Unicorn Point
“The serf Sheen will explain the nature of the proposed game.”
Sheen was ready. “The Dragon Duel would consist of each player guiding an android or cyborg flying dragon whose weapons would be those of the genuine dragons of Phaze: fiery breath and metallic talons. The technology of such creations is available, and the nature of dragons is known. The players will control their dragons in the same manner they control other animals: by projecting commands to them. The dragon that downs its opponent will be the winner.”
“Modification,” Citizen Purple said. “Instead of sending commands, the players will actually ride their dragons. This will make the game far more personal and dramatic.”
That caught Sheen by surprise. She had expected him to be silent, letting her make or break her case. If the committee concluded that the proposed game was impractical, then the square on which she had asked to enter it was forfeit, and her opponent would get to place a choice of his own there. Thus Purple stood a reasonable chance of gaining an advantage merely by keeping his mouth shut. But as it was, he had become a co-proponent of the notion, and so would gain no advantage if it were turned down. This was something he was entitled to do, just as she was entitled to ask for the new game.
The male Citizen on the committee had a question. “Large creature constructs are valuable. How would you justify the waste of resources entailed in shooting down expensive dragons?”
“By making the weapons token, sir,” she replied. “The dragon fire could be a beam of light that would trigger the short-circuiting of key circuits in the victim where it struck. There would be no loss of equipment, and the dragons could be used repeatedly without suffering actual damage.”
The female serf had a question for Purple. “Sir, you say the players will ride the dragons. What if they fall off?”
Citizen Purple eyed her. She was reasonably young and pretty, and flushed becomingly under her gaze. “Harnesses,” he said. “Saddles. No one will fall unless the dragon does, and it will be protected from crashing.”
“The Game facilities are limited,” the female Citizen said. “Where would such a game be played?”
Sheen knew she was in trouble. “I had thought of small dragons, sir. In Phaze there are dragons of all sizes, and some are hardly bigger than birds, and could compete in an existing arena, controlled by sent directives.”
“As it happens,” Purple said, “I have larger models of dragons on my estate at the Purple Mountain Range, that can be ridden. I will make my estate and equipment available to the Game Annex for this limited purpose. There will be no cost to the city.”
Sheen was amazed. Purple was actively pursuing her ploy! She had known he had mock fantasy creatures on his monstrous estate, but had never thought he would offer these for public use. Her notion had been intended to catch his fancy; it had succeeded beyond her expectation.
“How long would it take to set up?” the male citizen inquired.
“No time,” Purple replied grandly. “The dragons and facilities are available now.”
The committee consulted, then voted. The game was judged on feasibility and interest; Citizen Purple’s offer made it feasible, his way, and it was obvious that everyone was interested. The game was accepted.
TERTIARY GRID: ID7G Physical Animal-Assisted Combat, Discontinuous Surface
Cock Fight Owl Bomb Pigeon Kite
Dog Fight Sparrow Spar Eagle Duel
Jet Birds Dragon Duel Hawk Lasso
Sheen realized that she had misplayed her ploy. She had not allowed for the Citizen’s modification, and now the new game was far more to his specification than to hers. Still, the dynamics of managing a flying dragon should be similar, whether done by remote suggestion or direct personal contact.
But they still had the grid to play. Purple had the choice of numbers or letters—and he amazed her again by taking the letters. That gave her the chance to choose row 11 and be guaranteed a game of her choice.
“Take it, luscious,” the Citizen said grandly. “You asked for it, you got it; now put your body where your mouth is.”
He really wanted to play that game! Sheen realized that she was committed; she had asked for it, and had gotten it, and now would look like a bad sport if she didn’t follow through. Of course she should not let appearances interfere with sensible choosing—yet it did seem sensible to her. She had rehearsed the dynamics of flying in the past; she should be able to manage a properly designed dragon.
She touched 11. Immediately the box lighted. They had selected Dragon Duel.
