The Dueling Machine

“But we never depended on our neighbors for our own defense,” a newsman said. “Those so-called allies of ours were more of a drain on our treasury than a help to us.”

“But Kerak now has the industrial base of Szarno and outposts that flank Prime Minister Martine’s new defense line.”

“Kerak would never dare attack us, and if they did, we’d beat them just as we did the last time.”

“But an alliance with the Commonwealth…”

“We don’t need it. Kanus is a paper tiger, believe me. All bluff, all dueling machine trickery, but no real strength. He’ll probably be deposed by his own people in another year or two.”

Something made Hector shift his gaze from the semicircle of sonorous solons to the technical crews working the cameras and laser lights. Something made him squint into the pooled shadows far in the back of the studio, where a single tall, slim man stood. Hector couldn’t see his face, or what he was wearing, or the color of his hair. Only the knife-like outline of a figure that radiated danger: Odal.

Without thinking twice about it, Hector pushed past the crowd in the control booth toward the door. He stepped on toes and elbowed technicians in the backs of their heads in his haste to get out into the studio, leaving a wake of muttering, sore-rubbing people behind him. He went right past Geri, who stepped back out of his way but refused to say anything to him or even look directly into his eyes.

The door from the control booth led into a small entryway that had two more doors in it: one to the outside hallway and one to the studio. A uniformed guard stood before the studio door.

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t go in while the show’s in progress.”

“But… I saw someone come in the back way… into the studio…”

Shrugging, the guard said, “Must be a member of the camera crew. No one else allowed in.”

Hector blinked once, then went to the hall door. The corridor outside circled the studio. At least, he thought it did. He followed it around. Sure enough, there was another door with a blinking red light atop it, labeled STUDIO C. Hector pushed the door open. Inside, in the focus of a circle of lights and cameras, a man and woman were locked in a wild embrace.

“Hey, who opened the door?”

“Cut! CUT! Get that clown out of here! Can’t even tape a simple scene without tourists wandering into the studio! Of all the…”

Hector quickly shut the door, closing off a string of invective that would have made his old drillmaster back at the Star Watch Academy grin with appreciation.

Which studio are they in?

As if in answer, farther down the hall a door opened and Odal stepped out. He was not in uniform; instead he wore a simple dark tunic and slacks. But it was unmistakably Odal. He glanced directly at Hector, a sardonic smile on his lips, then started walking the other way. Hector chased after him, but Odal disappeared around a bend in the almost featureless corridor.

A door was closing farther down the hall. Hector sprinted to it and yanked it open. The room was dark. He stepped in.

In the faint light from the hallway, Hector saw row after row of life-sized tri-di viewscreens, each flanked by a desk of control and monitoring equipment. A tape viewing room, he reasoned. Or maybe an editing room.

He walked hesitantly toward the center of the room. It was big, filled with the bulky screens and desks. Plenty of room to hide in. The door snapped shut behind him, plunging the room into total darkness.

Hector froze rock-still. Odal was in here. He could feel it. Gradually his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. He turned slowly and began retracing his steps toward the door, only to bump into a chair and send it clattering into its desk.

“You defeated me in the dueling machine,” Odal’s voice echoed calmly through the room. “Now let’s see if you can defeat me in real life. This room is soundproof. We are alone. No one will disturb us.”

“Uh… I’m unarmed,” Hector said. It was hard to trace the source of Odal’s voice. The echoes spoiled any chance of locating him in the darkness.

“I’m also unarmed. But we are both trained fighting men. You have no doubt had standard Star Watch hand- to-hand combat training.”

The painful memory of fumbling through the rough-and-tumble courses at the Star Watch Academy surged through Hector’s mind. What he remembered most vividly was laying flat on his back with his instructor screaming, “No, no, no!” at him.

Odal stepped out from behind a full-length view screen. “You seem less than eager to do battle with me. Perhaps you’re afraid that you’ll hurt me. Let me demonstrate my qualifications.”

Odal’s foot lashed into one of the desk chairs, smashing its fragile frame against the tough plastic of the view screen. The chair disintegrated. Then he swung an edge-of-the-hand chop at the top of the nearby desk: the metal dented with a loud crunk!

Hector backed away until he felt another desk pressing against his legs. He glanced behind him and saw that it was some sort of master control unit, long and filled with complicated switches’ and monitor screens. Several roller chairs lined its length.

Odal was advancing on him. Something in the back of Hector’s mind was telling him to run away and hide, but then he heard the barking voice of his old instructor insisting, “The best defense is a fast, aggressive attack.” Hector took a deep breath, planted his feet solidly, and launched himself at Odal.

Only to find himself twisted around, lifted off his feet, and thrown back against the desk, banging painfully against the switches.

“LOOKING FOR THE IDEAL VACATION PARADISE?” a voice boomed at them. From behind Odal’s shoulder a girl in a see-through spacesuit did a free-fall somersault. Hector blinked at her, and Odal looked over his shoulder, momentarily amazed. The voice blared on, “JOIN THE FUN CROWD AT ORBIT HOUSE, ACQUATAINIA’S NEWEST ZERO-GRAVITY RESORT.…”

Through his mind flashed another maxim from his old instructor: “Whenever possible, divert your opponent’s attention. Create confusion. Feint, maneuver!”

Hector rolled off the desktop and ran along the master control unit, pounding every switch in sight.

“TIRED OF BEING CALLED SHORTY?” A disgruntled young man, standing on tiptoes next to a gorgeous, statuesque redhead, appeared beside Odal. The Kerak major involuntarily stepped back.

“THE IRRESISTIBLE PERFUME,” a seductive blonde materialized before his eyes, speaking smokily.

“MODERN SCIENCE CAN CURE ANY DISEASE, BUT WHEN EMBARRASSING…” said a medic, radiating sincerity and concern.

Odal was surrounded by solid-looking, life-sized, tri-di advertising pitches.

“WHEN YOU’VE EATEN MORE THAN YOU SHOULD…”

“THE NORMAL TENSIONS OF MODERN LIFE…

“FOR THE ULTIMATE IN FEMININE…”

Eyes goggling, Odal saw himself being pressed backward by a teenage dancer, an “average family” mother, a worried young husband, a nervous businessman, a smiling teen couple, a crowd of surfers, a chorus of animated vegetables. Suddenly bellowing with rage, Odal dived through the pleading, cajoling, urgent figures and threw himself at the long control desk.

“You can’t hide from me!” he roared, and he started punching at the control switches, banging the desk panels with both fists.

“Who’s hiding?” Hector yelled from behind him.

Odal turned and swung heavily at the voice. Startled, he saw his fist whisk through the impalpable jaw of a lovely girl in a skimpy bathing suit. She smiled at him and continued selling. “… AND WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR SOMETHING REALLY REFRESHING…”

Hector had ducked away. Odal turned and chased after the Watchman, trying to follow him as he flickered in and out among the dozens of tri-di images that were dancing, urging, laughing, drinking, eating, taking pills, worrying…

“You coward!” Odal screamed over the babble of sales talk.

“Why should I fight you?” Hector hollered back from somewhere across the room.

Odal squinted, trying to see through the gyrating tri-di figures. “You tricked me in the dueling machine but