Chapter 10: The Tourney
"So, what was it that you wanted to talk about?" Bob asked. The party had ended, and everyone was leaving. While Dot, AndrAIa and both Enzos were staying to help with the clean-up, Bob and Galatea had gone into the corridor to speak.
"Well," Galatea began, "Lady Dot asked me what I intended to do, since I had discovered my true nature." She sighed. "I did not have a good answer for her then — there were other concerns that needed attending to. But now I know," she nodded confidently, "And that is what I wished to discuss with thee."
Bob grinned at her. "So, what exactly are you planning to do?" He didn't really need to ask, though; he was certain of the answer.
"Warning: Incoming Game. Warning: Incoming Game." Matrix was playing fetch with Frisket in Floating Point when he heard the alarm. He looked up to see where the Game was going to land — on the other side of the sector, not too far away. Frisket was already headed for the descending cube at full speed. Matrix grinned as he pulled his zipboard off his belt, maximized it, and jumped onto the discs. Then, rising into the air, he flew in the direction Frisket had gone.
As he got close to the Game cube, he saw two other sprites heading for it — Bob, flying without a zipboard, and Galatea, who had been a Guardian cadet for about a week. If it had been up to Matrix, she wouldn't be playing Games at all, and she certainly wouldn't be a cadet. She wasn't BASIC, but she was still baffled by everyday, common-sense things that most dataforms didn't have to think twice about. Bob should have waited a few minutes — maybe even a day — for her to get acclimated before giving her a field commission.
By the same token, though, Bob should not made Matrix a cadet when he was barely 10. So Matrix had concluded that, while he didn't understand Bob's decision, there must have been a good reason for it. And he had to admit that Galatea certainly had potential.
Frisket was already under the Game cube, running around in circles, barking excitedly at Matrix as he descended to the ground. Matrix hopped off his zipboard and minimized it. Bob and Galatea landed near him as he fastened the zipboard to his belt. And none too soon, either, for the Game was only ten micrometers above the ground.
"Change your icon," Bob said to Galatea. She still preferred to wear her Game sprite icon most of the time, another aspect of her behavior that irked Matrix. She also wore it in the center of her chest, a little higher up than where Hexadecimal wore her own icon, rather than wearing it over her heart as most Guardians did. This little eccentricity wasn't worth an argument, though, so Matrix let it pass.
Galatea double-clicked her medallion-in-a-triangle icon, transforming it into a Guardian icon just before the cube came down over them. They were now standing in the center of a large elliptical arena of packed dirt. Along the two sides of the arena were tiers of wooden benches; the seats were occupied by cheering Game sprites. From the clothing they were wearing, Matrix could tell that this game was supposed to be in a medieval setting. Tall poles rose from the outer frames of the seating boxes, and from these, multicolored pennants waved.
At one end of the field was a seating box, hung with bunting, in which there were three chairs. The biggest and most elaborate one, in the middle of the box, was occupied by a large man with white hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a crown and a red robe lined with white fur; he also carried a scepter in one hand. To his right there sat a middle-aged woman, wearing a heavily embroidered dress of dark blue. She too wore a crown, though it was not as big as that of the male sprite. On the other side of the great chair there sat a slim, fair-skinned young woman in a gown of light blue. She had long, golden hair, topped by a diamond tiara. On either side of the box there stood three heralds. Each herald in the group on the left carried a long silver trumpet and wore a blue tabard with a picture of a standard icon on the front. The ones on the right were similar, but their tabards were red and blue, decorated with a lion rampant in yellow, and their trumpets were gold.
The other side of the field was open, and Matrix could see multicolored tents beyond it. There were also sprites moving among the tents — most of them were like the those sitting on the tiers, but some of them were horses.
"'Tis a tourney!" Galatea cried enthusiastically. She looked at the seating box at one end of the field. "A royal tourney. I won a prize at…" Realizing that she was recalling a memory of something that had not actually happened, she fell silent, deflated. "What are the Game statistics?" she asked desultorily.
"Well, you were right. It's a tourney," Bob told her. "There are five events: jousting, wrestling, horse racing, archery, and quarterstaff dueling. The User can choose them in any order it wants. It was to win three of them to win the Game." Bob looked around. "Ii hasn't shown up yet. I don't think it will until it's selected the first event."
