Key to Survival

Chapter 30 Irony

Havoc kissed Gale, Monochrome, and Shee. "I can hardly wait to get you three alone," he said. "I love you all."

"Opaline didn't take your edge off?" Gale asked teasingly.

"Can't touch her today. She must be pristine for her wedding."

"You poor man," Monochrome said. "Maybe she'll be free tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's my date with the bath girls."

"You care about machines?" Shee demanded, frowning.

"Gale, Chrome, hold her down so I can spank her."

Instead they grabbed him and held him while Shee pulled down his trousers and spanked his bare buttocks

"That's for arrogance," Gale said.

"Humiliation," he complained. But his member was rising.

They had gone too far. Their interaction had worked them up, and now they too were hot for a tryst. "Do us," Gale said. "You have ninety seconds."

He rose to the occasion, penetrating and ejaculating into each in turn at thirty second intervals. They were laughing, but each managed to climax with him.

"Now I believe we have a ceremony, or several to accomplish," Monochrome said as he pulled out of her. "You will have to preside, and give a short positive speech to conclude the occasion. Do you think you can manage that without burping?"

"Uncertainty."

"Shee will be your prompter for the lines you forget," Gale said. "If you make it through without error, you may have one of us for the night."

"Three," he said, bargaining.

"Two," Monochrome said firmly.

"Three, or I'll belch."

"Three!" they said together, evincing horror. Of course the thirty second connections had whetted their appetites and his for much longer efforts.

Then, dressed, they went out to conduct the ceremonies. They were on Counter Charm, in a scene arranged by Idyll Ifrit.

It resembled a sunny glade whose surrounding trees provided private recesses for all the parties. Idyll maintained the recesses as seeming rooms complete with beds and facilities. Anyone with a question had but to ask, and the walls would answer. In the center was a dais with chairs for those Glamors who wished to use them. All around it stood couples and individuals: those who had been most active in the defense of life.

Ennui approached him. "Privacy," she said.

"Granted, of course." He stepped aside with her. Ennui never wasted his time.

"I regret delaying you at this time, but you have been rather busy, as have I, and I had to catch you when I could," she said. "The Third Crisis has been abated. I agreed to serve through it. Now I am free to retire. As you institute the new order, you must assign my replacement. I wanted to tell you privately so that you could do that. I will see you through this celebration, then depart."

He was caught by surprise. He had been paying attention to everything but her. "Ennui, I can't run the planet without you. You know that."

"Yes you can, Havoc. I will provide you with a list of qualified assistants. But I mean to travel with my dear friend Aspect, catching up on life. We're both sixty three years old and we deserve some fun before we expire. I would never have traded my experience with you; you transformed my life and gave it phenomenal meaning when I had thought to end it. But now it must close."

"Ennui," he said, overcome. "I know I took you too much for granted. You are my oath friend, my surest guide, the one I trust beyond all others. I truly don't want to continue without you."

"You must," she said firmly. "I love you, but I am mortal. I will die in a reasonable time. I will help train in my replacement so as not to leave you lurching."

"Ennui!"

"Havoc, don't do that!" she protested. For the tears were streaming down his face. She drew out a handkerchief and mopped his cheeks.

"If you go, so will I."

She smiled in motherly fashion. "You can't, Havoc. You're the king. Now go be kingly. I'm sure you can handle it. It's hardly the magnitude of crisis that the war with the machines was." She turned and walked away.

He gazed after her. Then he made a decision. He rejoined the three Glamors, his mind closed.

"Did she hit you on the head with a two by four?" Gale inquired. "You look stunned."

"Worse. She's retiring."

"Oh Havoc; I'm so sorry! She is special to all of us. But she has the right."

"She does," he agreed morosely. They walked on to the dais.

Idyll appeared before him, in her human guise, which she could form without vacating her larger environment. She was after all a Glamor. She kissed him, which was entirely in order; she had interacted with him socially and sexually many times. "I too expect to retire," she said.

"Expletive!" Havoc swore. But he remembered that she had remained in existence for centuries for a purpose.

Now that purpose had been expiated. "And I can't talk you out of it."

