundling the machine.

Uncertain, the serf gave way. No mere serf braved the premises of a Citizen without authorization; this line tracing had to have been cleared. But the other serf was already buzzing his dome. 'Work crew of four claims to be on Citizen business,' he said.

Stile walked on, not waiting for the answer. Mellon, Sheen, and the machine-tending serf followed. They all knew they could be cut down by a laser at any moment; Citizens had short fuses when it came to serf intrusions, and there was a laser lens covering the length of the tunnel. But Stile was gambling that Cirtess would investigate before firing. Why should an illicit crew intrude so boldly on his premises? Why should there be advance warning? Wasn't it more likely that someone was trying to make mischief for a legitimate work crew? But the maintenance computer would deny that any crew was operating here at this time, so it was phony. It simply didn't add up, unless it was a practical joke. In that case, Cirtess would want to discover the perpetrator. To do that, he would have to observe the work crew and perhaps interrogate it. It was unlikely that Stile himself would be recognized in this short time; the Amerind hat had completely changed his face, and in any event, the last thing anyone would think of was a Citizen masquerading as a serf. At least this was Stile's hope.

No laser bolt came. Stile reached the end of the tunnel, passed another serf guard who did not challenge him, and traced the buried cable on through a foyer and into a garden park girt with cubistic statuary. The Tesseract motif, of course; Citizens could carry their symbolic foibles quite far.

In the center of the garden, beside a fountain that formed odd, three-dimensional patterns, Stile came to the buried cable nexus. He oriented the machine on it. There was a buzz; then an indicator pointed to the line leading away, and a readout gave the coding designation of the new cable. He had accomplished his mission and won his bet.

But when he looked up, there was a Citizen, flanked by a troop of armed serfs. This was Cirtess; Stile knew it could be no other. 'Step into my office, Stile,' the man said brusquely.

So the game was up. Stile turned the machine over to its regular operator and went with the Citizen. He had not actually won his bet until he escaped this dome intact with the machine; or if he had won the bet, but lost his life, what he had gained?

Inside the office, with privacy assured, Cirtess handed Stile a robe. Stile donned it, together with sandals and a feather hat. His subterfuge had certainly been penetrated.

'Now what is the story?' Cirtess inquired. 'I think you owe me the truth.'

'I'm tracing a two-month-old message,' Stile said. 'Your personnel would not permit entry to a necessary site.'

'Of course not! I'd fire any serf who let unauthorized persons intrude.'

'So I had to find a way through. It has nothing to do with you personally; I simply have to trace that message to wherever it originated.'

'Why didn't you tell me this by phone? I am not unreasonable when the issue is clear; I might have permitted your mission, for a reasonable fee.'

'I happen also to need to increase my fortune.'

Cirtess nodded. 'Could this relate to the several Citizens who huddle in the serf lavatory, spying on your progress?'

'They gave me fifteen-to-one odds on a kilo of Protonite that I couldn't make it. I need that sort of advantage.'

'So you called me to rouse my curiosity, so my serfs wouldn't laser you out of hand?'

'Also so as not to deceive you,' Stile agreed. 'I do not like deception, outside the framework of an established game. You were not properly part of our game.'

'So you inducted me into it. A miscalculation could have resulted in your early demise.'

'My life has been threatened before. That's one reason I'm tracing this message; I believe its source will offer some hint of the nature of my nemesis.'

Cirtess nodded again. 'And the Citizens were willing to give better odds because of the factor of danger. Very well. I appreciate cleverness, and I'm as game for a wager as anyone. I will let you go without objection if you will wager your winnings with me.'

'But my winnings will be fifteen kilos of Protonite!'

'Yes, a substantial sum. I can cover it, and you must risk it. Choose your bet now - or I shall see that you lose your prior bet by not completing your survey. I can legitimately destroy your tracer machine.'

'You play a formidable game!' Stile exclaimed. 'You're forcing me to double or nothing.'

'Indeed,' Cirtess agreed, smiling. 'One does not brave the lion's den without encountering challenge.'

Stile emerged from the dome with his crew and machine, his knees feeling somewhat weak. 'I have the data,' he announced.

Waldens glanced at the indicator on the machine. 'So you do, and within the time limit. You've won fifteen. But why are you so shaky?'

'Cirtess caught me. He pressured me.'

The other Citizens laughed. 'Why do you think we bet against you?' one said. 'Cirtess can buy and sell most of us. We knew you were walking into the lion's den.'

'How did you wiggle out?' Waldens asked.

'He required me to bet my winnings with him,' Stile said, grimacing. 'That leaves me only one kilo uncommitted, until that bet is settled.'

'What is the bet?'

'That is private. It is a condition of the wager that I tell no one its nature until it is settled, which should be shortly.'

'Ah, I like that sort of mystery. Cirtess must be playing a game with us, to make up for our intrusion into his privacy. Very well - I'll go for your single kilo. Do you have any suitable notions?'

Stile considered. 'I don't care to bet on this message-tracing any more. Maybe we can find something disconnected.' They were walking toward the next cable juno-tion, guided by the machine coding. It was pointless to trace every meander of the cable itself when this shortcut was available. Stile turned a comer and entered a short concourse between major domes. At this moment there were no other people in it. 'I know! Let's bet on the sex of the serfs to traverse this passage in the next ten minutes. That should be a fairly random sampling.'

'Good enough,' Waldens agreed. 'I'll match your kilo, betting on female.'

'Now wait,' the Citizen with the feather hat protested. He had recovered it after Stile's use. 'The rest of us are being cut out.'

'Bet with each other,' Stile said. 'I am at my present limit.' And Mellon nodded emphatically.

'There's little verve in wagers with other Citizens. You are the intriguing factor here.'

'Well, I'll be happy to hedge my bet,' Stile said. “I bet Waldens that more males will pass, and you that more females will pass.'

'No good. That puts Waldens and me against each other, in effect. I want you. I want your last kilo.'

'All right,' Waldens said. 'I relinquish my bet with Stile. You can have this one.'

'Hey, I want to bet too!' the iridium coin Citizen protested, and the others joined in.

'All right! I'll cover you all,' Feather Hat said. 'One kilo each. I say more females in ten minutes from - mark.'

'Good enough,' Waldens agreed. 'Five of us, including Stile, are betting you that more males will pass. We all win or lose with Stile.'

Now they waited. For two minutes no one came from either direction. 'Suppose none comes - or it's even?' Stile asked. He was laboring under continuing tension.

'Then we extend the time,' Waldens said. 'Sudden death. Agreed?'

The others agreed. They all wanted a settlement. The particular bets didn't matter, and the details of the bets didn't matter; just as long as they could share the excitement of honest gambling.