The Citizen’s estate turned out to be capacious indeed. It covered a region of the Purple Mountain Range hundreds of kilometers square. Citizen Blue had the greatest financial leverage, therefore the most power, but he had never gone in for luxurious surroundings. Purple obviously believed in catering to his selfish interests. But it was impressive not only for scale; the detail was intricate. This was a replica of Phaze, so realistic as to be deceptive. Sheen had been there, decades ago when she was new, and her memory banks were untarnished by time; she could appreciate the accuracy of this replication. Purple’s devotion to the image of Phaze was obviously genuine.
Citizen Blue brought in his own crew to check the mechanism of the dragons. They were in perfect working order: giant metal and plastic bodies governed by living animal brains crafted in the laboratory for this purpose. When they were put through test flight, they seemed indeed alive, glaring balefully around as if wishing to chomp the spectators. Probably those living minds hated this servitude, and would indeed attack if not bound by effective strictures.
The dragons were ready. Sheen mounted hers and was given instructions: the creature was responsive to the pressures of the rider’s legs, as with a horse, with additional leg-commands for ascending and descending. It would not react to the human voice, as this was unreliable during wind-sheering maneuvers. It would obey immediately, so that very soon it would seem like an extension of herself. She was also permitted to take off first, so as to gain the feel of it before the combat started.
She was in a saddle, and in a harness that she could not have escaped had she wanted to. She would not fall from the dragon, and it could not crash, because there were repulsive magnetic fields at the ground that would buoy it. She wore goggles to protect her eyes from wind, flying dust, or the bright flashes of the “fire” jets. She, as a robot, had less need of these than a living woman might, but was satisfied to accept any protection offered.
She knew she was outclassed; the Citizen had had decades to perfect his technique on artificial dragons, and would be far superior in the air. But she did have some small assets. She weighed less, for Purple was portly, and since the two dragons were even, hers should have a slight edge in velocity and maneuverability. She also had the ability to catalogue the precise nature of the commands she gave the dragon, and their effects, and repeat these exactly. The living human brain was more sophisticated than hers in most respects, but when it came to rote learning, hers was better. Thus she could quickly calibrate her maneuvers to an extent the arrogant Citizen might not appreciate, and so he could underestimate her. That could be critical!
They launched. The repulsor field came on, and the dragon flapped its great wings, but that was not all. It had downward-pointing nozzles along the underside of its body and wings that jetted air; this provided extra lift. In Phaze the flight of dragons was augmented by magic; the wings alone were not sufficient. Here science did the job. If one dragon flew under another, here, it would be pushed down by the jets; but these were set to splay out so that the effect was not dangerous except at close range. Still, it was a strategy to remain aware of; if she saw Purple’s dragon trying to come down on hers from above, she would get out of the way. In this respect the jets substituted for an attack by the feet; these dragons had no feet.
She had been pondering strategies for the combat from the moment the game had been set. She had to surprise the Citizen in some way, and that was her greatest challeng
e, because her mind was bound to be both less experienced and less original than his. What could she come up with that he would not anticipate? She could think of only one thing—and, like her ploy of choosing a game not on the list, it had to be done only at the end. Only if she was bound to lose anyway would it become worthwhile.
The ride was uneven. The dragon lurched forward and up with each wing-stroke; it would have been almost impossible to remain mounted bareback! She had seen pictures of maidens riding dragons without harness, saddle or reins; indeed, she had read such stories to Mach, bringing him up just like the boy he emulated. But she had felt obliged to explain to him that this was sheer fantasy; only with magic could such riding be done. He had looked and nodded. “Or a spot floating force field,” he had suggested. He had been literal as a robot—but later it had turned out that the seed of magic had indeed taken hold of his soul, and he had found a way to go to Phaze.
Now here she was, a naked woman on a dragon—but the saddle and harness enclosed her to such an extent that she might as well have been clothed. Her arms and legs were mobile, but her body was locked in place. The harness straps were padded, but she knew that a real woman would soon have chafed flesh, because of the violence of the motion.