"We should get out of the arena before it does," Matrix suggested, gesturing toward the tents. "I don't want to end up in the middle of a firing range with no warning." Bob nodded, and the sprites set off for the tents at a brisk pace, with Frisket following.
When they reached the tents, Matrix halted, and the others followed suit. "Okay. I think we'll be fine here."
"Then let's get ready to play the Game," Bob said. "Reboot!"
"Reboot!" Matrix and Galatea chimed in simultaneously. Matrix rebooted Frisket as well, before looking to see what assets the Game had given them.
Matrix found himself wearing a leather jerkin, and a pair of short trousers that reached down to just above his knees. He didn't seem to have any other equipment — so he was probably a wrestler. He looked at his companions.
Bob was clothed in a blue tunic, breeches, and brown ankle-high boots. On the front of his tunic was a design that looked like a standard black-and-white icon. He didn't seem to be carrying any weapons or other equipment, which made Matrix a little worried.
Galatea was wearing a suit of armor — not golden, like her original armor, but steel. Over it she wore a blue tabard with an icon design, like the ones the heralds with silver trumpets were wearing. The suit of armor, however, was not complete — she had no helmet or gauntlets, and like Matrix and Bob she was weaponless.
Frisket had rebooted into a horse, and he was not very pleased about it. He looked positively outrageous with his bright red-and-yellow fur (well, hair), especially compared to the other horses who were of a more subdued color scheme. What made it even worse was the blue-and-silver color scheme his reins and saddle had been decorated with — the clash of colors made the poor canine/equine a terrible eyesore. And all that horse barding must have made him terribly uncomfortable. Frisket made a strangled noise that sounded like a whimper, except he didn't have the vocal equipment for it.
"Why don't we have any weapons?" Bob asked, sounding a little worried. Matrix was wondering about that too. It didn't help any when he heard the trumpets, and an ambient voice calling, "The first event shall be…the quarterstaff duel!" There was a loud cheer from the audience. Matrix turned around to look at the arena and see what was happening.
There was now a wooden catwalk in the center of the arena, set up perpendicular to the long audience boxes. The catwalk, about ten micrometers long, five high, and one wide, was suspended over what looked like a mud pit. At each end of the catwalk there was a set of steps.
"Combatants, enter the field!" Matrix moved aside as two men jogged past him out into the arena. Each one carried a pole more than a micrometer in length — the quarterstaves. One of the men was a Game sprite, dressed in light blue with the icon symbol on his chest. The other one was undoubtedly the User, in crimson and royal blue, emblazoned with a lion rampant in yellow. Matrix tried to follow them, but at the perimeter of the arena he slammed into something and barely managed to keep from falling over. He reached out a hand, cautiously, and found that the air before him was as solid as a wall. "We can't go in," he said. "I guess it's up to our Game sprite now."
The User and the blue-garbed sprite ran to opposite sides of the catwalk. They bowed to the occupants of the royal box, then mounted their respective sets of steps and stood facing each other across the length of the catwalk. The User and its opponent each assumed a ready position. Matrix watched as the red-robed man in the center of the royal box raised his scepter, slowly; then he bought it down sharply. "Begin!"
The combatants shuffled toward each other, then started lashing out at one another with their staves. They seemed to be pretty evenly matched, although it was a bit too early to tell for sure. Matrix looked at Bob, who was watching the duel intently.
"Ah!" he heard Galatea exclaim. "There it is!" Bob and Matrix turned to face her. She pointed to a round, blue tent, not far away from them. Beside the entrance was a tall white pole, and on that pole was a blue pennant emblazoned with the icon symbol, fluttering in the breeze. "Our weapons will be there," Galatea said. "Since it seems that we do not have a page to fetch them, we must…"
"Bob!" A short green sprite moving at high speed pounced on the Guardian affectionately, as he usually did. Matrix groaned to see his younger counterpart — little Enzo was an embarrassing reminder of what he had once been. "I was in the park and I saw the Game and since I was close by I thought hey, I should go in too, so here I am. But I was a little worried when I didn't see anyone else," he explained, smiling broadly.
"We're…glad to see you," Bob replied from his recumbent position on the ground, understandably short of breath. "Uh…can you please let me get up now?" Enzo obliged, and proceeded to remark on how humorous Frisket's transformation was. The dog/horse didn't appreciate it.