"Negation," she agreed. "I would like to possess you one more time, after this day is done. Then I will be satisfied to dissipate." For she meant to let her identity fade, being tired of existence as a separate entity.

Havoc looked at Gale, Monochrome, and Shee. They shrugged in unison. The ifrit had the right, and had never concealed her intention.

Then he got an idea. "Vila," he said.

His young daughter joined him. "Yes, daddy."

"How long before you are mature?"

"Eleven years, daddy."

Gale coughed. "Make that thirteen years." That would put her at 18. Of course Vila had not misspoken. She expected to be mature at sixteen, and surely would be.

"And what is the best possible training for that you can receive?"

"Idyll will teach me, as she taught Voila."

"Expletive!" Idyll said, laughing. "You have trumped me, Havoc; I can't disappoint a child. I will remain for another generation."

"Appreciation," Havoc said, suppressing a smirk of victory.

The other three Glamors closed in on Idyll, hugging her. None of them smirked either. They all wanted her to stay. They had known that Havoc would find a way.

Havoc took center stage. Shee sat on the chair directly behind him. Ennui sat on another, taking notes. "Greeting, all," he said.

"Greeting, Havoc!" the people responded. They were all there: Ennui's husband and Havoc's erstwhile bodyguard Throe, the Red and Blue Chroma friends and helpers Augur and Aura, the Air Chroma sorceress Ine making herself beautifully visible for this occasion, his former mistress Symbol with her husband and family, the several human and animal Glamors: Red, Black, Green, Blue, Air, Yellow, Translucent, White, Brown, Silver, Gray, Orange, Filia of Filament, huge potted Glamor plants from several worlds, buzzing Bee-chines, and all the others with whom he had significantly interacted. Ennui had made sure to fetch them all. All his friends of the past quarter century, helping him to cope as king.

"We are gathered here to—" He paused glancing back at Shee as if not remembering.

"Marry several couples," Shee murmured, smiling.

"Marry several couples," he echoed. "As King I will conduct the services. Then I will put us all to sleep with a concluding speech before it gets interesting again with the dance. But first a word on the recent campaign."

The people dutifully focused their full attention on him. They all knew what had happened, but part of the purpose of this ceremony was to officially acknowledge it.

"We have had three crises in recent years," Havoc said. "The first was when we tackled Mino, the big mining machine. This was our first episode in the war against the machine culture. We were able to nullify and convert Mino to our side. Take a bow, Mino."

The machines scoutship appeared in the sky above them, bobbing before departing.

"The second was Earth's effort to reclaim her colony. We were able to nullify and convert Earth, and now Earth's Mistress of Mistresses, Monochrome, is my mistress. Show your stuff, Chrome."

Monochrome rose and stepped forward. She turned around in place, her clothing disappearing, then reappearing as her turn was complete.

"The third was our direct encounter with the machines. Again we prevailed. From it I gleaned another mistress and several bath girls. Meet the public, girls."

Shee stood, and the five bath girls walked around the dais. All were strikingly beautiful, in outfits designed to show off their assets. After all, the king was expected to have the best.

"Now the machines serve us," Havoc continued. "There will be no more destruction of living cultures. Instead the machines will assist in ways we direct, including as partners for those who would otherwise be alone. They will not serve everyone, because this is an avenue to species regression, but they will help as required."

There was polite applause.

"We have nine couples to marry, so this will not be fancy Those of you who wish to have fancier ceremonies may do so on your own at another time." He paused. "Oak and Opaline."

Opaline stepped forward, leading Oak by the hand. She was in a simple wedding dress, and he was in a neat suit.

His parents, Pot and Kettle, and her parents, Copper and Silver, stood nearby, smiling. They made a handsome couple. "Oak has a unique talent that enabled him to change the Prime Directive of the machines, ending the war,"

Havoc said. "Opaline was his trainer, working diligently to perfect his ability. We owe them our survival."

There was much stronger applause. But Oak looked troubled. Opaline glanced at him, concerned. "You don't want this?" she whispered.

"I—must talk to—Havoc," Oak said.

"Welcome," Havoc said.

"Alone."

This was a surprise. Havoc glanced at Opaline, and she spread her hands. This was something new.

