Unicorn Point

He filled Laser Duel: Eagle in the L column. In this, the eagles were artificial, being cyborgs in eagle form. Their liv ing brains qualified them as animals. Each carried a laser pistol that it could fire straight ahead. If a score was made, the victim’s system shorted out and the bird fell to the net below. This one was a favorite with the younger players, es pecially the males; they loved to fire lasers, even vicariously, and chortled when an eagle spun out of control.  Now there was one box left to fill, UK. She would have her row, but since she would have to work from the letters, she had no chance to benefit from it. She had a better ploy, and this was the time for it.

“Dragon Duel,” she said.

A word lighted below her grid: ERROR—NO SUCH GAME EXISTS.

“But it fits the category,” she said. “The listed choices are only suggestions; the players can choose what they wish, as long as they remain within the definitions of the encounter.” She glanced up at Purple. “Isn’t that correct, sir?”

The Citizen netted his gaze from her bosom. “True, doxie. You want it, you can have it.”

“I want it.”

Now the voice of the Game Computer sounded. “An extension of the game options has been proposed. Judgment Committee number 452 report immediately to Game Console 23.”

Purple licked his lips. “You really want to do this, peaches?” he inquired with relish. He, as a Phaze fan, had long experience with mocked-up dragons.

“I do.”

“I’ll make you a side deal, sweetbuns. I’ll give you that arena—”

“No deal,” she snapped. She might win or she might lose, but she had no intention of committing her body to his lechery in addition. Her ploy was that he would be so intrigued by the new contest that he would elect to play it anyway.  There was a stir in the audience chamber as the members of the Judgment Committee arrived. A number of the watchers evidently had not known that specific games or even categories could be added in this manner. To have it happen during a contest as important as this was rare excitement.  The committee consisted of one female Citizen, one male Citizen, one female serf, one male serf, and the Game Computer, represented by a humanoid robot whose outer surface was transparent so that its wires, hydraulics and electronic components showed. It took charge at once.  “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.”