Read Players at the Game of People Online
Authors: John Brunner
Players at the Game of People (9 page)
But these were not the most astonishing feature of the place once it
was possible to see it clearly.
Ambrose had sat down in a slingback canvas chair beside a foursquare
teak desk which might have come directly out of the headquarters of a
multinational corporation anxious to maintain its executives' illusions
concerning their current status, on which was mounted an elaborate
computer complex including a full-scale word-processing setup. One of
the screens was visible from where Gorse and Godwin stood, and it was
cycling a dozen rings of different colors around a central dot.
Catching sight of it, Ambrose muttered an oath and hit a switch, then
beamed falsely at his visitors.
" So sorry! But they're talking about a certain Royal Personage getting
married, so I thought I'd just run through a few alternative sequences,
but naturally, once one gets to
that
level, the interplay of conflicting
possibilities attains
alarming
proportions, so I simply let it run,
and . . ." A shrug. Then a winning smile. "You will forget you ever saw it,
won't you? Yes? Bless you. And, speaking of attaining alarming proportions,
just let me tell Anders what I'm up to . . .
Do
sit down!"
There were comfortable chairs for them, which they did not remember from
a moment ago. It was all part of the scenario, but Gorse was trembling
worse than ever as she lowered herself into hers. Meantime, Ambrose
whispered to an invisible microphone. Then he was paying attention to
them again, this time addressing Gorse directly.
"I sense you have a question, young lady. May I answer it?"
She swallowed hard, indicating the panels all about them. "What are
these?"
"What do you think they might be?" he countered with an affably avuncular
air.
"Uh . . . Well, they make me think of horoscope charts, but -- "
"God, you briefed her in advance!" Ambrose interrupted accusingly.
Godwin sighed, leaned back, shook his head, feigned a smile.
"In that case I'm impressed," Ambrose said, leaning forward and interlinking
his fingers. He had contrived to make his wand disappear without trace.
"These are, let's face it, a trifle more
explicit
than most such charts.
For instance, I had been prepared for some few weeks to see God again,
thanks to his." He signaled, and a chart presented itself as though they
were all on an automatic retrieval system -- and instantly he snapped his
fingers and it vanished again into the continually circulating background,
while he bent a white-toothed smile on Godwin.
" You know I would never show anybody your chart without your permission,
save for such a fleeting instant . . and that only because I am of course
proud that I am privy to it! And, as I was about to say, even the most
advanced of my -- ah -- fellow adepts would have trouble unraveling
the coding it bears, because I take into account the totality of
variables." He patted the case of his word processor. "For instance,
I imagine no one, even Della, drawing on the fullness of the oriental
tradition, could match tbis" -- once more, a chart floated into view and
paused, and displayed a set of interlocking ring patterns so complicated
they required color separations at the limit of human discrimination --
"which I cast for a certain world-famous figure, who turned out to be
remarkably keenly influenced by the lately discovered moon of Pluto. There
is, however, a beat frequency which I suspect may be due to interference
from the asteroidal belt, given that this induces a type of static, or
background noise, owing to the sheer randomness of the interactions --
except that actually, of course, it's
non
random, insofar as while the
microcosmic world may be subject to the laws of chance, the macrocosmic
isn't -- Ah, but I tend to ramble when I get away on my hobbyhorse. At
least, though, I might be permitted to show you this, for an example
of how I find myself obliged to seek distraction when the demands of my
profession grow extreme . . . which, I must admit, they tend to do with
gratifying frequency nowadays, since I am constantly being consulted by
cabinet ministers and diplomats and the like, or their wives -- nowadays
I must surely say 'spouses' -- and their children, if that case applies,
ha-hah! But at all events, I suspect you may not recognize
this
."
A chart appeared whose central element resembled the symbol for infinity:
¤¤. In red and yellow it gleamed from the middle of a series of tidily
patterned elliptical rings, all of them far from the two which interlocked
at the focus.
These were green, yellow, reddish-brown and white. All the time he had
been talking, music had continued; now it climaxed on a resounding chord
of trumpets and trombones, and, died away like a gasp.
