So forced by five gravities he burnt low across a sea of
green, a sea not grass but tarnished water. Slammed through the
lower atmosphere beneath a sky of burnished copper.
        "Hatch," said Lupus, over the vidrolator's open channel. "I
see you, Hatch." Hatch ignored him. "Hatch! Hatch! It's me! It's
me! You can run, Hatch. You can run, but you can't hide."
        Hatch had heard that before. When? Oh yes. Standing outside
the lockway, waiting for the outer airlock to open. Some
entertainment hero had said as much to some entertainment villain
on the Eye of Delusions.
        "Idiot," said Hatch.
        Then a pig-panic squeal from the singlefighter alerted him to
danger. Lon Oliver's attack systems had acquired, had locked on,
were ready to blast Hatch to oblivion. Hatch blurted a quick
command: "Prison!"
        Obedient to this command, Hatch's singlefighter sheathed
itself in a force-field which sealed out the world. Now his
singlefighter was sealed off from the outside world, safe from
attack, for the moment invulnerable. But to maintain such a force-
field would cost Hatch dearly. The corrosion cells which powered
his singlefighter would soon be drained by the cost of maintaining
the force-field. But in the meantime Hatch was protected from
anything Lupus might try.
        What now?
        Hatch could run. A singlefighter sheathed with a force-field
was hard to detect, hard to follow. It was almost invisible.
Almost - but not quite. Sensitive instruments could detect the
sheathing force-field itself. Furthermore, the sophisticated radar
systems of the Nexus could detect the patterns of air turbulence
left in the wake of an aircraft, and so could hunt down any flying
machine, regardless of the sophistication of its camouflaging
legerdemain.
        "Sequence," said Hatch, alerting his singlefighter to the
fact that he wanted to give it instructions.
        "Say sequence," said the singlefighter, indicating its
readiness to receive instructions.
        "Maximum self-destruct on ejection plus one."
        So said Hatch. He knew that Lupus would be readying himself
for the attack. When Hatch's singlefighter shed its protective
force-field, it would be momentarily helpless and exposed to
attack. Knowing that, Lupus would probably close the distance and
come in close. Come in close for the kill. That was his fashion,
his style. He liked to be close, close enough to enjoy to the full
the primitive satisfactions of destruction.
        That was his weakness.
        "Sequence received," said the singlefighter, acknowledging
its receipt of orders. Then it repeated those orders so they could
be checked: "Maximum self-destruct on ejection plus one."
        "Sequence continues," said Hatch.
        "Continue sequence."
        "Ejection is simultaneous with liberty."
        "Continuation received," said the singlefighter. "You will
be ejected immediately we have liberty."
        As the command "prison" directed a singlefighter to seal
itself inside a protective force-field, so the reverse-word
"liberty" commanded it to unseal itself.
        "Very well then," said Hatch. "Liberty!"
        The singlefighter shed its protective force-field and ejected
Asodo Hatch. Blasted free by his ejection sheet, he was slammed up
and out. The air smashed him. He heard the taut crack as his back
broke. He was slammed to a whirl-shock of buffeting turbulence as
the world slammed, as the world burst black and blue, blasted by a
double-crash of thunder, of thunder pitched for the shatter. The
visible spectrum split into sub-harmonics of pain, and then -
Then Hatch was in the clear, free from the turbulence, and
given the grace of a lucid moment in which he felt the summer of
the blossoming heat from below. He caught a brief glimpse of the
crumpling fire expanding below him, of the billowing bloom of
destruction.
        He could not say or speak, but thinking was still in his
power. Though only just.
        - Wah!
        Thus thought Asodo Hatch.
        Then thought no more, for he was falling. Lucidity gone, he
fell. He toppled. Down through the gulfs he plummeted. His
ejection seat's parachute did not open. Strapped into that seat,
he dropped downward, doomed down to destruction, his back broken,
his four limbs wrecked and useless.
        Falling, he hit turbulence. Hitting turbulence, he was
whirled sideways, tossed, corkscrewed, cocktailed in a gigantic
blood-shaker, falling wrecked and ruined, a wreck falling toward
wreckage, falling toward the wreckage of the world.