"I think we have our page," Galatea said, as she looked Enzo over carefully. He was wearing a smaller version of Bob's outfit.
"Page? I'm a page?" Enzo frowned. "That means I don't get to do anything cool." In other words, he wouldn't be able to take part in any of the events, for which Matrix was grateful.
"But the page has a very important job," Galatea explained. "He must help his master prepare for battle. Dost thou see that blue tent there?" she pointed to the blue tent from which the icon flag was flying. "Our weapons are in that tent, and it is thy job to fetch them and help us equip them." This didn't seem to mollify Enzo at all.
"Enzo," Bob said, "This is sort of like a role-playing Game. Matrix wasn't able to go into the arena because he isn't a quarterstaff fighter. And since the page is supposed to fetch the weapons, you might be the only one who can enter the tent and get the equipment." Nice save, Matrix thought to himself.
"Oh, so it is a very important job!" Enzo said with a grin. Bob nodded. "Okay! What do I have to get?" At this, everyone turned to Galatea.
She counted off silently on her fingers before giving Enzo a list of the things they needed. "And do not try to carry it all at once," she warned him. "The equipment is heavier than it looks."
Enzo dashed off to the tent and returned laden with some of the equipment—a full helm (on his head), metal gauntlets (on his hands), a steel kite-shaped shield bearing their icon crest (half as big as he was), and a lance. He stumbled up to the sprites and fell over. Matrix tried to catch the lance before it hit the ground, but it passed right through his hands. To Galatea, however, it was tangible, and she set it against the wall of the arena.
"Hey, if I'm not supposed to be able to use these things, how come I can pick them up?" Enzo asked.
"I guess because it's part of your role," Bob hypothesized. "You can carry other people's equipment around, but you can't use it." After a moment's contemplation, Enzo nodded and ran off to fetch more equipment. He returned with a bow and quiver of arrows on his back, carrying a leather buckler and a small club in his hands.
"What are the club and buckler for?" Bob asked as he took the quiver from Enzo and put it on.
"They are for Matrix," Galatea said, as she pulled on her gauntlets. "He will need them in the wrestling match."
"I thought you didn't need weapons for wrestling," Matrix objected. "I should know, I've played a lot of wrestling games."
"The ancient style does not involve weapons," Galatea said, "But the modern…" Pausing, she frowned. "Well, this one does." Enzo offered the buckler and club to Matrix. Matrix slipped his left forearm through the loops on the back of the buckler and hefted the club in his other hand — it wasn't very heavy, but with enough force behind it, it could probably do some damage.
Matrix turned his attention back to the duel in the arena just in time to see the User knock his opponent off the catwalk and into the mud pit. The User brandished its quarterstaff triumphantly, to the cheers of the audience. Frisket laid back his ears and made an equine's best possible imitation of a growl. On the other side of the arena, the heralds in red and blue played a fanfare on their golden trumpets.
"That's one for the User," Bob said gravely. Enzo watched the arena, biting his lower lip with worry. Galatea, leaning on her lance, looked down at the ground. Matrix waited anxiously for the next event to be announced.
"The next event shall be…wrestling!" the announcer called. The crowd cheered: the User, the raised catwalk, the mud put and the unfortunate sprite who had fallen into it all vanished. Now there was a wide chalk circle marked in the middle of the field.
"Don't step in until the match begins. The first one forced out of the ring, or beaten into submission, is the loser," Galatea instructed Matrix. "Watch thy head." Matrix nodded.
"Combatants, enter the field!" Matrix ran out into the arena — this time, there was no invisible wall keeping him back. He headed for the chalk ring. Another running sprite drew up alongside him: the User. It was big — as big as Matrix himself — and shaved bald. It had a permanent snarl on its face — that seemed to be a common thing with Users. The User went to one side of the circle and bowed to the royal box. Matrix stood on the other side of the circle and did the same, although he felt a little foolish doing it.
"Good luck!" Bob shouted as Matrix and the User took up positions opposite each other, outside the borders of the ring. Matrix crouched defensively, brandishing his club and holding up his shield. The User, on the other side of the circle, did the same. He could see, clearly, the User's icon in the center of his chest: half red, half blue, with a lion rampant on it. Matrix waited for what seemed like an eternity before the sprite in the royal box called"Begin!"