She pressed with her knees, and the dragon veered immediately. It was responsive, all right! She squeezed in the “down” configuration, and the dragon leveled out, then nosed down. She reversed signals immediately, and it wobbled, then resumed its climb into the bright sky. Already the trees were well below, and the landscape was opening out. Ahead was the impressive slope of the Purple Mountain Range, but behind was a lot of open air.
She decided to experiment. She made the dragon level out, and fly directly toward the mountains, which rose higher than her present elevation. Would it veer clear on its own, or would it obey her?
The dragon turned its head, glancing back at her. Its neck was not limber enough to enable it to aim its head fully back, and as she looked into its baleful red eye, she understood why. The living brain that animated this body hated her, because she was directing it; it would gladly destroy her if it could. It knew it could not—not intentionally. But by accident—perhaps.
The head faced forward again, and the dragon stroked more vigorously forward. It wanted to crash into the slope of the mountain! Since it could not do so literally, what did it think would happen? She tried to analyze the dynamics, and thought she knew.
Sure enough, the dragon plowed into the invisible repulsor field at full speed and glanced off. It did a vertical loop, so that she was upside down. She gave it the roll-over command with her feet, and, reluctantly, it turned over and flew level. It had obviously hoped that the surprise would shake her, perhaps causing her to vomit; it did not know that it had done exactly what she wanted. She had gained a vital bit of information.
Meanwhile, Purple’s dragon had launched. She was required to give him time to assume an elevation similar to her own; thereafter there were no conventions. The better dragonflyer would win—or the more cunning one. She was neither, unless her concluding ploy worked.
All too soon, the Citizen was with her. The duel was on! She knew she could not flee or hide. Her only chance at the outset was attack, to keep the Citizen occupied, and hope she made a lucky score. She guided her steed toward the other.
Purple was not fazed. He oriented his own dragon to come straight at her. A direct collision was impossible; the cyborg dragons would not allow it, tempted though they might be. They would take turns passing above and below each other.
She gave her beast the toe-stab that was the fire command. The dragon dutifully aimed its snout and fired its laser. But this was not an instant thing; the seeming fire curled out visibly. That gave the Citizen time to dodge, and the fire passed below. Then Sheen’s steed was struck by the downblast of the other’s elevation jets, and she had to guide her mount to stability.
She heard something. She craned her neck to look backward—and saw the Citizen’s dragon looping straight up. Then, as it hit the top of its loop, it rolled over and oriented on her. The fire started.
She made her dragon veer to the side, and the jet missed. That was a maneuver she hadn’t thought of! The vertical loop was faster than a horizontal turn would have been; she had almost been caught as a sitting duck, as it were.
She made a horizontal circle. Could she catch him from the side, so that he could not fire back immediately? She tried, but found it to be impractical; the slowness of the fire meant that it would either miss far behind the other dragon or, if aimed sufficiently ahead, be readily avoidable. That slowness—how was that possible, with lasers? It had to be a timed sequence, twin beams invisible until they intersected, then “catching fire” at a distance from the snout. That region of intersection was moved outward as the beams shone, so that the fire progressed forward in the manner of a real flame. Clever—and frustrating for her, because the Citizen was better at these maneuvers than she was.
She would have to get very close to be sure of her shot—and that would make her vulnerable to Purple’s shot. Unless she could close from behind.
She turned to follow the other dragon, and urged her steed forward. Yes—her lighter weight made a difference, and they were gaining! She could close slowly, and toast the other’s tail!
But when the Citizen saw what she was doing, he dived. Now his extra weight helped his steed, and he gained. As they swooped low, he looped up again, and she had to dodge to avoid his shot. But she tried a ploy of her own: after she moved aside, she moved back, orienting on him as he slowed at the top of his loop. If she could catch him now—
But he fired first. She had forgotten that the dragons could move their heads as they fired; they did not have to be straight forward. She had to bank desperately to avoid getting tagged, and did not quite succeed; there was a flare of light at her dragon’s right wingtip, and her ride became ragged. Some of the control circuits had been shorted out, and the wing was crippled.