        And then -
        Falling, the seat steadied.
        And, seated on the arc of his downward slide, seated on the
smooth arc of the longest rollercoaster slide in the history of
humanity, Asodo Hatch glimpsed two cinders blistered with flames,
two cinders falling, trailing smoke as they arced down toward the
blazing sea. One of those two charred meteorites was his abandoned
singlefighter. The other was Lupus Lon Oliver's craft, caught in
the flamesmash fireball as Hatch's craft blew itself up.
        - Marshmallows.
        Thus thought Hatch, thought he had no idea why he thought it.
        Then there was time for no further thoughts, for he was falling,
and the smooth arc of his slide was breaking up as he hit
turbulence again, and slammed by the buffeting turbulence he went
shockbursting down toward the green. And now at last he found his
voice. A scream was wrenched from his mouth a moment before
impact, then impact -
        The shock was lethal.
        So he was dead, dead, seated dead in the initiation seat,
eyes starting, panic shuddering in his throat, hands clutching at
the armrests, flesh shuddering.
        "The illusion tank sequence is over," said Paraban Senk, with
those words telling Hatch that his waking dream was done with,
that he was back in the world of the living.
        Hatch moved his jaw cautiously. Tested his tongue.
Heard himself question with a word, a word which sounded as
if spoken by someone else, spoken by a machine:
        "Result?"
        "Partial point in your favor," said Paraban Senk, as calm as
an accountant.
        "Details," said Hatch.
        "You died, but you outsurvived Lon Oliver. You win a partial
point. You win 0.0000057 of a point."
        "Good," said Hatch. "Good."
        "However," said Paraban Senk. "However ... wait one moment.
Ah yes. Lon Oliver is contesting this decision."
        "Contesting?" said Hatch. "What do you mean, contesting?"
        "He claims you have no right to your partial point. He claims
that partial point is contrary to reason. He says there must be an
error in the adjudication software."
        "He thinks I won through computer error?" said Hatch.
        "Precisely," said Paraban Senk. "So he has demanded that the
partial point be wiped."
        "Wah!" said Hatch.
        "I have decided to let Lon Oliver argue his case in Forum
Three," said Senk. "I will then arbitrate on this matter."
        "Will I be able to make my own case?" said Hatch.
        "Not if you sit here all day talking to me," said Senk. "I
think you had better be going."
        So Hatch hastened to Forum Three. He used a side-door which
gave him admission to the small stage which faced the steep-banked
tiers of seats. On that stage was Lupus Lon Oliver.
        Lupus was giving a speech, playing to the gallery for all he
was worth. The speech was not just for the benefit of Paraban
Senk, for Lupus would ultimately be judged not just by the Teacher
of Control, but by his family, his peers, and the Free Corps as a
whole. Manfred Gan Oliver sat stonefaced on one of the tiered
benches, watching his son and passing judgment.
        " - as a warrior," said Lupus, glancing sideways at Hatch.
"But Hatch threw his life away, thereby winning - "
        "My life is as you see it," said Hatch, interjecting
staunchly.
        "He threw it away!" said Lupus. "Threw it away, and so, so
won a cheating point from the derelict machineries of judgment.
Had this been a real war with a real death to match it, what would
he have won? Only our mutual extinction. In the Season, we count
it a victory only when one walks away. Did Hatch's father walk
away? No. He killed himself."
        "My father!" said Hatch, flashing white-hot with rage.
        "Your father!" said Lupus. "Do you deny it? The whole city
saw it. And - and it is said that any man who kills himself hands
a sharp sword to his son. Hatch has accepted the sword. Having
accepted the sword, he has killed himself once already before your
very eyes. As he killed himself in the illusion tanks, so he will
kill himself in the world of the real. And this - this walking
corpse - it thinks it has a future? I see for it a vibrant future
as a suicide."
        The vehemence of Lupus Lon Oliver's attack was such that it
silenced the whole of Forum Three. Hatch was aware that everyone
was watching him, seeing how he would react. His anger was so
extreme that he durst not move, durst not speak, lest he do or say
something extreme.