Oak of course was simple. He had to be guided carefully through the protocols. It was best to humor him.

"Come to me," Havoc said.

Oak mounted the dais and approached. Havoc gestured. "Here is a sphere of privacy," he said, and the sphere shimmered around them. "You may tell me what is on your mind. No one else will hear."

"I—you said I changed the—ended the war."

"Agreement. You were our secret weapon for victory."

"I—I didn't do it."

Something was wrong. "May I read your mind?"

"Read," Oak said.

Havoc did—and was amazed. Oak had reached out to the Prime Directive and touched its keys, as directed specifically by Opaline, emulated by Weft. But the keys had not responded. In fact it was a dummy keyboard. The machines had had the wit to hide the real access elsewhere.

Oak had not changed the Prime Directive.

"Thank you for telling me this," Havoc said. "You did your part, and deserve applause. I will think about this matter. You need have no further concern."

"Appreciation," Oak said, vastly relieved. With Havoc handling it, he no longer had to worry.

But Havoc did. Weft, he thought. Who verified the keyboard?

Question?

Read my mind.

She did, and was appalled. Dad, there was so much going on, I never thought to check that simple little detail. I just assumed—embarrassment. Needless. None of us did.

Havoc dissolved the privacy sphere, and Oak returned to Opaline, smiling.

"A private protocol," Havoc said to the audience. "A valid concern I am addressing. We will proceed as planned." But privately he was in turmoil. If Oak had not changed the Prime Directive—and there was no doubt that this was the case—how was it that the machines had accepted Havoc's directive? For there was also no doubt that they had. Voila and Rafal had verified it.

Well, he had a wedding to perform. Oak and Opaline stood before him. He took their hands and put them together, the official handfasting. "You are now married," he said. He lifted their joined hands and kissed them. "Go forth and raise your four with our blessing." He smiled. "Now kiss each other."

They did, and there was more applause. Opaline's face was wet. She had had her doubts about this relationship, especially about her need to have four fourths, one by her father in law, but now she was completely satisfied to be married to Oak. He had more than proved himself.

They returned to the parents, who warmly hugged them. It was a genuinely happy occasion.

Havoc turned to Ennui. "Who is our second wedding couple?"

"Sphere and Red."

He thought he had misheard. "Question?"

"I introduced the controlling machine Sphere to the Red Glamor," Shee said. "So that she could help him search for the remnant Makers. They didn't find the remnant, but it seems that relationship worked out."

"But he's a machine!"

She eyed him. "So?"

He had to accept it. Sapient machines were now part of their culture. He turned to face the audience. "Sphere and Red."

The metal sphere rolled forward, with the Red Glamor beside him, in an elaborate wedding dress. He encountered the steps to the dais, and simply rolled up them. The two of them came to a stop before Havoc.

"I want to be sure this is not coercive," Havoc said. "Red can take care of herself, but is this your desire, Sphere?"

"Affirmation. I love her."

"But you love Gale and Shee."

"Both are taken."

"Red is a lusty, demanding creature who will work you mercilessly."

"Understanding. It will be my pleasure."

"When did you decide to marry her?"

"When she asked me, while we were on the mission."

"Before the machines agreed to serve the Glamors?"

"Agreement."

This was interesting. "You were an enemy supervisor, but you agreed to marry a Glamor?"

"The Glamors are not our enemies. We were always ready to serve them. Now they have asked."

"But you waged war against us!"

"Correction: you waged war against us. We wanted only to serve."

"To serve the Makers."

"The Glamors are akin to the Makers. We will serve both."

Havoc was beginning to catch on. "It isn't that Gale is beautiful, it's that she is a Glamor. Ditto for Shee. And for Red. You serve the one who wants to be served."

"Affirmation."

"And the same goes for the other machines?"

"For the other sentient sapient machines, affirmation."

"We didn't have to war against you, just to ask for your service?"

"Affirmation."

Havoc shook his head. "This will require some assimilation. But at the moment I have a wedding to perform. Manifest a hand."

Sphere did. Havoc took that hand and Red's hand, and put them together for the handfasting. "You are now married. Red won't be bearing any young, being long past that requirement. Kiss."

