There Will Be War Volume II

by Jerry Pournelle

  “Don’t do it,” sighed Richard. “There’s too many.”

  Wendell did his blinking routine again. Afterward, ignoring Richard, he began to list every book on the shelves by title, author, and major value to his own purposes. When he had finished, his review of the room was complete. He was tempted to force energy into his voice and mutter. “Caisteal Folais na Theine,” at his clock, but he was afraid to know how early it still was. So tired. So dark.

  The night had a long way to go. If he had been up, he would have activated his noise-making electric friends all at once, raising their volume in direct proportion to his loneliness. But now, in the darkness, in his weariness, he just lay there.

  The foyer to Crandall’s office was luxuriously furnished, and, ordinarily, both spacious and immaculate. Now, the new tandem machine, over twice the size of the old ones, stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the bright orange carpet. A coffee table and two easy chairs had been unceremoniously crowded into the far end of the room. The receptionist’s desk had also been moved from its usual location, leaving deep impressions behind in the orange pile. The receptionist, stifling her annoyance, frowned at her papers and made a point of not looking up.

  “Hot stuff,” said Richard, “Look at this place.”

  “Quiet,” thought Wendell. He swallowed nervously, anticipating the introductions.

  “You know Master Emerald, of course,” said Crandall, gesturing to a tall, well-dressed man at his side. The taller man was slender, with a full head of white hair and a slight tan.

  “Of course.” Wendell shook hands with him. Kirk Emerald was Director of the Trustees in the Gaming Masters’ Guild. More than that, he was a co-developer of the original game machine and the acknowledged champion of the early contests. The games in the first several series of machines had been slow and studied compared to the current ones. As the games grew faster, the best players became the younger ones. Kirk Emerald had already been middle-aged when the game was developed, and quickly found his reflexes too slow for the later models. Still, he commanded tremendous respect.

  “Master Wei,” said Emerald, nodding slightly. “This is a fine game, here. I was fortunate enough to participate in the quality control games, and enjoyed them very much.”

  “Do you know Master Kief?” Wendell said. “We’ve played each other twice, most recently last night. So we’re somewhat familiar with each other’s playing style.” Hopefully, that would be enough small talk.

  “That’s part of teamwork,” said Terri. She smiled at Emerald. “We’ve met.”

  “Ah.” Emerald bowed slightly and smiled in return.

  “I remember.”

  Crandall, who had been shifting back and forth impatiently on his feet, waved a hand at the machine. “Shall we?” He grinned eagerly.

  Wendell and Terri moved around it warily, like visitors at a zoo. Wendell trailed his fingers over the chair backs, looking at the double consoles—two keyboards, two screens—on each side. He tried to imagine working elbow-to-elbow in a fast maneuver, where he had to predict the combined moves and weaknesses of three other players instead of one.

  Inside his head, Richard whistled appreciation.

  “I envy your opportunity,” said Emerald, hesitating between the other two chairs. No one doubted his sincerity. “Shall we begin?”

  “What do you think?” said Richard.

  “No telling yet, of course,” Wendell thought back. “Shut up.” Aloud, he said, “I’m ready. Uh…” He looked from Emerald to Terri to Crandall.

  Crandall took charge, putting a hand on Wendell’s shoulder. “We’ll take this side. Master Emerald, if you’ll join Master Kief over there. Go easy, please,” he added, laughing. “I can play, but I’m no Master.”

  Wendell sat down and felt the keyboard. The seat, the board, and the screen were still the standardized equipment he was used to—an important detail. Crandall eased his bulk into the adjacent seat. He pushed a button and the screen said: “Cannae. 216 B.C. Roman Cavalry.” Officers’ names, Victory Conditions, and odds for the battle were given below. The adjacent screen would be saying, “Roman Infantry.” The opposing screens were the same, except “Carthaginian” in nationality. All four players laughed politely.

  “I figured we’d start easy,” said Crandall, chuckling.

  “Coward,” said Richard. “Sniveller.”

  Wendell relaxed a little as he waited for the minute of orientation to go by. This was a classic confrontation, which needed no forced recall. Kirk Emerald had built it into the very first machine for the first game, and it had been fought many times over. Its choice by Crandall was a subtle tribute to the elderly player seated across from Wendell, out of sight. Wendell guessed also that seating Emerald on the winning side was no accident, either, but it was a harmless bit of protocol. In fact, Wendell was glad. Kirk Emerald was a reigning monarch, but in a society of combatants, that was a step down from the fighting ranks. Master Gamers had a keen sense of passing time, possibly from their concern over history—and every Master was well aware that the rarest future this occupation offered was aging with dignity. With perhaps five good years left, Wendell was growing more conscious of the small amenities.