        - Not yet. Not yet.
        So thought Hatch, distancing himself from the scene, managing
to make himself cold, immobile, stonefaced and continent.
        Yet he knew he would kill Lupus on account of what had been
said. Till then, Hatch had been concerned with the father, not the
son. He had primed Scorpio Fax to kill Manfred Gan Oliver because
the father was a danger, while the rat spawned by that father -
well, it had sharp teeth, admittedly, but it was still a very
small and inconsequential rat.
        But now it was a doomed rat.
        As good as dead.
        "Asodo Hatch," said Paraban Senk. "Are you ready to plead
your case?"
        Hatch breathed deeply.
        Then:
        "I am," said Hatch.
        "Then speak," said Senk.
        "Very well," said Hatch. "This young colleague of mine, Lupus
Lon Oliver, he, he speaks from his youth - and in his youth he is
enamoured with the romantic vision of two men engaged in combat to
the death. He is drunk - "
        "Drunk!" protested Lupus. "I haven't had a drink - "
        "Drunk with machismo," said Hatch, steamrollering over the
interjection. "Intoxicated with visions of the triumph of muscle
and nerve, the victory of brute as brute. But we are not animals
training to die in the Season. Rather, we train for war.
        "In war, merely to outsurvive the enemy can be an advantage.
He who survives can communicate his outsurvival to headquarters,
meaning that the masters he serves will know of the outcome of his
struggle even if he dies shortly thereafter. All things being
otherwise equal, intelligence determines the outcome of wars.
        "By outsurviving Lon Oliver in combat I demonstrated the
ability to - potentially at least - give my headquarters an edge
in intelligence. The fractional point awarded to me may be
construed as being in recognition of the fact that simply to
outsurvive the enemy is of potential military benefit."
        Was this making sense? Hatch hoped so. The truth was that the
games played in the illusion tanks were just that: games. So all
that mattered was to win within the rules. But to say as much
would make him sound like a child too fond of its own cleverness,
and so would be quoted against him. So: so he had to pretend to
take these games absolutely seriously.
        "If that fractional point serves to win me the position of
instructor," said Hatch, "then I say the position is rightly won,
for I achieved my fractional point not by pursuing delusional
dreams of glory in combat, but by applying a mature understanding
of the process of war. I won out of my maturity: out of my mature
understanding. I won as a man wins when in combat with a child,
however monstrous the child in its viciousness."
        "I'm better than you!" said Lupus, shouting. "You fight me
man to man and you're a dead man! You want to fight? Fight me,
then! Fight me, and I'll tear you apart with my bare hands!"
        Hatch smiled. This was good, very good. The boy-child was
tender in his dignity, and was making a fool of himself by his
fist-shaking histrionics.
        "You think this is funny, do you?" said Lupus, advancing on
Hatch.
        "Lon Oliver," said Paraban Senk. "Back off. Back off - now!
Leave the stage and seat yourself."
        With some reluctance, Lupus obeyed. Hatch wondered if Lupus
realized he had made a fool of himself. Asodo Hatch was a very
large and well-coordinated mass of muscle and bone, a monster of a
warrior big enough and bad enough to give the burliest brawler a
fright in a fight. If Lupus Lon Oliver and Asodo Hatch were to
fight it out in Forum Three, it was more than likely that any
smashing of skulls, rending of limbs and extinguishing of life
would be done by Hatch, with young Lupus the probable victim.
        As Hatch watched Lupus seat himself, he was tempted to
comment on his own bigness and Lupus's smallness. He was tempted
to glory in his brawn and muscle, in his undoubted physical
prowess. It was, after all, a severe blow to his ego to admit that
Lupus was the better fighter pilot, faster of reflex and more
adroit in his aerial tactics.
        "There Lupus sits," said Hatch, yielding to temptation.
"There Lupus sits - "
        He brought himself up short. It was all too easy to play the
game of man against man, to play at being a gladiator, a thugfist
brawler, a streetfighter. But Hatch and Lupus were not gladiators
or streetfighters. They were players in a political struggle which
would decide the future of Dalar ken Halvar. In this struggle,
there was more than Hatch's ego at stake. The entire Frangoni
nation might be endangered if the leaders of the Free Corps found
themselves firmly in control of Dalar ken Halvar.