Red leaned over and kissed the top of the robot's dome. Then they departed the dais. There was a smattering of applause. The others were not absolutely sure this wasn't a joke.

Havoc was in mental turmoil. Shee, he thought. Why do you serve me? Because you were programmed to?

"No programming was necessary. I loved you from the time I learned of you.

Just like any other machine. And Ikon—

He serves Weft because she wishes him to.

But it was time for the next wedding. "Next?" he asked Ennui.

"Fifth and Flame," she answered promptly.

"Fifth and Flame," he repeated, remembering how Flame had backed off a controlling machine. Wherever Glamor had contacted machine, the machine had given way.

The two came to stand before him. Fifth was resplendent it a black suit matching his natural color. Flame was in her Amazon outfit, but had donned a veil in honor of the occasion, her concession to the expected dress.

Havoc knew that their history had been at times troubled, but this was not the occasion to rehearse it.

"Flame is my militant daughter," he said. "I love her and bless her happiness. Fifth is worthy. Give me your hands."

And so they were married. They kissed and departed the dais. Havoc elected not to notice the tears in Flame's eyes. Amazons did not cry.

Then came Ikon and Weft, another robot-human union. Havoc did not say it, of course, but one thing Red had accomplished by emulating Weft was the cauterizing of any illicit passion he might have had for his voluptuous daughter. He was glad to see her committed.

I read that, dad, she thought.

He ignored that and married them.

Next was Warp and Marionette. Then the weddings got interesting.

Voila married Rafal, the tentacular Glamor they had all come to recognize as second only to Voila in power.

Idyll had arranged a compatible spot environment for him so that he could attend personally, but he still required a tub.

Similarly, there was an environment for the couple from Lobster. Old-Tail married Click-Toe, Fifth's friend.

Indeed, Fifth and Flame were in the front row, applauding.

And the Ammonoid couple who had found employment aboard human ships, diverting the troops with marvelous color shows. Ammon Ium married Naughty Nautilus, twining tentacles for the handfasting.

Finally came the Twins, Warp and Marionette's friends. They were in human form for the occasion, two supremely handsome young men Pso and Osp, and two stunningly beautiful young women, Vra and Arv. When they kissed they seemed almost to overlap.

Maybe they were lucky there were no Makers getting married. That was another mystery that still nagged him.

The machines serving Glamors and the Makers who had become dying Dreamers.

And the revelation came. Havoc was almost lost with the wonder of it. Suddenly he had the answers.

Everything fit together at last.

"Are you all right, Havoc?" Ennui asked. "Shee has a copy of your speech if you need prompting."

"I won't be giving that speech," he said. Then he faced the audience. "I won't hold you long. I have a revelation to impart that should interest you."

They gazed at him, perhaps wondering whether he was about to belch. His reputation as the barbarian king had never quite faded.

"We have just fought a war we didn't need to," Havoc said. "Because we didn't know what we needed to do. First, a bit of background. The machines have been expanding, seeming to be on a mission to destroy all living cultures in the galaxy. Approximately one third of the galaxy has already been destroyed in this manner. What we did not know at first was that they were actually looking for an escaped contingent of the species that made them, the Makers. The machines' Prime Directive is to serve every Maker, and as long as some Makers remain unserved, the machines had to search for them.

"But it seemed this contingent of Makers did not want to be served. They were hiding, and they were very good at it. So to locate them the machines found it necessary to conquer, catalog, and understand every living culture they encountered. To be sure they were not hiding the Makers, or perhaps actually being the Makers in disguise. Once a culture was determined not to be the Makers, it was surplus and was destroyed. Our planet of Charm was studied and cataloged in a number of ways, such as by the seeded synthetic fifths, the Challenges planet, the memory evocation and listing, and destined for destruction because it is evident humans are not the missing Makers. The machines had considerable respect for the abilities of the Makers, and knew they could hide with phenomenal cleverness, so they had to verify each culture excruciatingly carefully. I think only when they got a sampling of humans on their own crafted Challenges planet could they inspect them well enough to eliminate them as a prospect. Because the machines are a type 2.5 level culture, and no living culture other than the Makers matched that, others were not able to effectively repel the dreadful program."

