Blue Adept by Piers Anthony

rewards. The Tourney winner will be granted Proton Citizenship. Judging of all matches in the objective sphere is by computer; subjective judging is by tabulated audience-response; special cases by panels of experts. Bonus awards will be granted for exceptional Games. Malingerers will forfeit.” There was a momentary pause as the computer shifted from general to specific. Now it would be addressing the annexes individually. “Game-pair 276 report to grid.”
    Hastily two serfs rose, a man and a woman, and walked to the grid set up in the center of the room. They began the routine of Game-selection.
    “Ah, this is like old times,” the Rifleman said appreciatively.
    “Yes, sir,” Stile agreed. He would have liked to follow the first couple’s progress, but of course he could not ignore the Citizen. “Not old to me, sir.”
    “Contemporary times for you, of course,” the Citizen said. “I have followed your progress intermittently. You have played some excellent Games. Perhaps I misremember, don’t you happen also to be an excellent equestrian?”
    “I was a winning jockey, yes, sir,” Stile agreed.  
    “Ah, now it comes back! You were lasered. Anonymously.”
    “Through the knees, yes, sir.”
    “That had to have been the action of a Citizen.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Citizens are a law unto themselves.” The Rifleman smiled. “Don’t forget, I was a serf for nineteen years, and a Citizen only fifteen. My fundamental values are those of the serf. However, I doubt that even most birthright Citizens would approve such vandalism. There are licit and illicit ways to do business, and no Citizen should need to resort to the illicit. A rogue Citizen would be a menace to other Citizens, and therefore should be dealt with firmly for a practical as well as legal reason.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “As you know, I am in this Tourney merely for titillation. I now perceive a way to increase that interest. Allow me to proffer this wager: if you overmatch me in this Round, I shall as consequence make an investigation into the matter of the lasering and report to you before you depart the planet. Agreed?”
    No serf could lightly say no to any Citizen, and Stile had no reason to demur. He wanted very much to know the identity of his enemy! Yet he hesitated. “Sir, what would be my consequence if you defeat me?”
    The Rifleman stroked his angular beardless chin. “Ah, there is that. The stakes must equate. Yet what can a serf offer a Citizen? Have you any personal assets?”
    “Sir, no serf has—“
    The Citizen waggled a finger at him admonishingly, smiling, and Stile suddenly found himself liking this expressive man. No serf could afford to like a Citizen, of course; they were virtually in different worlds. Still, Stile was moved.  
    “Of course a serf has no material assets,” the Rifleman said. “But serfs often do have information, that Citizens are not necessarily aware of. Since what I offer you is information, perhaps you could offer me information too.”
    Stile considered. As it happened, he did have news that should interest a Citizen—but he was honor-bound not to impart it. He happened to know that a number of the most sophisticated service robots were self-willed, acting on their own initiative, possessing self-awareness and ambition.   Theoretically there could eventually be a machine revolt.   But he had sworn not to betray the interests of these machines, so long as they did not betray the welfare of Planet Proton, and his word was absolute. He could not put that information on the line. “I regret I can not, sir.”
    The Citizen shrugged. “Too bad. The wager would have added luster to the competition.”
    As though the future of a serf’s life were not luster enough? But of course the Citizen was thinking only of himself. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I would have liked to make that wager, had I a stake to post.”
    “Are you not aware you could make the wager, and renege if you lose? You really