It was the strangest week of their lives.
Leoh’s plan was straightforward: to test the dueling machine, push it
to the limits of its performance, by actually operating it—by
fighting duels.
They started off easily enough, tentatively probing and flexing their
mental muscles. Leoh had used the dueling machine himself many times
in the past, but only in tests of the machines’ routine performance.
Never in actual combat against another human being. To Hector, of
course, the machine was a totally new and different experience.
The Acquatainian staff plunged into the project without question,
providing Leoh with invaluable help in monitoring and analyzing the
duels.
At first, Leoh and Hector did nothing more than play hide-and-seek,
with one of them picking an environment and the other trying to find
his opponent in it. They wandered through jungles and cities, over
glaciers and interplanetary voids, seeking each other—without ever
leaving the booths of the dueling machine.
Then, when Leoh was satisfied that the machine could reproduce and
amplify thought patterns with strict fidelity, they began to fight
light duels. They fenced with blunted foils—Hector won, of course,
because of his much faster reflexes. Then they tried other
weapons—pistols, sonic beams, grenades—but always wearing protective
equipment. Strangely, even though Hector was trained in the use of
these weapons, Leoh won almost all the bouts. He was neither faster
nor more accurate, when they were target-shooting. But when the two of
them faced each other, somehow Leoh almost always won.
_The machine projects more than thoughts_, Leoh told himself. _It
projects personality._
They worked in the dueling machine day and night now, enclosed in the
booths for twelve or more hours a day, driving themselves and the
machine’s regular staff to near-exhaustion. When they gulped their
meals, between duels, they were physically ragged and sharp-tempered.
They usually fell asleep in Leoh’s office, while discussing the
results of the day’s work.
The duels grew slowly more serious. Leoh was pushing the machine to
its limits now, carefully extending the rigors of each bout. And yet,
even though he knew exactly what and how much he intended to do in
each fight, it often took a conscious effort of will to remind
himself that the battles he was fighting were actually imaginary.
As the duels became more dangerous, and the artificially-amplified
hallucinations began to end in blood and death, Leoh found himself
winning more and more frequently. With one part of his mind he was
driving to analyze the cause of his consistent success. But another
part of him was beginning to really enjoy his prowess.
The strain was telling on Hector. The physical exertion of constant
work and practically no relief was considerable in itself. But the
emotional effects of being “hurt” and “killed” repeatedly were
infinitely worse.
“Perhaps we should stop for a while,” Leoh suggested after the fourth
day of tests.
“No, I’m all right.”
Leoh looked at him. Hector’s face was haggard, his eyes bleary.
“You’ve had enough,” Leoh said quietly.
“Please don’t make me stop,” Hector begged. “I ... I can’t stop now.
Please give me a chance to do better. I’m improving ... I lasted twice
as long in this afternoon’s two duels as I did in the ones this
morning. Please, don’t end it now ... not while I’m completely lost—”
Leoh stared at him. “You want to go on?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if I say no?”
Hector hesitated. Leoh sensed he was struggling with himself. “If you
say no,” he answered dully, “then it will be no. I can’t argue against
you any more.”
Leoh was silent for a long moment. Finally he opened a desk drawer and
took a small bottle from it. “Here, take a sleep capsule. When you
wake up we’ll try again.”
* * * * *
It was dawn when they began again. Leoh entered the dueling machine
determined to allow Hector to win. He gave the youthful Star Watchman
his choice of weapon and environment. Hector picked one-man
scoutships, in planetary orbits. Their weapons were conventional force
beams.
But despite his own conscious desire, Leoh found himself winning! The
ships spiraled about an unnamed planet, their paths intersecting at
least once in every orbit. The problem was to estimate your opponent’s
orbital position, and then program your own ship so that you arrived
at that position either behind or to one side of him. Then you could
train your guns on him before he could turn on you.
The problem should have been an easy one for Hector, with his knack
for intuitive mental calculation. But Leoh scored the first
hit—Hector had piloted his ship into an excellent firing position,
but his shot went wide; Leoh maneuvered around clumsily, but managed
to register an inconsequential hit on the side of Hector’s ship.
In the next three passes, Leoh scored two more hits. Hector’s ship
was badly damaged now. In return, the Star Watchman had landed one
glancing shot on Leoh’s ship.
They came around again, and once more Leoh had outguessed his younger
opponent. He trained his guns on Hector’s ship, then hesitated with
his hand poised above the firing button.
_Don’t kill him again_, he warned himself. _His mind can’t accept
another defeat._
But Leoh’s hand, almost of its own will, reached the button and
touched it lightly. Another gram of pressure and the guns would fire.
In that instant’s hesitation, Hector pulled his crippled ship around
and aimed at Leoh. The Watchman fired a searing blast that jarred
Leoh’s ship from end to end. Leoh’s hand slammed down on the firing
button, whether he intended to do it or not, he did not know.
Leoh’s shot raked Hector’s ship but did not stop it. The two vehicles
were hurtling directly at each other. Leoh tried desperately to avert
a collision, but Hector bored in grimly, matching Leoh’s maneuvers
with his own.
The two ships smashed together and exploded.
Abruptly, Leoh found himself in the cramped booth of the dueling
machine, his body cold and damp with perspiration, his hands
trembling.
He squeezed out of the booth and took a deep breath. Warm sunlight was
streaming into the high-vaulted room. The white walls glared
brilliantly. Through the tall windows he could see trees and people
and clouds in the sky.
Hector walked up to him. For the first time in several days, the
Watchman was smiling. Not much, but smiling. “Well, we broke even on
that one.”
Leoh smiled back, somewhat shakily. “Yes. It was ... quite an
experience. I’ve never died before.”
Hector fidgeted. “It’s uh, not so bad, I guess—It does sort of, well,
shatter you, you know.”
“Yes I can see that now.”
“Another duel?” Hector asked, nodding his head toward the machine.
“Let’s get out of this place for a few hours. Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
They fought seven more duels over the next day and a half. Hector
won three of them. It was late afternoon when Leoh called a halt to
the tests.
“We can still get in another one or two,” the Watchman pointed out.
“No need,” Leoh said. “I have all the data I require. Tomorrow Massan
meets Odal, unless we can put a stop to it. We have much to do before
tomorrow morning.”
Hector sagged into the couch. “Just as well. I think I’ve aged seven
years in the past seven days.”
“No, my boy,” Leoh said gently. “You haven’t aged. You’ve matured.”