He paused. "Now a question: why didn't the Makers stop the destruction? Surely they saw it going on. All they needed to do was return, identify themselves, and be served. Then the galaxy would be at peace. Yet they did not, and the carnage continued. Were they so indifferent to the welfare of other living species that they simply didn't care? This was hard to believe."

There was a general stir. Not everyone here was acquainted with this background.

"There is an explanation, but not a kind one. The Makers were not indifferent to the welfare of the living galaxy; they merely had a supremely difficult choice to make. Some few Makers fled because they saw that the service of the machines was destroying their culture. Not through any ill will or treachery by the machines. It was because the machines served too well. The original Makers became lazy and fat and lost any desire to pursue rigorous physical or intellectual labors. It was easier to be cared for and entertained by the machines. A few Makers saw that this meant long-term doom for their viability as a culture. Only by eschewing the service of the machines, they concluded, could they save their culture. That could not be done on the home planet, so they fled.

"Now consider what this meant. If the machines found them and served them again, they would lose their innovation, industry, creativity, and whatever else made them a type 2.5 species going for type 2.6. If they returned to the machines they would save the rest of the galaxy, but lose their own soul, as it were. That would be a short term gain and a long term disaster. So they couldn't return, though hell followed in their wake. But they did not give up their mission. They merely sought another way."

The audience had been interested. Now it was rapt. Havoc was answering the riddle of the galaxy.

"Meanwhile the machines' search for the remnant Makers—the ones who had fled their planet of origin—continued in multiple avenues. One thrust was to locate the planet where they settled, following whatever clues had been left. And they found it! They found where the remnant Makers had settled. Gale went there with Sphere, the controlling sapient machine in charge of this particular search, and verified it. The Makers were there, and had been for almost fifty thousand years. They had conceived an ambitious project, surely to stop the machines. They were not ignoring the plight of the galaxy. They just had to act in a way that would save the galaxy but not cause the machines to serve them again. This was a considerable challenge.

"What was this project? Let me pause to examine a parallel development to provide a context. In the absence of the Makers, the other living cultures of the galaxy got in touch with each other, organized, and formed the Living Cultures Coalition dedicated to stopping the machines. For fifty thousand years the cultures had been helpless against the onslaught of the machines, and a third of them had perished. Now there was effective resistance. How did this come about? Because the cultures discovered a way to relate to each other, surmounting the barriers of chemistry and communication. They related to each other through the Glamors.

"The Glamors have been a mystery from the outset, even to those of us who are Glamors. They started appearing several hundred years ago, and have continued appearing up to the present. They have extraordinary magical powers, and are generally invulnerable and immortal. They have appeared in most, perhaps all, of the living cultures. They exist in different contexts, and follow different rules, but their special powers are similar, and still being discovered.

Most important, Glamors recognize and relate to each other. A Glamor can trust a Glamor; we know that. We can communicate with each other telepathically. We can love each other." He glanced significantly at Voila and Rafal.

"Species no barrier."

There was sympathetic laughter.

"Glamors rose naturally to positions of leadership," Havoc continued. "Their powers facilitated it. As leaders, we have unified the galaxy and led the opposition to the machines. Because of us, the living cultures have finally stopped the machines. They have become our servants." He smiled. "No, we will not grow lazy, fat, and indifferent. Because there is little the machines can do for us. We already have the qualities we need. Glamors are virtually incorruptible by material benefits. We are not afraid of the machines, either as enemies or as servants. Indeed, we became the first effective resistance to the onslaught of the machines. They tried to study us, so as to discover how to neutralize us, but when they finally did learn more about our capacities, they realized that they couldn't stop us. They started cooperating with us, trying to enlist us in their cause. We were not interested."