"No?" And without waiting for an answer: "I'm not surprised. This is the
generalized chart for a species whose home planet orbits a double star
in Cassiopeia, and they're like oysters or maybe snails because they're
intermittently bisexual and -- What
am
I thinking of? I meant to ask
your data so the computer could chew them over for a while. I had a new
chart all prepared because from God's I knew he was about due to bring
me someone complicated -- won't bother to demonstrate, but . . ."
Now he was muttering and a plain chart was hovering before him.
"Birth date, please. Time of day if you know it. Whatever you can tell
me about your parents' sexual habits -- whether they fucked on weekends
only or whether your father had to force your mother or whether he was
more potent in the morning or at night or whether she felt more like it
at certain phases of her menstrual cycle or
anything
. It'll all go
in here." He swiveled to face the computer keyboard. "Because time of
conception is also very useful in figuring out the astral forces which
would have obtained."
Godwin, who had been through all this much too often, leaned back and
disconnected. At some point Anders kissed him hello, but he wasn't in
the mood, or any mood.
At long last Ambrose was saying, " Well?"
"I'm not sure I like it," Gorse answered doubtfully.
"You don't believe that a name resonates and creates beat frequencies
with the astral forces working on a person?" Ambrose demanded. "I'll
prove it if you like! Here, where's the chart for that one? When the
Duchess of Anglia had her second son -- the one born after the duke died
-- they baptized him with the same name as his father, stupid
gits
.
If only they'd bothered to consult me . . . !"
Appealing, Gorse turned her eyes to Godwin, who summoned his remaining
forces and donned a smile.
"What did you suggest?" he said in a conciliating tone.
"He wants to call me Gorse Plenty!" Gorse said before Ambrose could rush
to his own defense. "And it's not a name I ever heard of and I don't
like it anyway!"
"It's right for you! It's perfect!" Ambrose barked. He was on his feet
by now, grossly offended.
"It was Ambrose who gave me my name," Godwin said placatingly, also
rising. "And I've never regretted taking his advice."
"Precisely, and thank you! Any more than Cineraria Howe regretted it --
and doesn't everybody know her name from the television series she's
been in? As for County Barbarian, if it weren't for me, even his gimmick
of being a millionaire's son wouldn't have got his bunch of second-rate
slags into the Top Twenty with the sort of material they were using! And
I could multiply this list
indefinitely
! Didn't you know CB's original
name was Edgar Bernard Brown? Heaven help us! If I wanted to write a
five-syllable curse, I'd be hard put to it to improve on that one!"
"Curse?" Gorse parried faintly.
"What else do you call it when your initials spell 'ebb'? That's a
downer
-- as my contacts among the youth generation inform me." This with a sudden
shy, almost boyish smile. "But you've struck lucky, I promise. Your friends
at school must have had a clearer overall perception of your potential
than you did yourself, let alone the teachers -- or so-called teachers --
you were forced to suffer under. As for your mother . . . !" This ended
in an elaborate shudder. "Nonetheless, a counteragent to the harshness
of the name you enjoy wearing will stand you in good stead in the long
run. Apart from anything else, it will be memorable, and all the people
who bear interchangeable names will envy you. True?"
"Ambrose bestows good names," Godwin said hastily. "His is the other
name of Merlin, the magician."
"Right!" Ambrose crowed, clapping Godwin on the shoulder. "So when I say
'Plenty' is correct, you must remember: 'Gorse' is a sparse, repugnant
plant, symbolic of deprivation. You want that? Of course not!"
He switched out lights without moving, and all of a sudden the sanctum
was dank and unbearable. Gorse moved toward where the stairs had been,
her teeth audibly chattering.
" This way," Ambrose murmured. "We shall drink a glass of firewine to
your acceptable appellation."
And indeed the steps were yards away, beyond the dried bat and immediately
below. The stove had brewed its ichor and the alembic was dull gray;
the odor of incense had given way to something vaguely putrid, as of
cow-guts cast aside by a butcher, and overlooked.
In a gracious room above Anders made them welcome, clad now in blue jeans
and rope-soled sandals. From a crystal decanter he poured into crystal
glasses four measures of something which fumed and glowed, neither red
nor green but partway between.
