He winked once again, then wheeled his stallion into line with a row of armored men.
The procession was halfway to the cathedral before Cooper had a chance to speak to Gustaf. When he did, it was with an arched eyebrow.
“If Your Grace will pardon me for asking, wasn’t that just a little dangerous?”
Gustaf shrugged. He waved at the crowd and smiled. The stallion marched along proudly.
“I don’t think so, Farrell. After all, I didn’t lie to him. Everything I said was the literal truth.”
Farrell Cooper frowned. “That fellow is not stupid, sir. Telling the truth in the manner you did might be taken as patronizing, if he figured it out. He has power, after a fashion, and could harm us if he tried.”
“He won’t.” Gustaf grinned. “I trust Hamilton. He won’t let us down.”
“I hope you’re right,” Cooper muttered, dodging a sudden shower of rose petals.
Shouts greeted them on all sides as they rode, the skirling bagpipes leading the way. Gustaf waved as he laughed.
“Don’t be such a sourpuss, anyway, Farrell. The work week starts again on Monday, and we all go back to our vocations. For now I’m enjoying my ancestors’ gift!”
“And if you had to enjoy that gift every day, for the rest of your life, Your Grace?”
“Bite your tongue!”
“Yes, my liege.”
It was the first time a polo game had ever sold out East Thames Stadium. In fact, it was the first time a match had ever been played before a hundred and fifty thousand spectators, plus a sizable video audience. The professional and amateur sportscasters and pundits all attributed the revival to the recent notoriety of one of the players.
The man they were watching for waited until the second chucker to come out on the field. When he rode out, guiding his eager bay with gentle touches of his knees, a flag was run up along the sidelines. The crowd cheered ecstatically. The banner was an intricate design based, Hamilton now knew, on the ancient “Union Jack,” with symbols in the corners that included a chrysanthemum, a lotus, a two-headed eagle, and a fleur-de-lis.
Hamilton watched from the midline as the opposing teams swirled across the turf, twisting and striking with graceful power from the backs of their responsive mounts.
Suddenly one of the visiting Americans broke out of the mass of jostling animals, driving the ball toward the sole defender at the English goal. Immediately behind him galloped George Gustaf, narrowing the gulf with each second.
The defender made a feint, then tried to block to the left. But the American was only momentarily fooled. His horse deftly sidestepped to give the rider room for a shot.
On the carry-through, the American’s mallet hit George Gustaf in the shoulder, throwing him off his mount to land with a thud in the rough turf.
Almost as one, the onlookers rose to their feet with a gasp, as the pro and amateur sports physicians ran onto the field where the English captain lay still on the ground. Even when he could be seen moving—rolling over onto his back and finally sitting up with the aid of his teammates—the silence in the huge stadium was like the humming of a high-voltage wire. Hamilton found his fists clenched tight, and tried to wonder why. Others had been shaken up before, yet the crowd had reacted nothing like this.
Finally, the tall man was helped to his feet. He shrugged off the hands that clutched at him and turned to wave at the crowd.
The cheers were like a dam bursting. The shouts and applause went on for minutes, with the officials apparently uninterested in maintaining order. When the American who had clipped him came up, leading both of their mounts, Gustaf smiled and shook his hand firmly, causing the audience to roar once again.
The play finally resumed, as vigorous as ever. The English declined a penalty.
Hamilton had become so engrossed that he didn’t notice when Dan An Man came alongside, accompanied by a short, broad-faced woman and three elegantly featured androids. Dan finally took him by the elbow.
“Hamilton,” he said. “These people are from World Legal Services. It’s very important that they talk with you.”
Hamilton smiled. He had become used to meeting important people lately.
“Can’t it wait, Dan? We can talk after the game is over.”
The short human shook her head. She introduced herself as Ms. Ing. “I’m afraid that just won’t do, Mr. Smith. We have to talk to you now. Something is brewing that could lead to the first violent human-android confrontation since the Amalgamation!”
“What the hell do you mean, they’re not a tribe?” Hamilton shouted. The lounge they had appropriated had a large window overlooking the stadium. The cheers of the crowd could be heard through the glass.
Ing shrugged. “You will have to admit that the pattern that is developing is not the classic outgrowth that occurs when an urban tribe is discovered. Usually—”
“Yes, yes. Usually the tribe shrivels up and dies due to ridicule. This time, on the other hand, public interest has been very friendly to the Bath and Garter tribe. So what? I’m pleased that my discovery hasn’t caused them the discomfort I feared it would. Other than that, I see no faults in my sociological analysis!”
The woman frowned. “Have you any idea of the rate at which the Bath and Garter has been acquiring novice members, Mr. Hamilton?”
“I was aware there’s been some increase. I suppose there’s a certain fad appeal that—”
“Fad appeal! Mr. Smith, their mail has topped one million letters per week! Their budget, all derived from per capita recreation funds drawn on World State treasuries, will soon exceed that of my entire department!
“Your work may have been good stuff for an amateur, Hamilton. Enough even to get you honorary status. But it was essentially micro-sociology! If you knew anything about macro-sociology, and the possible effects of things like this on the World State as a whole, you might have been more prudent!”
Hamilton shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Ms. Ing sighed. She enunciated slowly, patronizingly.
“Even you had somehow caught on to a malaise that we pros have been watching carefully for many years now. It’s been hell, I’ll tell you, keeping tabs on this thing while every amateur psychology and sociology team in the world prowled about, sniffing. And it had to be you, someone who never had a single credential before, who came up with this monstrosity!”
“Now, I don’t see any need to get personal—”
“You’ve opened Pandora’s box!” Ing shouted. “Our calculations show this thing capturing the imaginations of over half the citizens on the globe within six months!”
Hamilton felt numb. He looked to Dan and saw only passivity. “Well, fads do pass. I don’t think Dr. Gustaf would ever do anything to capitalize on this. He’s a responsible citizen. He’d just humor the public, I’d guess.”
Hamilton glanced at the three AAA androids.
“Anyway,” he went on. “I don’t see where a human-android conflict comes into this.”
“Tell him!” Ing said to AnMan. “Go ahead and tell him who this ‘responsible citizen’ really is!”
The centermost android bowed briefly to Ing, then to Hamilton. His features were almost human, in a smooth, translucent fashion. His voice was cool and melodic.
“Mr. Smith, I represent Android Legal Control. You may be aware that we have been, since the Amalgamation, the record keepers and guardians of legal precedent. We are ingrained with a fundamental need to serve mankind’s happiness and flexible development. But foremost of all is our reverence for the Law, as properly deliberated and passed by sovereign human beings.”