He paused again, organizing his thoughts. He was coming to the crux. "But Glamors are not a natural phenomenon. Someone or something prepared the way for us. Something set up altars near volcanoes, looms with special threads, ikons to transmit power to us. Then the changelings, distributed by the Temple, a seeding of special people long before the fifths appeared, that we also accepted and integrated. The changelings were the basis for the most proficient human leaders, having essential qualities that ordinary people lacked. Qualities that enabled them to become Glamors. We did not evolve; we were designed. But by whom or what? That has been our mystery for centuries. The oldest Glamor I know of is Idyll Ifrit, who came into being to balk the machine scout Mino, fourteen hundred years ago. Four hundred years before the humans colonized Charm. There may be others dating back that far among other cultures of the galaxy, but I think not many. Most are centuries more recent. But the devices that enabled our appearance were placed before the Glamors appeared. The ones of Charm were made by human beings who responded to mental commands we thought originated with the planet itself; now I am in doubt about that. It was more likely an alien signal from elsewhere in the galaxy. What could have done it? Obviously not the machines."

The audience laughed. This was not humor so much as agreement.

"We Glamors were designed to stop the machines. And we have done so. Not in precisely the way we thought, however. We tried to reprogram the machines' Prime Directive, but it turns out that this was unnecessary. The machines were ready to serve us regardless."

Now there was amazement. This was new.

"To return to the planet of the remnant Makers. What was their big project? It seemed to have failed, because it was implemented by a group called the Dreamers, who seemed to have fallen prey to the same fate as the original Makers: lassitude. They had thought that avoiding machines would save them from this, but it seemed that the lesser Makers who became servants to the Dreamers accomplished the same thing. One by one the Dreamers disappeared into their dreams, not caring for their living bodies, until at last those bodies could no longer be sustained, and they died.

Today there are very few Dreamers left.

"But this is deceptive. Consider the challenge: the Makers had a problem: how to stop the machines without using technology. Because that was a trap, as the fate of the original Makers demonstrated. If they made machines of their own strong enough to defeat the existing machines, they would merely be creating new tools of indolence. In the guise of complete service, those new machines would inevitably become their masters. So they had to remain true to their creed: no new machines of any type. Yet what else could possibly accomplish their purpose? It seemed like an exercise in futility.

"But these were Makers, remember, capable of unparalleled expertise in accomplishing their purposes. They looked like big bugs. Well, humans look like skinned apes. There has never been a more potent creative force in the galaxy than the Makers. The machines were right to respect it. The remnant Makers turned their attention to a new direction. They went to magic. They knew about magic, of course, as most of the living cultures of the galaxy employ it to greater or lesser extent.

Those inhabiting a Chroma zone can do many marvelous things. A sorcerer in a Chroma zone can stop any machine.

The problem is that there is more to the universe than Chroma zones. The default zone seems to be nonChroma, akin to our White Science magic but less impressive, and that is where the machines dominate. So the machines simply mined the magic piecemeal, destroying the zones and the cultures within them. Magic alone could not balk them.

"The Makers set out to make magic universally available, regardless of Chroma zones. With that they could not only halt the machines, they could be forever independent of them. Who needs a machine to fetch food, when he can conjure it himself? To do manual labor, when he can lift and move objects magically? Anything the machines could do, magic could also do. But magic does not seek to do it; it has to be learned and invoked. So magical folk generally don't lose their initiative. However, that risk could be minimized simply by having only a few creatures with the full panoply working to benefit the others.

"The Makers wanted to become what they had never been before: magical creatures independent of Chroma zones. To become the most effective magical creatures ever to exist. But they lacked the time. It would take perhaps another hundred thousand years, even with directed evolution, to make themselves sufficiently apt. In that time the machines would complete their destruction of the galaxy. They had to do it much sooner.

"So they devised a startlingly new way. Instead of developing their bodies to be fully magical, they developed their minds. They devised a way to share those minds with the bodies of creatures who were already magical. It was to be a kind of symbiosis, a collaboration between the galaxy's finest minds and the best bodies of other species."

Havoc paused. "In sum, what the Makers, and especially the Dreamers, were designing was a new form of life that could accept the service of the machines without being corrupted by it. That could practice magic anywhere, because it was transmitted from the zones to their bodies. That was only the beginning. They developed new applications, such as near-future seeing, diffusion, and wormhole expansion, that were immensely useful when required. Understand, the machines' far future seeing is not magical; it is based on calculation. Flip a coin once, the side that settles face-up is chance. Flip it a million times, the two faces will appear virtually evenly. So the far future can be determined by analyzing the initial parameters. But with near future seeing, the first flip can be called. That is a formidable asset. It took the Makers forty thousand years to develop their new devices, and perhaps five thousand more to prepare for their implementation across the galaxy. Only in the last two thousand years have they actually manifested. The remnant Makers still are doing it; Gale encountered one Dreamer who was simply waiting. Waiting for the next prospect to merge with, anywhere in the galaxy. And those exotic new hybrid life forms are—"

He paused. "The Glamors."