Ambrose gave a formal toast.
"Long may it, soon may it, and may we live to enjoy it!"
They drank in unison. Gorse had meant to sip, not gulp, but Anders
was well trained -- as Ragnar had been, and Per and Horst and Lam and
all those others who bore echt-Aryan cognomems -- and at precisely the
right moment he contrived to jog her elbow and she swallowed the lot,
even as Ambrose was stating didactically, "This so-called firewine is
of course no more than a distillate of certain significant herbs whose
governing planets relate to the subject, but you would have to travel
far -- you note
my
name, Farr? -- before you found a match as regards
appropriateness for this particular brew. Young lady, I wish you vast
success from your identity, but I must withdraw because tomorrow I am to
be consulted by an official of the United Nations whose wife disapproves
-- stupid bitch! -- of his interest in my work, and to be absolutely and
utterly frank, your mere presence as a
female
distorts the aura I am
attempting to create in this house. Honestly, God, can you not choose
your times better?"
That was so absurd, ridiculous, and pointless a question, Godwin was
shaken by it. He thought for a while, and at last ventured, "You mean
Anders is nursing a hard-on."
"If his psychic energy were to be wasted on the air -- !" protested
Ambrose, making a gesture to encompass the collapse of universes.
"I don't choose my times," Godwin said, and set his glass on the nearest
table. "Gorse didn't choose. Think about it. Thanks for the wine. But
I think 'Gorse Plenty' will work out fine.
"In case you were still worried."
There was a long pause during which Anders shrugged and turned to leave.
Ambrose checked him with an affectionate arm linked about his neck.
"What now, God? I promise, I
am
interested. But for the fact which
you know about. I wish Aleister were here to speak on my behalf."
"You always wish that. It's your way . . . But FYI: there are material
considerations. Come on, Gorse, let's get out of here. You haven't even
met Bill yet, and you must. After all, he's going to be your landlord."
In the taxi which naturally they picked up within a few yards of Ambrose's
door she said to him fretfully, "I don't understand."
"That doesn't surprise me."
"But I don't!" -- in a near wail. "You seem to know all these people,
but who are they?"
"People I've known for a long time."
"Oh,
for God's sake
!" She hunched away from him. "What are you all?
Some kind of group?"
"Yes, in a sense, I suppose."
"Like the Rosicrucians?"
Godwin stifled a laugh. In his gravest tone he said, "No, not in the
least."
"Well, then . . ." She was biting her lower lip so hard it might bleed.
"I wish I understood what was going on!"
"You only need to understand the consequences."
"All the time you say things like that! This guy -- what's his name? --
this Ambrose: he was full of double-talk, wasn't he?"
"You don't have to take Ambrose too seriously."
"But a while ago you were saying I must!" She turned to him with her
large eyes full of tears. "Or is it that you're trying to brainwash me?"
"Brainwashing is done by deprivation and lack of sleep and repetition of
some kind of ideological message until the defences of the mind give way
under the overload. They used it in Korean prisoner-of-war camps. They
use it nowadays in Ulster police stations. The essential element is
monotony. What,
pray
, is either monotonous or even predictable about what
we've been doing? And I can testify that when I got through with you last
night, you enjoyed several hours' deep sleep. Did you know you snore?"
"I don't!"
"Oh yes you do. Not very loudly, but with a kind of bubbly noise.
You probably have a post-nasal drip that needs attention."
"You're trying to make me follow a red herring! That isn't what I'm
talking about! I've read
The Golden Ass
, you know. A certain kind of
shock can be just as efficacious as a prolonged period of deprivation in
converting someone, and that's what you're trying to do, isn't it? You're
trying to convert me to some sort of belief which -- Golly! Excuse me!"
Her words were dissolving into a colossal yawn.
This soon? Even before arriving at Bill's place? Well, perhaps it was
all for the best. Godwin had no faintest notion what she was going on
about, but he had spinal tremors which indicated bad news, and while it
was unprecedented for the owners to be in such a hurry, it might well
be for the best if she underwent a chastening experience right away. At
least it would be better from his point of view than suffering through
the usual load of crap -- "Oh, all my life I've dreamed of guidance
from on high!" or "Isn't it fantastic to think that someone actually
understands and can
was possible to see it clearly.