She was losing in rapid order. It was time to use her final ploy. She guided the dragon upward, and it made erratic progress while the Citizen made a smooth horizontal turn. As his dragon set up for another shot, Sheen gave her mount conflicting commands: climb and dive. It was the kind of error a novice or a flustered combatant would make. A steed who liked its rider and was used to the rider’s ways might have paused, waiting for the correction. This one did not like its rider, so took the pretext to go out of control. It lifted its forepart, let its rearpart drop, blasted with its elevation jets, and spun out of control.
Which was exactly what Sheen wanted.
They plummeted toward the ground, while the Citizen cruised down, orienting for a shot when the repulsor field halted the fall and left the dragon spinning in place. But Sheen started a series of commands just before then, and recovered control. Her dragon had to obey. Instead of crashing in air, the dragon bounced back up, in yo-yo fashion—and as it did, she fired, causing its jet to swing in an arc toward the Citizen’s steed. This was her ploy: to catch the Citizen just when he thought he had a helpless target.
But Purple’s dragon was not hovering, it was circling. Sheen’s shot missed by a wide margin.
Then Purple’s dragon fired from behind her, and she was unable to get up speed to avoid it. She knew before it struck that she was lost. The Citizen had anticipated her, and the victory was his.
The mock fire did not hurt her physically, of course. But she knew she had failed her husband in this most important contest. She had indeed been overmatched, and Citizen Blue would pay the price. Her emotional circuitry took over, and she wept.
Chapter 11
Phoebe
Phoebe perched in her den, desolate. She had done wrong; she knew it. She had let an unharpylike compassion lead her into helping the ‘corn-boy Flach escape—and Translucent had caught her at it. Yet the boy was the foal of the unicorn Fleta, who had befriended her and cured her tailfeather itch, and of the Rovot Adept, who had given her a hairdo
that had made her the Flock Leader. How could she turn Flach away? She knew that a true harpy would have pounced on the boy and offered him up to the Adepts, gleefully reneging on any debt owed his family. By her action she had proved that she lacked the proper harpy attitude. So now she was barred again from the Flock, and there was to be a scratch-off to select a new leader, and she was in the dumps.
Yet such was her depravity, she knew she would do it again. The rovot and unicorn had given her an illicit taste of something virtually unknown in harpydom: friendship. Now she cravenly clung to the notion. She wanted to be among folk who cared for those they were with, instead of perpetually cursing them. So here she was, deprived of the kind of company she no longer desired anyway. She was sorry the lad had been recaptured. It was an irony that he had been hiding from those same folk who had befriended her. But she knew that they did not really want to be on the side of the Adverse Adepts, any more than she did. They too were stuck in a nasty situation.
She went down to her spring and peered at her reflection. Her fright wig was sagging; the rovot’s spell was slowly wearing off. But it had become the mark of her leadership among the harpies of her Flock, and its appeal to her was fading with the appeal of association with the Flock. She was ready to let it dissolve away. But because it was the gift of the rovot, she would not hurry it.
She was hungry, so she hunted. Fortunately for her, this region was rich with small prey, because an Adept enchantment prevented her from leaving it. They were still mulling over her fate; they might kill her, or they might merely maim her, depending on their judgment. If she had any way, she would flee to the other side for sanctuary, but she knew she could not. She was in the same situation as the near-Adept Tania, who it seemed had now helped or tried to help the enemy twice. Had Tania not been the sister of an Adept, and a rather pretty young woman, too, she might have suffered grievously, the first time. Had she not managed to defect, she would certainly have suffered the second time. Phoebe knew the cause of her problem; it was common gossip in the Flock. She had been so foolish as to fall in love with Bane, the son of the Adept Stile. They were working on the same side, so she had not been able to use her Eye on him and bend him to her cruel will; instead he had bent her to his kind will, and thereby destroyed her nature. Even as Phoebe’s nature had been destroyed. Ah, the corruption wrought by exposure to decency!