The others simply stared. Havoc was wreaking havoc with their comprehension, per his namesake.

"We are the Makers," Havoc continued. "That is why the machines accept us and serve us. We were designed to meet their criteria. All we had to do was ask. Unfortunately we did not know it, and neither did the machines. That is the supreme irony. The minds of the Dreamers reached out and occupied those living creatures that were ready for the transformation. As it happened, the younger the conversion occurred, the more fully the Glamor developed the new powers the remnant Makers had developed. Regardless, we are what we were searching for; it is our Maker component that provides us the extra magical powers we possess. We are perhaps half human, or half any other creature, and half Maker. We are galactic hybrids or symbiotes, like Gale's lichen."

He paused again. The audience continued to stare, stunned by the revelation.

"This also explains another quality of the Glamors. The original Makers suffered a 99% attrition per generation, and had to breed like mad to maintain their population and avoid early extinction. That is no longer the case with them, but the underlying urge remains. We have inherited the urge to mate, and indulge it constantly. We are attractive to normals, so they participate with pleasure. When we encounter each other, we really go at it, as my wife, mistresses, bath girls, and other female associates know."

There was sympathetic laughter. Havoc's way with women, and their way with him, was notorious. Maker hundredfold breeding—that did explain a lot.

"But in going to living creatures they lost their own identities. It was like being born again, as babies. They brought the powers but not their memories. We had to discover the powers ourselves. This is why it took us so ironically long to catch on. But now we have done so. Now we are ready to usher in a new era for the galaxy.

Welcome to the new order."

There was applause, modest at first, but swelling as the full significance sank in. It really was a new order, in nature as well as in personnel.

"Now we need to establish jobs for the machines to do. They will serve all needy living creatures, as directed by the relevant Glamors. The crippled will no longer suffer. The mentally incompetent will have assistance. Those with worthy projects, such as building superior housing or growing better food, will have competent servitors. Such public works will be the department of the competent Mistress of Mistresses, Monochrome, who will be helping not only Charm and Earth, but the rest of the galaxy. There will be a necessary program of defense from threats to galactic welfare, possibly from Andromeda, supervised by my daughter Flame. There will be superior entertainment for all, supervised by my daughter Weft. We will see that the machines have plenty to occupy them. But we will also see that they do not corrupt us by unnecessarily soft living. This is the lesson the remnant Makers learned, and they made Glamors invulnerable to any such subversion. We don't need the machines; what can they do for us that we can't more readily do for ourselves?"

Shee stood behind him, dropping her dress, as breathtakingly lovely as she was crafted to be. "Well..." she said meaningfully.

There was a shout of laughter. "Do for yourself, Sire!" the naughty girl Scent called. "The machine girl dares you!"

"Apart from that," Havoc added hastily. "We will be working out more details in the next few days. Concerning the other services of the machines, I mean." Shee sat down again, nude, smiling, the momentary cynosure.

He paused again, looking around. "I have two remaining items before we adjourn to the dance. First, a song to celebrate our accession. We living folk are ultimately creatures of the soil, having at last achieved dominance over the powers of the inanimate. So I will adapt an old, old song of ancient Earth, though I doubt it was intended for this particular occasion." He gestured to his wife and mistresses. "Ladies, bring forth your instruments." He brought forth his musical dragon scale, opening his mind to them.

Gale set up with her dulcimer, donning her finger hammers. Monochrome drew the sections of her bone flute from her hair and assembled them. Shee dressed and produced her shells.

Then Havoc sang, while the three women provided background voices and instruments.