Ambrose had sat down in a slingback canvas chair beside a foursquare
teak desk which might have come directly out of the headquarters of a
multinational corporation anxious to maintain its executives' illusions
concerning their current status, on which was mounted an elaborate
computer complex including a full-scale word-processing setup. One of
the screens was visible from where Gorse and Godwin stood, and it was
cycling a dozen rings of different colors around a central dot.
Catching sight of it, Ambrose muttered an oath and hit a switch, then
beamed falsely at his visitors.
" So sorry! But they're talking about a certain Royal Personage getting
married, so I thought I'd just run through a few alternative sequences,
but naturally, once one gets to
that
level, the interplay of conflicting
possibilities attains
alarming
proportions, so I simply let it run,
and . . ." A shrug. Then a winning smile. "You will forget you ever saw it,
won't you? Yes? Bless you. And, speaking of attaining alarming proportions,
just let me tell Anders what I'm up to . . .
Do
sit down!"
There were comfortable chairs for them, which they did not remember from
a moment ago. It was all part of the scenario, but Gorse was trembling
worse than ever as she lowered herself into hers. Meantime, Ambrose
whispered to an invisible microphone. Then he was paying attention to
them again, this time addressing Gorse directly.
"I sense you have a question, young lady. May I answer it?"
She swallowed hard, indicating the panels all about them. "What are
these?"
"What do you think they might be?" he countered with an affably avuncular
air.
"Uh . . . Well, they make me think of horoscope charts, but -- "
"God, you briefed her in advance!" Ambrose interrupted accusingly.
Godwin sighed, leaned back, shook his head, feigned a smile.
"In that case I'm impressed," Ambrose said, leaning forward and interlinking
his fingers. He had contrived to make his wand disappear without trace.
"These are, let's face it, a trifle more
explicit
than most such charts.
For instance, I had been prepared for some few weeks to see God again,
thanks to his." He signaled, and a chart presented itself as though they
were all on an automatic retrieval system -- and instantly he snapped his
fingers and it vanished again into the continually circulating background,
while he bent a white-toothed smile on Godwin.
" You know I would never show anybody your chart without your permission,
save for such a fleeting instant . . and that only because I am of course
proud that I am privy to it! And, as I was about to say, even the most
advanced of my -- ah -- fellow adepts would have trouble unraveling
the coding it bears, because I take into account the totality of
variables." He patted the case of his word processor. "For instance,
I imagine no one, even Della, drawing on the fullness of the oriental
tradition, could match tbis" -- once more, a chart floated into view and
paused, and displayed a set of interlocking ring patterns so complicated
they required color separations at the limit of human discrimination --
"which I cast for a certain world-famous figure, who turned out to be
remarkably keenly influenced by the lately discovered moon of Pluto. There
is, however, a beat frequency which I suspect may be due to interference
from the asteroidal belt, given that this induces a type of static, or
background noise, owing to the sheer randomness of the interactions --
except that actually, of course, it's
non
random, insofar as while the
microcosmic world may be subject to the laws of chance, the macrocosmic
isn't -- Ah, but I tend to ramble when I get away on my hobbyhorse. At
least, though, I might be permitted to show you this, for an example
of how I find myself obliged to seek distraction when the demands of my
profession grow extreme . . . which, I must admit, they tend to do with
gratifying frequency nowadays, since I am constantly being consulted by
cabinet ministers and diplomats and the like, or their wives -- nowadays
I must surely say 'spouses' -- and their children, if that case applies,
ha-hah! But at all events, I suspect you may not recognize
this
."
A chart appeared whose central element resembled the symbol for infinity:
¤¤. In red and yellow it gleamed from the middle of a series of tidily
patterned elliptical rings, all of them far from the two which interlocked
at the focus.
These were green, yellow, reddish-brown and white. All the time he had
been talking, music had continued; now it climaxed on a resounding chord
of trumpets and trombones, and, died away like a gasp.