  The screen blinked once and began to move. Wendell’s Roman Cavalry were crimson units, while Crandall’s Roman Infantry were burgundy. The Carthaginians were two shades of yellow. Wendell’s shyness fell away as he took control of his forces. He advanced his lines slowly; there was not much maneuvering possible. Much of the Carthaginian victory had been decided by a highly favorable field, and the Gamers could not change that.

  “Easy, that’s it,” said Richard. “If we can avoid being routed, we’ll be a step ahead. The only—”

  “Can it,” Wendell thought. He was getting annoyed. “We both know this battle the same as each other’s…” He trailed off uncomfortably. The subject of sameness had little meaning when they shared everything.

  Crandall was taking the Roman Infantry forward to their doom with wanton joy. Wendell could see, out of the corner of his eye, Crandall’s delighted grin as he shared a battle with three genuine Master Gamers. Every contractor was a Gamer at heart.

  Terri obligingly allowed the Carthaginian center to sag in, as Hannibal had planned, until her flanks, anchored on hillsides, could turn and encircle the enemy. Wendell grinned at Crandall’s lighthearted slaughter of his own units, as the two cavalry forces closed with each other.

  “What’s Crandall doing? Is he crazy?” Richard demanded. His voice had a righteous ring.

  “He’s just enjoying himself. Forget it.” Wendell frowned and his fingers leaped about the keyboard. The screen responded just as it should, and the keys felt fine. For several moments he concentrated on the struggle at hand, testing more intricate aspects of the machine. He was off his game from lack of sleep, but he managed with no trouble.

  Wendell noticed suddenly that he had been gaining an upper hand. Surprised, he tried an experimental feint and watched the opposing units over-shift in response. He hesitated.

  “C’mon, push the advantage.” Richard was impatient. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Wendell turned his line slightly, exposing his flank. He could be a ruthless competitor, but not a cruel one. Emerald’s reflexes were slow and his style rusty. Wendell could slice him to pieces and turn one of the greatest defeats of all time into something of a question. He found that he would not.

  “Stop it,” screamed Richard. “You malevolent fool. Are you retarded?”

  “Shut up,” thought Wendell. He could not let his forces fall apart, for Emerald would see through that, and be even more embarrassed than if he were soundly defeated. Carefully, Wendell kept his resistance stiff, but allowed himself to be forced backward. He could not honor Emerald from this role, but he could avoid humiliating him.

  Mercifully, Crandall’s reckless advance brought about a quick end to the battle. The screen froze with “Victory Conditions, Carthage,” and the elapsed time. Wen
dell took a deep breath and leaned back.

  Crandall threw back his head and laughed. “Wonderful!” he declared. His receptionist, in a far corner, glanced up and smiled slightly. Terri slid out of her chair and watched Crandall with amusement.

  “I’m afraid you were easy on me, Master.” Emerald smiled at Wendell as they both stood.

  “No.” Wendell shook his head, smiling back and then glancing at the other two. Crandall had probably not noticed the subtle change in the cavalry engagement, but Terri would have. “It’s a good game, Master Emerald. I see no problems.”

  “Yes, I believe so. Lou, you have a certain, ah, flair for tactics.”

  Crandall grinned and turned his hands palm up. “I know when I’m licked.”

  “He licked himself pretty good,” Richard snarled.

  Crandall stood, joining the others.

  “The machine is fine,” said Terri. “The battle didn’t offer much real interplay, though. It was almost two separate battles. I was under the impression that the whole point was—

  “My fault,” said Crandall quickly. “I should have chosen a battle that would utilize that area better. Most of the scenarios will fully engage each player with the activities of the other three, I assure you.”

  Wendell glanced nervously at Terri, wishing he had thought to raise the point.

  “I can vouch for that,” said Emerald. “In most cases, the game becomes as complex as anyone could want.”

  Terri nodded and caught Wendell’s eye. He sort of shrugged.

  “How come his hair is never out of place?” demanded Richard. “Think he glues it?”

  Wendell glanced up at Emerald’s full mane of white hair, flowing back with a mixture of precision and naturalness that matched his stylish clothes. “I like him,” Wendell thought to Richard.

  “I hate him,” Richard said firmly.

  “I have contracts here,” said Crandall, pulling them from his inside pocket. “The two of you may take and read them at leisure.”

  Emerald cleared his throat and looked at the floor, frowning.

  “Three months away,” said Wendell, glancing at the match date on the first page.

  “Too short?” Crandall sounded concerned. “I know the usual is six months, but—

  “It’s legal, all right,” said Terri, nodding. She raised her eyebrows at him. “It’s just, well, especially short when you consider that it’s a completely new kind of game.”