The two combatants moved into the circle, then started circling around each other cautiously, each one sizing up the other. Matrix wondered how the health point system worked in this Game — if it was primitive, he'd either have to hit the icon to cause damage (very difficult), or just keep hitting the User until he had depleted its hit points. Or, if it were an advanced system, each part of the body would have health points…
The User jumped at him suddenly, swinging its club downwards with the intention of giving Matrix a crack on the skull. But Matrix was ready, and held up his buckler to deflect the blow. As he did so, he used his club in a backhanded swing, hitting the User's unprotected right side. The User stumbled a little from the impact, but regained its balance quickly.
The two of them circled around each other again, looking for an opening. This time Matrix made the first move. He leapt forward, holding his shield in front of his face to protect himself, and used the club to swing at the User's left kneecap.
His blow connected, and the User almost toppled over. Matrix darted back as the User swung its club at him. The User pressed the attack, trying to drive Matrix out of the circle. By using his shield, Matrix was able to defend himself from the User's attack, and instead of just backing up in a straight line he moved sideways, so he wouldn't be forced to step across the line. He was getting ready to strike when the User did something unexpected — instead of using its club, it threw itself forward, using its shield like a ram. Matrix was nearly knocked out of the ring — the heel of his right foot was less than a nanometer from crossing the line. The User drew back its club for a final strike, but it didn't move fast enough, and Matrix was able to get in a hit on its vulnerable right side. The User cringed at the impact, and Matrix took the opportunity to headbutt it.
Matrix grinned savagely as his opponent reeled backward, stunned. Then, raising his shield to protect his face, he rushed forward and hit the User like a battering ram. But his maneuver didn't have quite the effect he'd hoped for. The User recovered as Matrix charged it, and bought its club down on the crown of Matrix's head.
He felt a flash of pain where the club hit him, and a dull ache began to spread across his skull. His surroundings were a spinning, rocking blur. The User swung its club again, and Matrix only just stumbled out of the way, feeling the club whoosh by him. He could hear the sprites in the audience chanting "Finish him! Finish him!" But he wasn't finished yet.
Bending all his will to the task, Matrix tried to focus his swimming vision. The User was raising its club high above its head, but it hadn't put any thought into defending itself — its shield was at its side, not protecting its chest. The red, blue and yellow of the User's icon burned in Matrix's vision. The User's club began to swing downwards.
Without thinking, Matrix dropped his own club and drove his fist straight toward the User's icon. His blow connected, and the User, flickering and backspacing with the shock of the blow, stumbled over the line.
A wild cheer went up from the audience, but Matrix did stay to bask in his victory. He was already making his way back to the edge of the arena, where Frisket, Bob, Galatea and little Enzo were waiting for him. It seemed to take him forever — the ground refused to stop rocking under his feet, and he stumbled and staggered all the way there.
"Are you all right?" Bob asked him as he stepped across the perimeter and out of the arena. He put a hand on Matrix's shoulder to steady him. Frisket, who had watched the whole fight with the other sprites, made a horsey whimper and pawed the ground with his front hooves.
"I'm…just…fine…" he said. "No problem." He smiled reassuringly.
Then he blacked out.
Bob and Galatea were able to catch Matrix before he collapsed and (with great difficulty) lowered him gently to the ground. "Enzo, go back to the tent and find a blanket and pillow — or whatever you can," Bob instructed. Enzo nodded nervously and darted off towards the blue tent. Galatea and Bob dragged Matrix away from the entrance to the arena, so he would be safe from trampling and other such unpleasantness. Enzo returned with some saddle blankets — they used a folded one as a pillow and two others to cover their unconscious friend. Bob examined the wound the User had made near the crown of Matrix's skull.
"It's bleeding, but not much. I don't think the wireframe is broken, but I'm not a diagnostic program. There might be something else wrong and we just can't see it." Matrix had a physical constitution that compared favorably with that of a thick steel wall, but even so…
"The next event shall be…horse racing!" the announcement came. "Racers, enter the field!" Bob was glad, then, that they had moved out of the way of the arena, because a large group on horses were now entering it. The horses were not like the sort of equine that Frisket had become — they were leaner, and wore no armor. The sprites riding them were similarly lean, and all of them were small — some of them were hardly larger than Enzo. The horses didn't have real saddles — just a saddle blanket held in place with a wide leather strap. Bob sat himself down close to the unconscious Matrix, but facing the arena so that he could see what was happening.
