Unicorn Point

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 Cit izen in some way, and that was her greatest challenge, be cause 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 wingstroke; 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 be hind 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, be cause 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 re quired to give him time to assume an elevation similar to her own; thereafter there were no conventions. The better dragon-flyer 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.