‘It isn’t just you. They’re pulling in a lot of people like you, people with your kind of talent.’ She spoke in a low, guarded tone. ‘I think it’s something to do with the war.’
‘The war? What does the Wheel want with the war?’
He recalled Caiman’s bitterness and contempt when they had seen the military officers on the Earth shuttle. But Cadence said nothing further and Scarne sat brooding. Perhaps things weren’t going his way after all.
FIVE
The cards in Scarne’s hand each carried two symbols: a number and a geometrical figure, either a triangle, a square, a pentagon or a six-pointed star. It was the combination of the two that gave the card its value – in fact, each card had three values, according to the situation it found itself in. There were no such things as suits: neither numbers nor figures could be grouped together. They had to be set off one against the other by a process of rapid mental arithmetic.
Scarne had come across a deck similar to this one before, but the game he was playing was entirely new, and superbly difficult. It was a game within a game, a game whose rules were themselves subject to the game. Any player could, if he held the right cards, change the rules of the game, his own cards, his opponents’ cards, the other players. Nothing could be known with certainty. The rules were hierarchical, each subject to others in an ascending series, producing dizzying problems of strategy.
Scarne was sweating, his powers of calculation stretched to the limit. The cards he was holding had just had their relative values suddenly inverted by a switch in the method of counting. The past hour’s hard playing had been for nothing.
And now worse disasters were piling up. The cards were mutating in his hand, taking on even lower values. He reached out to pick up another card from the pile, but as he did so he saw that the faces of the other players were changing, too, becoming different personalities.
They laid their cards face up on the table, left their chairs and walked away. Then Scarne noticed that his own hand, frozen over the deck, was unfamiliar, dark brown in colour. Without realizing it he, too, had become someone else.
At that moment the small room faded. Scarne was sitting in a bucket seat in the Make-Out, gripping two silvery rods in his hands. Cadence was lifting the inductor cap from his skull. She rolled away the games machine.
‘I lost,’ Scarne gasped hoarsely.
Sitting behind him in the corner, Soma grunted. ‘Don’t worry. You won’t win them all.’
‘Who the hell was I playing?’
‘Nobody. You were playing a computer. You did pretty well, for a first game.’
Scarne took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. ‘Is that game actually played here in the club? Played that well?’
‘We’re all being hard on you to begin with.’ Jerry Soma stood up and stretched, his lank form stepping across the room. ‘We have to get your measure, Cheyne. We have to see how far you can stretch your mind.’ He gestured to Cadence. She opened a wall panel and wheeled out another identity machine.
The machines were something new to Scarne. Soma had told him they were used for playing games whose elements transcended physical reality, like the one Scarne had just played. In other words they blotted out the physical perception of the world and replaced it with fictional, constructed environments induced into the brain electrically. The principle was similar to that used in dispensing mugger jackpots. But Soma had been circumspect when Scarne had asked to what extent the machines were used in the club.
‘This machine is probably the nearest we can get to that experience of yours with the jackpot,’ Soma told him. ‘The nearest I know about, anyway.’ He frowned. ‘You’ll lose your identity entirely, so keep a cool head.’
‘Who will I become?’ Scarne asked apprehensively.
‘Not who. What.’
Before Scarne could open his mouth to speak again Cadence had jammed another skull-cap on his head and guided his hands to the silver bars, completing the circuit.
For an instant Scarne lost consciousness. When he awoke it was with only a vague recollection of his previous existence.
He was a number.
He was number 1413721. As a number, he was like an amoeba, able to arrange himself in any pattern of which that number was capable: all its factors, arrays and subsets. When these were arranged in columns they were like his limbs, which he could put out and withdraw at will.
Consciousness of being 1413721 was really all the consciousness he had. He knew that he even had a degree of rarity: he was one of the few numbers to be both a square and a triangular number. But he could sense, in a kind of void or nullity all around him, countless other numbers, many of them more powerful than he, with all kinds of extraordinary properties.
The numbers were jostling for position.
The game was about to begin.
But while number 1413721 waited to discover the nature of this game, he became aware of a massive presence which circled them all like a cosmic snake, and he shrank back. The presence was of a creature of second-order chance; as such, it was infinitely superior to the merely rational numbers gathering to begin play. It was capable of swallowing them all, and there was no escape from it.
This great serpent, this incalculable dragon, was pi, a transcendental number, yielding, when expressed in decimal notation, an infinite table of random numbers. As awareness of this transcendental entity overwhelmed his own awareness, 1413721 experienced terror. He began to disintegrate, to decay like an unstable particle…
Babbling and shaking, Scarne felt the skull-cap snatched from his head. His hands were unable to let go the silver bars and gripped them compulsively as if in electric shock.
Cadence prised them loose. Scarne swung round in his bucket seat. Soma, wearing the monitor cap, looked stunned.
Tearing the monitor cap from his head, the Wheel man stood up and towered over Scarne. His voice was harsh. ‘What did you think you were doing, Scarne? What happened to you in there, for Lady’s sake?’
‘I don’t know. I got scared.’
‘Scared? Scared of what?’ Soma seemed angry and impatient.
‘Pi. I got swallowed up by pi.’ Scarne tried to stop shaking. ‘I was a number. Just an ordinary little rational number, and then I met up with pi.’
Soma calmed down and became thoughtful. He paced the training-room.
‘Have you ever experienced anything like this before?’
‘Like being a number?’
‘Yes.’
Scarne hesitated. ‘Well, as a mathematician I’m used to contemplating mathematical concepts like numbers. Trying to get inside the essence of some particular number, for instance. I suppose that’s what the numbers identity machine does for you.’
Soma nodded. ‘It identifies your attention with a particular number – any number – but at the same time it removes your own identity. You’re just left with the number.’ He paused. ‘Pi. Fermats use it, don’t they? As a basis for randomness.’
‘Most of them. In fact many fermats spend their time calculating pi indefinitely.’ Scarne was alarmed by the puzzlement on Soma’s face. ‘What’s wrong? Wasn’t I supposed to meet pi?’
‘No.’
‘Does the machine use that number, itself?’
‘I believe pi plays some role in the mechanism. But not in the games arena – the part your mind had access to.’