“And then one time she sort of forgot where she was, only it didn’t really matter because Citizens make their own rules and serfs just do what they’re told. She was getting ready for a party, and she’d sent her personal maid for something, and the messenger man was there, so she just told him to take off her robe and put on the new one she had selected. So he put his hands on her shoulders from behind, and pinched the fabric, and lifted it up, and it came right off her and she was naked. Then he folded it and set it down and fetched the new robe from its hanger, only it was really more like an evening gown, and she turned and lifted her arms so he could put the gown up over her, and she had the body like only an android or robot made for that sort of thing ever has, only on her it was real, I mean natural, and he like to have goggled, because mostly Citizens don’t take much care of themselves and even when they look good in a gown it’s mostly corset stays and foundation crème and whatever, or maybe a fresh rejuve treatment, but she didn’t even use underwear, her body was genuine throughout. And then she was mostly dressed, and looking just as good, only better, because he knew it didn’t just come with the clothing.
“Then the maid came back, and took over, and he went back to his chamber. But it was like that image of that body was burned into his retinas, because he kept seeing it every time he blinked. And suddenly he lost interest in the android gal who would be with him any time he wanted, because she was like a cratered moon, and the Citizen was like the sun. And every time he saw the Citizen, she was clothed but he saw her naked like a serf, and her skin shining, and her eyes sort of looking at him, and it was like a fire inside him, but she never noticed. Sometimes she’d bring in these men, Citizens, and have sex with them, and they were jaded but they got hot for her in a hurry when they discovered that her body didn’t come off with the clothing, and sometimes she’d just hire a robot to do it exactly the way she liked it. Only she didn’t like to have to tell a robot how, that was maybe too much like masturbation, so she’d have the messenger tell the robot, and make sure the robot had it right. And the messenger—”
Jimbo paused, again, and it was clear that every member of the audience understood his hesitation perfectly. He had conceived a passion for a Citizen: forbidden love indeed! What was he going to do about it?
“Then one day she had a new robot, and maybe there was a circuit not properly integrated, because it wasn’t getting it quite right, even though it had the instructions down pat and could repeat them verbatim. ‘Damn it!’ she swore, irritated. So she called in the messenger and told him to show the robot how to do it right. He was moving too fast and heavy, when she liked slow and light. So the messenger, he got down on her—”
He paused again, but the audience did not object. Evidently he was uncertain about how much detail he should provide, and what was relevant to the assigned subject, and how to phrase it for this mixed audience.
Fleta, too, was thrust into thought, perhaps for different reason. Jimbo was telling how a male humanoid robot was routinely used for sexual purpose; apparently this was accepted in Proton. She had had relations with just such a robot. If she told her own story—and indeed, it was all she could think of to do—would this audience take it to be routine and therefore dull, and deem her the loser? What was the most wonderful experience of her life might seem, here, to be unworthy of mention.
If she lost, here in this first round, she would be shipped to Moeba, and would never be able to exchange back to her own body in Phaze. But if she won, she would have several more days before the second round, and maybe by then—
“He got down on her,” Jimbo repeated, resuming his narration. “His heart was beating like a teenager’s, because the Citizen’s body was his ultimate dream, and all he wanted to do was be like this with her for real, and have her want him as a man. He knew this wasn’t so, that she saw him only as a convenient source of minor information, and now as a device to demonstrate a minor technique to a machine, but his dream wanted to pretend it was something more.
“His flesh touched hers, lightly, and penetrated gently, moving with just that constrained urgency that she required. ‘Yes, like that,’ she said to the robot. ‘Proceed exactly like that.’ The robot nodded, understanding at last.
“Her face turned back to the messenger, and he knew she was about to tell him to get off, now that his job was done. But the folly of the forbidden dream overcame him, and suddenly he plunged on in, exactly the way the robot was not supposed to. Her mouth opened with surprise, the annoyance just beginning, and he put his mouth on hers and kissed her savagely as his loin thrust against her and his body exploded in rapture.
“Then, his folly of passion abating, he realized what he had done. He had raped a Citizen! He scrambled up and ran from the chamber, knowing that his life was forfeit. He did not try to flee, for there was nowhere to go; he simply waited for what was to come.
“After an hour the call came: to report to the Citizen’s front office. He knew there would be a robot there to take him into custody. For one moment of bliss he had forfeited all that he had worked for for nine years. He went, but the Citizen was there alone, standing in total loveliness in a gown. ‘I require a message, for one only,’ she said. ‘If a serf oversteps his bounds, what should a Citizen do?’ He knew she was referring to him. ‘Have him put to death,’ he replied, determined at least not to be a coward in his termination.
“Her expression did not change. ‘If he has otherwise given good service, and perhaps was overtaken by an aberration of the moment?’ she asked. He had not even hoped for such generosity of response! ‘Fire him,’ he said.
“She turned away from him. ‘If publication of the offense might cause embarrassment to the Citizen?’ she asked. Then he dared indeed hope! ‘Enter him in the Tourney without explanation,’ he said.
“She nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said. And so it was that he found himself in the Tourney, though he had always been a duffer in the Game and knew he would quickly wash out and be deported. But his years of service still counted (for he had not been fired) and would represent a very nice payment on his departure; he would leave with an untarnished record. He was duly grateful for this, knowing how much worse it could have been, and his respect for his employer was undiminished. But still in his dream he had the temerity to wonder: was it possible that in some tiny way the Citizen had returned his interest, and perhaps been nattered by his inability to hold back when given the opportunity to indulge his passion with her? Could she have been unable to admit any trace of an interest so far beneath her, yet not displeased to have had the indulgence of it forced upon her? Would that account for her uncommon generosity in dealing with the one who had ravished her?”
Jimbo gazed out across the audience. “I do not know the answer, but I would like to think I might guess it.”
Fleta knew before she spoke that Jimbo had won this game. She had thought that her own crisis was unique, and that the others in the Tourney were merely competing for the prize of Citizenship. Now she saw that that was not necessarily the case; each contestant might have as good reason to be here as she. She did not begrudge Jimbo the evident sympathy he had evoked in this audience.