The morning of the duel arrived, and precisely at the agreed-upon hour,
Odal and a small retinue of Kerak representatives stepped through the
double doors of the dueling machine chamber.
Hector and Leoh were already there, waiting. With them stood another
man, dressed in the black-and-silver of the Star Watch. He was a
blocky, broad-faced veteran with iron-gray hair and hard, unsmiling
eyes.
The two little groups of men knotted together in the center of the
room, before the machine’s control board. The white-uniformed staff
meditechs emerged from a far doorway and stood off to one side.
Odal went through the formality of shaking hands with Hector. The
Kerak major nodded toward the other Watchman. “Your replacement?” he
asked mischievously.
The chief meditech stepped between them. “Since you are the challenged
party, Major Odal, you have the first choice of weapon and
environment. Are there any instructions or comments necessary before
the duel begins?”
“I think not,” Odal replied. “The situation will be self-explanatory.
I assume, of course, that Star Watchmen are trained to be warriors and
not merely technicians. The situation I have chosen is one in which
many warriors have won glory.”
Hector said nothing.
“I intend,” Leoh said firmly, “to assist the staff in monitoring this
duel. Your aides may, of course, sit at the control board with me.”
Odal nodded.
“If you are ready to begin, gentlemen,” the chief meditech said.
Hector and Odal went to their booths. Leoh sat at the control console,
and one of the Kerak men sat down next to him.
* * * * *
Hector felt every nerve and muscle tensed as he sat in the booth,
despite his efforts to relax. Slowly the tension eased, and he began
to feel slightly drowsy. The booth seemed to melt away ...
He was standing on a grassy meadow. Off in the distance were wooded
hills. A cool breeze was hustling puffy white clouds across the calm
blue sky.
Hector heard a snuffling noise behind him, and wheeled around. He
blinked, then stared.
It had four legs, and was evidently a beast of burden. At least, it
carried a saddle on its back. Piled atop the saddle was a
conglomeration of what looked to Hector—at first glance—like a pile
of junk. He went over to the animal and examined it carefully. The
“junk” turned out to be a long spear, various pieces of armor, a
helmet, sword, shield, battle-ax and dagger.
_The situation I have chosen is one in which many warriors have won
glory._ Hector puzzled over the assortment of weapons. They came
straight out of Kerak’s Dark Ages. No doubt Odal had been practicing
with them for months, even years. He may not need five helpers.
Warily, Hector put on the armor. The breastplate seemed too big, and
he was somehow unable to tighten the greaves on his shins properly.
The helmet fit over his head like an ancient oil can, flattening his
ears and nose and forcing him to squint to see through the narrow
eye-slit.
Finally, he buckled on the sword and found attachments on the saddle
for the other weapons. The shield was almost too heavy to lift, and he
barely struggled into the saddle with all the weight he was carrying.
And then he just sat. He began to feel a little ridiculous. _Suppose
it rains?_ he wondered. But of course it wouldn’t.
After an interminable wait, Odal appeared, on a powerful trotting
charger. His armor was black as space, and so was his animal.
_Naturally_, Hector thought.
Odal saluted gravely with his great spear from across the meadow.
Hector returned the salute, nearly dropping his spear in the process.
Then, Odal lowered his spear and aimed it—so it seemed to
Hector—directly at the Watchman’s ribs. He pricked his mount into a
canter. Hector did the same, and his steed jogged into a bumping,
jolting gallop. The two warriors hurtled toward each other from
opposite ends of the meadow.
And suddenly there were six black figures roaring down on Hector!
The Watchman’s stomach wrenched within him. Automatically he tried to
turn his mount aside. But the beast had no intention of going anywhere
except straight ahead. The Kerak warriors bore in, six abreast, with
six spears aimed menacingly.
Abruptly, Hector heard the pounding of other hoofbeats right beside
him. Through a corner of his helmet-slit he glimpsed at least two
other warriors charging with him into Odal’s crew.
Leoh’s gamble had worked. The transceiver that had allowed Dulaq to
make contact with the dueling machine from his hospital bed was now
allowing five Star Watch officers to join Hector, even though they
were physically sitting in a starship orbiting high above the planet.