        So Hatch reconsidered, and in a moment saw what he had to
say.
        "There sits Lon Oliver, sulking like a child because I
will not match my weaknesses to his strengths. Well, why should I?
If I were to meet him here and now he would doubtless kill me, for
he is much the bigger man. Bigger he is, and stronger. Look at
him! Admire him! Gan Oliver was a very dragon the night he sired
young Lupus!"
        Lupus sat glowering at Hatch, arms folded, shoulders hunched.
Lupus was no Frangoni, and the Combat College staged no moots, so
Lupus was unused to the rough-and-cut of public debate. Hatch's
sarcasm was telling on him.
        Hatch grinned.
        "Thus," said Hatch, "we see Lupus gigantic in his height,
threatening poor me with massacre. Doubtless he could kill me if
he tried - could swat me down with one obliterating strike of that
yon watermelon he calls his fist. But it is wrong for him to take
such pride in his physical supremacy, for we are not barbarians
seeking to prove who is the stronger brute, who the bloodier
animal. Young Lupus was not born into one of the Wild Tribes of
the entertainments of the Eye of Delusions. Hence his atavistic
yearning for their lifestyle is no more than self-indulgence.
        "We are not primitives. Rather, we are representatives of the
Nexus, the most sophisticated civilization which ever was - and we
must conduct ourselves accordingly."
        With his speech done, Hatch gave a small and formal bow to
his audience, then seated himself. He had spoken in quest of
confirmation of his fractional point, but he had also spoken for
another purpose. He wanted to identify himself with the Nexus, and
to undermine Lupus's credibility with the Free Corps by
portraying him as a would-be primitive, a closet sword-swinger, a
dreamer mentally attuned to the mores of a dark age of
bloodglutted barbarism.
        Everyone in the Free Corps was pledged to the Nexus way, to
the path of rational progress, and no dissenter from the myth of
progress had much of a future with that bunch of pseudoscientific
fanatics.
        "I have heard the arguments," said Paraban Senk, speaking
from the big display screen mounted over Forum Three's stage. "Now
hear my decision. I rule - "
        But Senk did not rule, for there was a disturbance at the
main entrance to Forum Three. Several people were entering, some
injured, others not. Hatch recognized his sister Penelope, tall
and unbowed. And his wife Talanta, shocked and staggering.
        "Order," said Paraban Senk, as students and spectators began
to mob those entering Forum Three. "Order. Order!"
        But Senk was ignored.
        Hatch joined the mob himself, and pushed and shouldered till
he got to his wife.
        "Asodo," said Talanta.
        He enfolded her in his arms. She smelt of smoke. Hatch held
her tight, then realized someone else was clamoring for
attention. It was his beloved daughter Onica. There were scratches
across her left cheek, and her hands -
        "Let's see your hands, child," said Hatch.
        Onica tried to snatch her hands away, but Hatch had them
already. There was blood and skin beneath the fingernails.
        "Who was it?" said Hatch.
        "It's nothing," said Onica, still trying to pull away. "He
didn't do anything. Not when mama hit him."
        "You hit him?" said Hatch to Talanta, still not knowing who
the him in question might have been.
        "Oh, she hit him all right," said Polk the Cash, thus
bringing himself to Hatch's attention.
        "How did you get in here?" said Hatch to the moneylender.
        "As your guest, of course," said Polk. "Thank you. I'm glad
to be here. If not here, I might be with my house. It's ashes,
Hatch. They burnt it. Can you believe it? They have burnt down my
house."
        As the story of the mounting disorder in Dalar ken Halvar
began to emerge in disordered statements, in stammering blurts, in
broken recollections of panic and fear, Hatch saw the Lady Iro
Murasaki - entering Forum Three at the stagger. He broke away from
Polk the Cash and went to her assistance.
        "Stand aside!" said Hatch sharply, dismissing a couple of
Combat Cadets who sought the pleasure of aiding the lady.