"No?" And without waiting for an answer: "I'm not surprised. This is the
generalized chart for a species whose home planet orbits a double star
in Cassiopeia, and they're like oysters or maybe snails because they're
intermittently bisexual and -- What
am
I thinking of? I meant to ask
your data so the computer could chew them over for a while. I had a new
chart all prepared because from God's I knew he was about due to bring
me someone complicated -- won't bother to demonstrate, but . . ."
Now he was muttering and a plain chart was hovering before him.
"Birth date, please. Time of day if you know it. Whatever you can tell
me about your parents' sexual habits -- whether they fucked on weekends
only or whether your father had to force your mother or whether he was
more potent in the morning or at night or whether she felt more like it
at certain phases of her menstrual cycle or
anything
. It'll all go
in here." He swiveled to face the computer keyboard. "Because time of
conception is also very useful in figuring out the astral forces which
would have obtained."
Godwin, who had been through all this much too often, leaned back and
disconnected. At some point Anders kissed him hello, but he wasn't in
the mood, or any mood.
At long last Ambrose was saying, " Well?"
"I'm not sure I like it," Gorse answered doubtfully.
"You don't believe that a name resonates and creates beat frequencies
with the astral forces working on a person?" Ambrose demanded. "I'll
prove it if you like! Here, where's the chart for that one? When the
Duchess of Anglia had her second son -- the one born after the duke died
-- they baptized him with the same name as his father, stupid
gits
.
If only they'd bothered to consult me . . . !"
Appealing, Gorse turned her eyes to Godwin, who summoned his remaining
forces and donned a smile.
"What did you suggest?" he said in a conciliating tone.
"He wants to call me Gorse Plenty!" Gorse said before Ambrose could rush
to his own defense. "And it's not a name I ever heard of and I don't
like it anyway!"
"It's right for you! It's perfect!" Ambrose barked. He was on his feet
by now, grossly offended.
"It was Ambrose who gave me my name," Godwin said placatingly, also
rising. "And I've never regretted taking his advice."
"Precisely, and thank you! Any more than Cineraria Howe regretted it --
and doesn't everybody know her name from the television series she's
been in? As for County Barbarian, if it weren't for me, even his gimmick
of being a millionaire's son wouldn't have got his bunch of second-rate
slags into the Top Twenty with the sort of material they were using! And
I could multiply this list
indefinitely
! Didn't you know CB's original
name was Edgar Bernard Brown? Heaven help us! If I wanted to write a
five-syllable curse, I'd be hard put to it to improve on that one!"
"Curse?" Gorse parried faintly.
"What else do you call it when your initials spell 'ebb'? That's a
downer
-- as my contacts among the youth generation inform me." This with a sudden
shy, almost boyish smile. "But you've struck lucky, I promise. Your friends
at school must have had a clearer overall perception of your potential
than you did yourself, let alone the teachers -- or so-called teachers --
you were forced to suffer under. As for your mother . . . !" This ended
in an elaborate shudder. "Nonetheless, a counteragent to the harshness
of the name you enjoy wearing will stand you in good stead in the long
run. Apart from anything else, it will be memorable, and all the people
who bear interchangeable names will envy you. True?"
"Ambrose bestows good names," Godwin said hastily. "His is the other
name of Merlin, the magician."
"Right!" Ambrose crowed, clapping Godwin on the shoulder. "So when I say
'Plenty' is correct, you must remember: 'Gorse' is a sparse, repugnant
plant, symbolic of deprivation. You want that? Of course not!"
He switched out lights without moving, and all of a sudden the sanctum
was dank and unbearable. Gorse moved toward where the stairs had been,
her teeth audibly chattering.
" This way," Ambrose murmured. "We shall drink a glass of firewine to
your acceptable appellation."
And indeed the steps were yards away, beyond the dried bat and immediately
below. The stove had brewed its ichor and the alembic was dull gray;
the odor of incense had given way to something vaguely putrid, as of
cow-guts cast aside by a butcher, and overlooked.
In a gracious room above Anders made them welcome, clad now in blue jeans
and rope-soled sandals. From a crystal decanter he poured into crystal
glasses four measures of something which fumed and glowed, neither red
nor green but partway between.
Ambrose gave a formal toast.
"Long may it, soon may it, and may we live to enjoy it!"