The odds were even now. The five additional Watchmen were the
roughest, hardiest, most aggressive man-to-man fighters that the Star
Watch could provide on a one-day notice.
Twelve powerful chargers met head on, and twelve strong men smashed
together with an ear-splitting CLANG! Shattered spears showered
splinters everywhere. Men and animals went down.
Hector was rocked back in his saddle, but somehow managed to avoid
falling off.
On the other hand, he could not really regain his balance, either.
Dust and weapons filled the air. A sword hissed near his head and
rattled off his shield.
With a supreme effort, Hector pulled out his own sword and thrashed at
the nearest rider. It turned out to be a fellow Watchman, but the
stroke bounced harmlessly off his helmet.
It was so confusing. The wheeling, snorting animals. Clouds of dust.
Screaming, raging men. A black-armored rider charged into Hector,
waving a battle-ax over his head. He chopped savagely, and the
Watchman’s shield split apart. Another frightening swing—Hector
tried to duck and slid completely out of the saddle, thumping
painfully on the ground, while the ax cleaved the air where his head
had been a split-second earlier.
Somehow his helmet had been turned around. Hector tried to decide
whether to thrash around blindly or lay down his sword and straighten
out the helmet. The problem was solved for him by the _crang!_ of a
sword against the back of his helmet. The blow flipped him into a
somersault, but also knocked the helmet completely off his head.
* * * * *
Hector climbed painfully to his feet, his head spinning. It took him
several moments to realize that the battle had stopped. The dust
drifted away, and he saw that all the Kerak fighters were down—except
one. The black-armored warrior took off his helmet and tossed it
aside. It was Odal. Or was it? They all looked alike. _What difference
does it make?_ Hector wondered. _Odal’s mind is the dominant one._
Odal stood, legs braced apart, sword in hand, and looked uncertainly
at the other Star Watchmen. Three of them were afoot and two still
mounted. The Kerak assassin seemed as confused as Hector felt. The
shock of facing equal numbers had sapped much of his confidence.
Cautiously, he advanced toward Hector, holding his sword out before
him. The other Watchmen stood aside while Hector slowly backpedaled,
stumbling slightly on the uneven ground.
Odal feinted and cut at Hector’s arm. The Watchman barely parried in
time. Another feint, at the head, and a slash into the chest; Hector
missed the parry but his armor saved him. Grimly, Odal kept advancing.
Feint, feint, crack! and Hector’s sword went flying from his hand.
For the barest instant everyone froze. Then Hector leaped desperately
straight at Odal, caught him completely by surprise, and wrestled him
to the ground. The Watchman pulled the sword from his opponent’s hand
and tossed it away. But with his free hand, Odal clouted Hector on the
side of the head and knocked him on his back. Both men scrambled up
and ran for the nearest weapons.
Odal picked up a wicked-looking double-bladed ax. One of the mounted
Star Watchmen handed Hector a huge broadsword. He gripped it with both
hands, but still staggered off-balance as he swung it up over his
shoulder.
Holding the broadsword aloft, Hector charged toward Odal, who stood
dogged, short-breathed, sweat-streaked, waiting for him. The
broadsword was quite heavy, even for a two-handed grip. And Hector did
not notice his own battered helmet laying on the ground between them.
Odal, for his part, had Hector’s charge and swing timed perfectly in
his own mind. He would duck under the swing and bury his ax in the
Watchman’s chest. Then he would face the others. Probably with their
leader gone, the duel would automatically end. But, of course, Hector
would not really be dead; the best Odal could hope for now was to win
the duel.
Hector charged directly into Odal’s plan, but the Watchman’s timing
was much poorer than anticipated. Just as he began the downswing of a
mighty broadsword stroke, he stumbled on the helmet. Odal started to
duck, then saw that the Watchman was diving face-first into the
ground, legs flailing, and that heavy broadsword was cleaving through
the air with a will of its own.
Odal pulled back in confusion, only to have the wild-swinging
broadsword strike him just above the wrist. The ax dropped out of his
hand, and Odal involuntarily grasped the wounded forearm with his left
hand. Blood seeped through his fingers.
He shook his head in bitter resignation, turned his back on the
prostrate Hector, and began walking away.
Slowly, the scene faded, and Hector found himself sitting in the booth
of the dueling machine.