Hatch himself took the Lady Iro Murasaki by the arm and led
her to a seat. She sat, dressed in the disarray of a refugee. She
had been struck near the eye, perhaps by a stone; there were
tatters of blood on her cheek. She too was pungent with smoke.
        "Are you all right?" said Hatch.
        "I - I think so," said Murasaki. Then: "The city, it - it's -
half of Scuffling Road is burning."
        Amidst a great confusion of questioning and babbling, some
details began to emerge. A mob had stormed the Frangoni rock. Some
of the Frangoni had stayed to fight, using Temple Isherzan as the
bastion of their defenses. Oboro Bakendra, Hatch's elder brother,
was leading the defense of the temple. Others, including Talanta
and Onica, had fled.
        For her part, the Lady Iro Murasaki had fled from her house
when the Yara invaded Cap Gargle and began to loot and burn the
fine houses on that miniature mountain.
        "It was difficult," said Murasaki. "The city - there's gangs,
mobs, burning - but there was nobody at the lockway."
        "Of course not," said Hatch. "There's nothing worth looting
there. Not now."
        "But there were some Free Corps people," said Murasaki. "Some
of them - Asodo, I've heard that some of them are waiting there to
kill you."
        "I wouldn't be surprised," said Hatch.
        Then he disengaged himself from the Lady Iro Murasaki,
because Paraban Senk was calling Forum Three to order. The Teacher
of Control was about to announce the results of the adjudication
of the fight between Asodo Hatch and Lupus Lon Oliver.
        Hatch seated himself.
        Then Senk gave his decision.
        "The situation is simple," said Senk. "Asodo Hatch ejected
from his singlefighter. That war machine then blew itself up.
Lupus Lon Oliver's singlefighter was close to the explosion. It
was destroyed. Lupus died instantly. Hatch was mortally injured,
but nevertheless lasted for a little longer, thereby outsurviving
his opponent. The military value of such outsurvival in this
particular instance was doubtless zero. Nevertheless, Hatch
displayed resource, initiative, ingenuity and daring. He was
thinking along the right lines, whereas there is no evidence to
suggest that Lon Oliver was thinking at all. Accordingly, I
confirm the partial point awarded to Asodo Hatch. His score:
0.0000057 of a point. Lon Oliver's score: nothing. Combatants
should now proceed to the combat bays for the second round of this
competition."
        "The second round!" said Hatch.
        "Do you wish to participate in the second round or not?" said
Senk. "You have the option of dropping out. If you wish. Victory
will then of course be automatically awarded to Lupus Lon Oliver."
        "Forget I spoke," said Hatch. "Of course I'll fight."
        Then, in obedience to the dictates of the Combat College,
Asodo Hatch and Lupus Lon Oliver proceeded to the combat bays and
entered the world of the illusion tanks.
        Hatch could only stay in the Combat College if he won the
instructorship. If he lost his battles with Lupus then he would be
forced to leave with his guests, and then he would die outside the
lockway as surely as an outclassed gladiator dies in the Grand
Arena of the City of Sun.
        When Hatch entered the combat bay, he made sure that the door
sealed itself before he sat in the initiation seat.
        "You have more visitors," said Senk, as Hatch seated himself.
        "Visitors?" said Hatch.
        "Some beggars."
        "Where are they?" said Hatch, wondering if someone from the
outside world had sent a message to him by such a medium.
        "They are being washed," said Paraban Senk. "Do you wish to
talk with them? I can delay combat."
        Hatch gave it but a moment's consideration, then:
        "No. No. I will fight now."
        "Your combat assignment, then. Singlefighters again. Over the
jungles of Iridian Two. You will access the combat scenario to
find your fighter stabilized in the upper realms of the jungle
canopy. Heavy interference prevails to the extent that all your
instruments are dead. Your opponent of course is in an identical
predicament, but when interference ends you will be able to seek
him out. The scenario starts with the singlefighters not less than
ten and not more than fifty luzacs distant from each other."
        "When does interference end?" said Hatch.
        "Shortly. Are you ready?"
        "Yes," said Hatch.
        "Then," said Senk, "let combat begin."