He led them through all three verses of the rousing declaration. It was a fine song, well sung, expertly and feelingly accompanied, and perfectly reflective of the mood of the occasion. The star of the new day was ascending, after their formidable labors. Apart from that, he absolutely loved performing for an audience. He had always been a minstrel at heart. He had originally trained as a martial artist, and retained those fighting skills, but there were few joys like that of singing on stage. He knew the same was true for Gale, who had become a respectable minstrel in her own right. Monochrome and Shee both loved performing too. Perhaps it was another quality of the Makers: artistry.

They finished, and the audience applauded again. But they were waiting for his second item. What was it?

"As you know," he said as the women faded back, "I did not want to be king. I was co-opted and required to serve, lest I be executed for treason. I was angry but I served. I wanted to resign after a year, but could not; the job was unfinished. I wanted to resign after five years, but could not. After twenty years, but there was another crisis. But now at last the third crisis has been navigated, and I am free to retire."

All of the people were staring at him. They did not like where this was leading.

"My true ambition in life has been to be a traveling minstrel. During my years as king I often left the kingdom in the nominal charge of an emulation, while I wandered afield as Hayseed the Minstrel. Now at last I can indulge that desire. Consider the song we just did: what a minstrel troupe the girls and I could make! So I will turn the kingdom over to my son Warp, who is competent, and go my way with my wife and mistresses, I hope with your blessing."

There was a pause as the others digested this additional surprise. Then they applauded, the loudest and longest yet. They knew it was the right decision, for him.

"Now at last we celebrate," he concluded. "There is abundant food adjacent, and the Mistresses Minstrels will play for dancing. On!"

Gale, Monochrome, and Shee brought out their instruments and played again, a lively dance tune, telepathically coordinated. Havoc, as king until the formal arrangements were made, did the first dances, first with Gale, then Monochrome, then Shee, while the two not dancing played. Thereafter other couples joined in.

Then for Havoc it was women's choice as a line formed to dance with him. And the first in line was—Ennui.

"Surprise," he said as they danced. She was better skilled at this than he expected, though they kept it sedate out of respect for her mortality and age. She did have womanly skills that had been largely suppressed during her service as his personal secretary and effective executive of the kingdom. "I thought you were quit of me."

"I will never be quit of you, Havoc. Now I am doing what I always wanted to do."

"Dancing with me?"

"In part."

"Question?"

"Interacting with you socially. I was not free to do that while I worked for you. It would have been improper."

"Ennui, you could do anything you want with me. You're my oath friend, and I think I would have trusted you without the oath. I do not want to lose your association."

"You are setting up to be a touring minstrel show with your women. You know the bath girls will insist on coming along; they have oriented on you and it would be cruel to deny them."

"Agreement," he said, realizing.

"Which will make it a party of nine right there. Monochrome's three assistants will accompany her, and you will surely be seeing her maid Scent at odd moments, she of the bondage scene. That makes it twelve, with a need for some privacy between presentations. You can't just camp on villages not equipped for such a troupe. You will have to be self-sustaining, providing your own quarters, food, and waste disposal. You will also need a competent itinerary, as there will be thousands of requests and bad feelings by those denied. Coordination will be essential. There will be props to set up, stages to arrange. Who will handle those details?"

"Ennui, you know I'm no good at details! That's why I depend on you. I see I will still need you. I beg you—"

"Don't beg, Havoc. It's not kingly."

He pouted. "Please."

"And you still have obligations, Havoc. Such as siring Opaline's second fourth in two years. You will need to be reminded, because it is not your nature to renege."

"Ennui—"

"So it seems the Lady Aspect and I will have to join your throng, accomplishing our retirement traveling that way. Our husbands should be able to assist; they do have some organizational experience." That was a considerable understatement; the men had helped govern the planet.

She wasn't leaving him! He put his hands under her shoulders and lifted her into the air before him so that her feet dangled.

"Havoc! What are you doing?"

"Something I've wanted to do for a quarter century, but protocol prevented. Kissing you." He slowly brought her face close to his.

She glared at him. "Havoc!"

But she didn't turn her face away.

He kissed her soundly on the mouth. She accepted it fully. There was a special love between them, unlikely as it might have seemed. They had always needed each other. She gave him necessary guidance; he gave her life meaning.

And the applause erupted again. Of course everyone was watching.