Alp gave up in disgust. It was impossible to change the basic nature of giants! He returned his attention to his own, Uigur.
'Throw the Mongol off!' Alp cried—and in Day 508 under his direction Uigur did just that, rebelling from Avar's dominion. But eight Days later Avar returned to cut off Uigur's head and make him vassal again. Five days later Uigur tried another revolt but didn't succeed. So in 545 he got clever and enlisted the help of his Turk cousin T'u- cheh. 'Together,' he whispered, 'we Turks can finish the Mongol!' But T'u-cheh pusillanimously warned Avar, and Uigur was foiled again.
After that T'u-cheh, whose name meant 'strong,' conspired with another giant against Avar, and beat Avar and drove him out, and took over his territory. Alp-Uigur, who had started all this, got nothing; in fact he now had to be vassal to the other Turk!
Alp had a headache. This business of forming empires was fraught with pitfalls! But he kept trying—and after many further ups and downs Uigur succeeded in throwing off Turk dominance and prevailing over the other giants of Steppe. At last he had come into his own—in 744.
Uigur became allied with T'ang of China. Uigur provided most of the military power and T'ang most of the civilization. But soon Uigur himself became civilized, literate, and altogether too nice for his own good. He took to painting pictures and playing music and writing books. He invented his own script. He got religion. He became the most educated giant Steppe had ever had.
Alp woke refreshed. Now he understood the Game. The cartoon summary and his actual experience in life plus his knowledge of the next several years gave him a useful advantage. But all too soon the Game would catch up!
He had to have new information on the future! But how was he to obtain it?
The Game Machine knew the full course of events. It could run the summary all the way to the end. If it were possible to outwit the Machine and get a copy of the full Game plan—then he would indeed know the future!
That, actually, had been what the four original demons had been trying to do, in their way, when they fetched him here! Now he had some sympathy for their position. They had gambled ingeniously, stepping right out of the framework of the Game. Had they succeeded in fetching a man from a century in the Game-future, instead of a mere decade—and had he been more amenable to their management—they could have scored tremendously.
Demons? They had been bold men, risking everything to get ahead. His kind. He could deal with them now— and perhaps he should. They were out of the Game, having lost all their resources in the time-fetching effort, so they should be eager for a chance to earn back some points.
But players were not permitted to step blithely in and out of the Game. They entered formally by registering with the Machine and paying the entry fee, and they departed when their parts terminated. How had the four demons gotten below? Had they already washed out—or had they had active parts waiting for exploitation, the moment they returned with their information?
Regardless, Alp had to maintain his present part, until he acquired enough points to buy in again. Even if he did reasonably well this time, he had little assurance that his next part would match that performance. He needed a good long-range insight, so as to be able to select superior parts and multiply his assets.
The framework of the Game spanned the entire galaxy. So did the contemporary civilization. How were the two kept separate? On an individual planet it was simple: the Game was played on the sealed-off upper level, the Gameboard. But in space—what was to prevent a ship from crossing over, one way or the other? Could he ride his horse right into the other framework and back?
No, his memory informed him. The Game pieces were marked, both animate and inanimate, keyed to the Game universe. And the galaxy used efficient thousand-passenger ships to cross space, not one-man horses. Attempted crossover would set off an instant alarm. Few if any sneaks succeeded.
But Alp was not an ordinary player. He had a scheming Uigur mind. Now he had a notion how to do it.
'You foresaw accurately,' Uga said, back at their homecamp. 'We failed—but survived—and now I do feel a certain antipathy for the decadent T'ang. I do not like traps—when they are laid against me.'
'I told you nothing that was not already plain to you,' Alp said.
Uga smiled. 'No, you told me much. Had you been an agent of the Khagan's, you would have seen to it that I died in China. Instead you fought hard and well—very well!—on my behalf. I never saw such a demon in battle!'
'Still not proof,' Alp said. 'I could not void the Game plan for your part any more than the Emperor could.'
'Yet you can participate with greater or lesser enthusiasm. I watched you, while I tempted you. I am satisfied. You have the true nomad spirit.'
True, necessarily. But how would this Galactic know? 'In your position, I would not be satisfied,' Alp said.
'I have proffered you my trust. Why do you not accept it?'
Alp had already wrestled with this problem and come to his necessary conclusion. To accept trust was to return it—and that added a dimension to the problem. The Uga of history he would not have trusted—but the Uga of the Game was of different stuff. 'I will tell you my story. Trust me then, if you can.'
And he summarized his situation as honestly as he could. Uga listened at first with obvious reservation, then with intensifying interest.
'...and so I came here, using my knowledge of these ten years to impress you,' Alp concluded. 'But very soon the Game will pass my time, and my usefulness will expire. I might have conspired with that girl Kokachin to extend it, but she—'
'She only played a part,' Uga reminded him.
'Yes, of course.' But still that something nagged at him. Pointless infatuation with a Galactic child who was out of the Game anyway.
'I believe you,' Uga said. 'There are mysteries about you that only such origin explains. Such as your acceptance of my leadership despite your obviously superior qualities. You—'
