Steppe

'Why should I not accept it?' Alp asked, puzzled. 'All my life I have served inferior men, most notably the Khagan himself. In the framework of the Game, I must obey the Game-chiefs, even as I did historically. At such time as I am a full chief, I will expect the same service to me.'

'That's what I mean. You knew my men were out to ambush and enslave you, and you escaped that, yet you hold no rancor. A Galactic would not feel that way; he would scheme for revenge, as I shall scheme against the Emperor and against my own Khagan.'

'You acted as any Uigur would,' Alp said. 'You will conspire against the T'ang but not against your own, despite what you say in the heat of betrayal. I schemed to enter the service of a capable leader, but on my own terms. Why let new players go to waste?'

'Thus you are a true Uigur, standing out amid the false ones. I could not fully trust a Galactic, sad as that commentary may be.'

Alp agreed privately; something had been lost in the centuries, or perhaps it was merely the inevitable decadence of civilization. 'There may soon be a Galactic playing the part of Alp,' Alp said. 'He will die suddenly, though he won't know it. Would you trust him?'

'Unlikely! And I think you'll be better off if you resist the morbid temptation to meet that player. You may not much mind my rendition of the historical Uga, but it could infuriate you to see yourself misplayed.'

'Yes. I shall stay away from him—and from his wife.' Uga refrained diplomatically from commenting, and in a moment Alp changed the subject. 'Now you know I am not a Galactic. Before, you did not know. Why, then, did you proffer your trust?'

'Look at your sword,' Uga said.

Alp drew it out. This was the blade Uga had provided for him, not the one he had taken from the T'ang guard. There was still nothing unusual about it.

'You would not be equipped to appreciate this,' Uga said. 'In your world, every weapon is unique, and you know it by the feel. Here they are mass produced, each identical to the other, and not made of metal at all. You would not necessarily know which one you carried.'

'I know you changed the one the Machine issued me,' Alp said. 'But yours seemed as good, so I made no issue.'

Uga laughed. 'So it was Uigur writing on that handle! I am illiterate, as are most successful Galactics, but I saw those little scratches almost by accident and I wondered, Pei-li told me it was not Galactic writing. Either it was accidental, random abrasion—or you were literate in some unknown script. I remembered your finesse with that sword, and I pondered... but the whole thing seemed too far-fetched to entertain seriously. We have time travel, but it is prohibitively expensive unless the object fetched is returned to its origin soon—and you weren't.'

'Now you know why!' Alp said. 'I speak and write Uigur; I cannot read Galactic.'

'That figures—now. Those helmets teach only what the common citizen needs to know. Incidentally, don't depend on that instant education too much; it fades more rapidly than real knowledge, and only lasts a week or so. You hang on to what you need by using it, like the language, but the rest passes.'

'But why did you exchange my sword?'

'A routine precaution—the same kind you take when you mark your weapons. I had no special reason to trust you, especially when your fighting skill was so evident. Note the color of the light-edge as you hold up the blade.'

Alp noted. 'Pure white, like fresh mare's milk. Pretty—though not as pretty as a true blade.'

'Now tell me a lie—and watch that light.'

'I enjoyed your personal concubine thrice while you slept,' Alp said.

The sword-beam flashed red as he spoke.

'You never lied to me,' Uga said. 'The blade was your monitor.'

Alp looked at the sword, keeping his face neutral despite the fury he felt. Why hadn't he been alert for that?

'Don't feel bad,' Uga said benignly. 'You could hardly anticipate every wrinkle of a technology fifteen centuries after your time!'

But this was a wrinkle that had been current in the stories of magic Alp had known as a youth! He should have anticipated its reality in this universe of magic. 'Is it infallible?' he asked. 'Some men can lie with a straight face, so that no one knows what is in their minds.'

'Test it and see.'

'I enjoyed your concubine only once,' Alp said. The light changed. 'I didn't enjoy her—she is old and ugly.' Still the light was red. 'Like your wife.' It flickered. 'I enjoyed my concubine.' This time the light went white. 'She is husky and stupid.' White. 'A stupid woman makes the best wife.' It flickered again.

'Half truth,' Uga said. 'Stupid women make good nomad concubines but tend to bear stupid children. Conflict of interests there.'

'The child Kokachin was not stupid...' Alp said, and the sword was white.

'So you see, your straight face cannot fool the monitor,' Uga said. 'It is based on principles you would not understand. It is keyed to your brain waves, not the muscles of your face and body. If you can tell right from wrong—if you know you speak falsely, it knows. If you lie without intent to harm, to spare someone's feelings—we call that 'white lying'—it shows pink. And if you intend to kill by treachery, it turns black.'

Alp put away the sword, noting how its light showed through small holes in the scabbard. Uga might not be a true Uigur, but he was admirably cunning! 'Pink for a white lie,' Alp muttered. 'And white for a pink lie?'

'Now I have revealed the secret of my power,' Uga said. 'How I can recruit strangers yet avoid betrayal, and how I know when the Khagan plots against me—if I have a chance to substitute the weapons of his envoys. Even the Game Machine does not know what I have done with these weapons—or if it does, it has not taken steps to