Unlike the previous events, this one was a competition between more than just two individuals: the User and a sprite from Bob's team were among the racers, but there were others as well, probably because a circuit race with only two jockeys was not as exciting as one involving — Bob counted the sprites as they lined up their horses to salute the royal box — eight.
"Galatea, how many laps will they run in this race?" Bob asked. She looked at him quizzically. "I mean how many times will they go around," he clarified.
"Ten is the usual number," she said. The riders moved away from the center of the arena, and when the last one was out of the way a high fence rose out of the ground, forming a smaller ellipse in the center. Now the track was marked — the riders were lining up in preparation for the start of the race, so that they were facing the royal box. Bob noticed that they weren't sitting on the horses so much as crouching on them, keeping their heads low and their legs gripping the sides of their mounts rather than hanging down as was usual. On the opposite side of the fenced-off area there was now a straight, white line across the track — the finish line.
Enzo scrambled up onto Frisket's back and stood balanced there so he could see the royal box. "The king is holding up his scepter…"
Then they heard the cry "Begin!" and the racers were off in a cloud of dust. It was hard to keep track of all the racers, so Bob just watched the User. He wished that he were able to do something other than just watch, but he couldn't think of any way to help their cause. He winced when he saw the User's fist lash out to strike one of the other jockeys, a sprite dressed in green and gold. The rider fell off his horse and was trampled by the others. After the horses had galloped away the broken body of the jockey could be seen lying in the track, a pool of red slowly expanding around him. The body, and the pool, faded out of existence as the racers were rounding the far curve. Bob noticed the sprite's horse fade out as well, even while it ran on with the others.
"He's…not supposed to do that, is he?" Enzo asked shakily.
Galatea scowled shook her head. "He should rightly have been disqualified, but I suppose the rules are different here." She looked to Bob for a confirmation.
"Sometimes Games favor the User that way," Bob said. He cringed as the User kicked out sideways at the leg of a jockey riding a sandy-colored horse next to its own. The unfortunate jockey was hit in the knee, and, after a horrible moment, fell and was trampled by his own horse. As with the previous rider, his body lay in the center of the track for a few cycles before fading away. The sandy-colored horse, which had slowed down after the loss of its jockey, faded out as well. There were now only six riders left, and four laps had been run.
"If I were riding out there, I'd make the User process his own bad data," Enzo declared. He stuck his tongue out at the User as the riders swung around their end of the arena.
Then Bob heard a groan from Matrix's direction. He turned his attention away from the track. His other companions took notice, and Bob was forced aside by Frisket, who nuzzled Matrix sympathetically while making those odd whimpering noises. Little Enzo slid down off his back and crouched at the feet of his older counterpart.
"How are you feeling?" Bob asked as Matrix opened his eyes. The big sprite blinked at him, then put a hand to his forehead and muttered something that Bob couldn't hear. "Take your time," Bob said gently, patting his shoulder. "You took a bad hit."
"Couldn't have been that bad," Matrix managed to say. "I'm still processing, after all." He grinned defiantly, and tried to sit up. Bob shook his head and, carefully, pushed him back down.
"That's not a good idea," Bob said. "You're awake, and that's a good sign, but I don't know how badly you were hit." He considered doing the 'how many fingers am I holding up' test, but decided against it — Matrix wouldn't take it well.
"Can someone tell me what I missed?" Matrix asked. "What event's on now?" Bob was about to answer, but he was interrupted by the blare of trumpets and the cheers of the crowd. The Guardian couldn't see the arena from where he was, since the side of the box blocked his view, but Galatea was still standing up (she probably couldn't sit down in that suit of armor), and she had a clear view. She looked at Bob with a worried expression.
"The User won this round," she said gravely. "But now, our fate is in our own hands, and that at least is some consolation."
"Can someone tell me what I missed?" Matrix asked again, more forcefully this time. Bob opened his mouth to answer, but didn't have time.