They drank in unison. Gorse had meant to sip, not gulp, but Anders
was well trained -- as Ragnar had been, and Per and Horst and Lam and
all those others who bore echt-Aryan cognomems -- and at precisely the
right moment he contrived to jog her elbow and she swallowed the lot,
even as Ambrose was stating didactically, "This so-called firewine is
of course no more than a distillate of certain significant herbs whose
governing planets relate to the subject, but you would have to travel
far -- you note
my
name, Farr? -- before you found a match as regards
appropriateness for this particular brew. Young lady, I wish you vast
success from your identity, but I must withdraw because tomorrow I am to
be consulted by an official of the United Nations whose wife disapproves
-- stupid bitch! -- of his interest in my work, and to be absolutely and
utterly frank, your mere presence as a
female
distorts the aura I am
attempting to create in this house. Honestly, God, can you not choose
your times better?"
That was so absurd, ridiculous, and pointless a question, Godwin was
shaken by it. He thought for a while, and at last ventured, "You mean
Anders is nursing a hard-on."
"If his psychic energy were to be wasted on the air -- !" protested
Ambrose, making a gesture to encompass the collapse of universes.
"I don't choose my times," Godwin said, and set his glass on the nearest
table. "Gorse didn't choose. Think about it. Thanks for the wine. But
I think 'Gorse Plenty' will work out fine.
"In case you were still worried."
There was a long pause during which Anders shrugged and turned to leave.
Ambrose checked him with an affectionate arm linked about his neck.
"What now, God? I promise, I
am
interested. But for the fact which
you know about. I wish Aleister were here to speak on my behalf."
"You always wish that. It's your way . . . But FYI: there are material
considerations. Come on, Gorse, let's get out of here. You haven't even
met Bill yet, and you must. After all, he's going to be your landlord."
In the taxi which naturally they picked up within a few yards of Ambrose's
door she said to him fretfully, "I don't understand."
"That doesn't surprise me."
"But I don't!" -- in a near wail. "You seem to know all these people,
but who are they?"
"People I've known for a long time."
"Oh,
for God's sake
!" She hunched away from him. "What are you all?
Some kind of group?"
"Yes, in a sense, I suppose."
"Like the Rosicrucians?"
Godwin stifled a laugh. In his gravest tone he said, "No, not in the
least."
"Well, then . . ." She was biting her lower lip so hard it might bleed.
"I wish I understood what was going on!"
"You only need to understand the consequences."
"All the time you say things like that! This guy -- what's his name? --
this Ambrose: he was full of double-talk, wasn't he?"
"You don't have to take Ambrose too seriously."
"But a while ago you were saying I must!" She turned to him with her
large eyes full of tears. "Or is it that you're trying to brainwash me?"
"Brainwashing is done by deprivation and lack of sleep and repetition of
some kind of ideological message until the defences of the mind give way
under the overload. They used it in Korean prisoner-of-war camps. They
use it nowadays in Ulster police stations. The essential element is
monotony. What,
pray
, is either monotonous or even predictable about what
we've been doing? And I can testify that when I got through with you last
night, you enjoyed several hours' deep sleep. Did you know you snore?"
"I don't!"
"Oh yes you do. Not very loudly, but with a kind of bubbly noise.
You probably have a post-nasal drip that needs attention."
"You're trying to make me follow a red herring! That isn't what I'm
talking about! I've read
The Golden Ass
, you know. A certain kind of
shock can be just as efficacious as a prolonged period of deprivation in
converting someone, and that's what you're trying to do, isn't it? You're
trying to convert me to some sort of belief which -- Golly! Excuse me!"
Her words were dissolving into a colossal yawn.
This soon? Even before arriving at Bill's place? Well, perhaps it was
all for the best. Godwin had no faintest notion what she was going on
about, but he had spinal tremors which indicated bad news, and while it
was unprecedented for the owners to be in such a hurry, it might well
be for the best if she underwent a chastening experience right away. At
least it would be better from his point of view than suffering through
the usual load of crap -- "Oh, all my life I've dreamed of guidance
from on high!" or "Isn't it fantastic to think that someone actually
understands and can
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