"The next event shall be…archery! Archers, enter the field!" An archer in a red-and-blue outfit emblazoned with a lion rampant appeared as if out of thin air and jogged into the arena. Now it was Bob's turn. He shrugged apologetically to Matrix, then stood up and pulled the bow out of the quiver on his back. Galatea, little Enzo and Frisket looked at him anxiously.
"Don't worry," he reassured them. "I've done this before. I took Archery as my elective in the Guardian Academy." He chose not to admit that he'd only gotten his skill up to mediocre, at best - he wasn't going to make them more worried than they were already. And if he had to, he could use his powers to help him, though that was only a last resort.
Little Enzo jumped up and grinned confidently at him. "All right! The User hasn't got a chance!" Bob looked at Matrix and was surprised to see on his face an expression similar to that of the younger sprite. He was amazed that the older Enzo had as much confidence in him as the younger one. I wish I were that sure of myself, Bob thought.
He turned to look at Galatea. She didn't seem to have the absolute confidence of the two Enzos, but there was no doubt in her expression either.
Bob heard booing from the sprites seated in the audience boxes. "If the opposing archer does not enter in the next minute, the match is forfeit." Minutes were a lot shorter in Game time. He had to get moving.
"Good luck," Galatea said simply as Bob jogged out into the arena. The crowds cheered as he made his entrance. The User, he saw, was standing at a point equidistant between the royal box and the edge of the arena that he had just come from, a little off to the left of the arena's center. He was facing the royal box.
As Bob came closer and took his position to the right of the center, he noticed that the User was standing on a white line, presumably the firing line. But he couldn't see any targets. The User bowed to the royal box, and Bob imitated him. Then the User did an about-face. Bob did too, and saw that the open end of the arena was now blocked by a tall wooden fence. Two bull's-eye targets stood in front of that fence, one for each of the archers. The targets were of the standard type — a small yellow circle in the center surrounded by successive rings of red, blue, black and white.
Bob heard the announcer's voice. "Nock your arrows." The User took an arrow from the quiver on its back nocked it in its bow. It kept the arrow pointed at the ground. Bob did the same.
"Prepare to shoot." The User lifted its bow into a firing position and drew back its arm. Bob followed suit, and sighted along the arrow. He hadn't done this for a while, but he was pleased to find that his arms didn't shake with the strain, and he was able to keep the tip of the arrow fairly steady. He lined up for his shot.
"Ready…aim…fire!" Bob and the User let fly. Bob's shot wasn't extremely good — it was on the outer edge of the red ring surrounding the yellow bull's-eye in the center. The User's shot thunked into the fence beside its target. A cheer rose up from the crowd. Bob smiled to himself, but he wasn't out of the recycle bin yet.
"Player: zero points. Computer: four points. There are two shots remaining." The Guardian hoped that the User's missed shot was the result of poor skills and not just chance. "Nock your arrows," the announcer said…
Since the older him wasn't able to stand up, and Frisket wasn't tall enough, Enzo had pressed Galatea into service as a viewing platform so that he could see over the fence. She consented to let him stand on her shoulders, but it wasn't high enough. Enzo still couldn't see over the top of the barrier. He couldn't even place his hands on the top of the fence — some invisible wall began where the boards ended and kept him out. He would probably be able to see (briefly) if he jumped, but Galatea wouldn't appreciate that.
"It's no use," he said. "You're not tall enough."
"My apologies," Galatea said with a sort of good-natured sarcasm. By using Frisket's back as an intermediate step, Enzo was able to get back to the ground. As he did so he heard the announcer call"Ready…aim…fire!" and a thunk as something hit the other side of the fence. The crowd cheered. There were a nervous few moments between the impact of the arrow and the announcement of the score.
"Player: zero points. Computer: four points. There are two shots remaining."
"Yes!" Bob's winning!" Enzo jumped for joy and emitted a loud whoop.
"Galatea…Is something wrong?" he heard his older self say. Puzzled, Enzo turned to look in his direction. Matrix was sitting up against the side of the audience box (against Bob's advice) and looking at Galatea with a concerned expression.
"Nock your arrows." Enzo heard the announcer's voice on the other side of the fence.
Galatea was breathing hard, as if she had just run a great distance. She staggered backwards into the fence and leaned against it. Enzo noticed that she was shaking. And something else, too. He felt his stomach freeze.
"Something's wrong with your icon!"
"Prepare to shoot…"