  “I see,” said Crandall. He made a jaw motion as though he were chewing a cigar. Then he glanced at Emerald.

  Emerald frowned more deeply. “I must tell you that we’re on the threshold of something here. The… principals named on the contracts are actually representatives.” He paused for effect. “In reality, the principals are the governments of Portugal and Yugoslavia.”

  “Garbage,” said Richard. “Who cares?”

  “Shut up,” thought Wendell.

  “Wait a minute,” said Terri, looking at Emerald. She stared for a moment, twirling a curl of dark hair on one finger. “Governments.”

  “Governments,” Wendell repeated quietly. That was new.

  Emerald nodded. “The true dispute is something small—some kind of mutual maritime rights. It’s all in the contract hidden behind dummy corporations. The real point is, that no governments have ever before agreed to abide by a decision of this type. Individuals and corporations and internal governmental decisions all over the world—of course. But no two national governments.”

  Terri’s voice was tight with excitement. “And this could set a precedent.”

  “Hmph,” said Richard.

  “It’s all theoretical,” Crandall put in, clearly enjoying Terri’s interest. “But the Gaming Masters’ Guild has a reputation for being selfish enough, cautious enough, international enough, and rich enough to be incorruptible. It’s a start, at least, if matters hold up.” He laughed and shrugged.

  Wendell and Terri glanced at each other, grinning. A new challenge was rare for Masters in the top ten, and they had one with a double punch. Wendell thrust his hands in his pockets and looked from Terri to his feet.

  “This will be the test case,” said Emerald. “And the only item that could be a catch is the insistence of both governments that the dispute be decided by late autumn. Apparently it will affect their work in winter dry dock.”

  “Under the circumstances,” said Terri, “I think we can handle it in three months.” She smiled and looked at Wendell.

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “But, uh, why did you wait?”

  “To tell you?” Emerald smiled. “Naturally, I’ll trust your discretion in all of the foregoing. We weren’t allowed to contact anyone at all until the last details of the agreement were finalized, early yesterday. Since both of you played under a contract of Lou’s, he knew you weren’t signed for the future, and he pounced.”

  “Of course he knew we’d accept,” Richard complained. “Any Master would jump at the chance to play tandem. I despise this manipulation.”

  “I had you in mind for a long time,” Crandall added. “The selection involved much more than availability, I assure you, though that was certainly important. Don’t think I chose you at random. It was no accident.” He let out a breath and looked around. “Are we set?”

  Terri and Wendell both nodded. “We’ll look over the contracts and be back tomorrow,” said Wendell. “I expect no problems.”

  Terri nodded in agreement.

  All four of them shook hands again, smiling all around.

  As the brief celebration ended, Kirk Emerald glanced wistfully at the game machine. “Anyone care to play again?” he asked.

  The early weeks of preparation went quickly. The necessary rest sessions became the height of Wendell’s day; time set aside for planning now offered conversation instead of rote memory work done in private. Before, he had always enjoyed the practice matches most out of the preparatory routine.

  The elevator doors inside the Guild Hall opened into a heavily carpeted hallway. Wendell stepped from the elevator into an intricate, complex maze which offered thick, locked doors at intervals. These were the preparation rooms, where Masters would hone their skills for an upcoming game, normally by playing against the Guild Apprentices, or “spars.” For the special tandem game, though, other Masters had agreed to act as spars for both teams. Wendell walked quickly, glancing at the door plates. Even after nine years, the maze sometimes still baffled him. He finally reached a door titled “Dan no Ura,” and sighed with relief.

  “Japan by the western end of the Inland Sea,” Richard recited. “Year, 1185. Minamoto Clan eliminated Taira Clan.”

  Wendell used his borrowed key in the door. Every week, they changed their preparation room as well as their Master spars; this was to insure that opposing players would not accidentally identify each other through the pre-game routine. By custom, only the most functional and necessary conversation was carried out on this floor.

  Inside the room, Terri greeted Wendell with a quiet smile. Away from the door, on the other side of the game machine, the two Master spars nodded at him. Wendell knew both of them by sight, but he had never spoken with either. As soon as Wendell was settled at his console, Terri activated the game.

  The screen read: “Ain Jalut, 1260 A.D. Ilkhan Mongols.” Several names followed, and a list of Victory Conditions and odds. Wendell was the second-in-command, leading one wing of cavalry.

  “Hulagu,” said Richard, identifying the Ilkhan himself. “The Mongols, as always, have a totally mounted force. Important: up to this point, they are undefeated. Consider an overconfidence factor programmed into the game.”

  “Right. Terrain?”

  “Mm—inconsequential to an all-mounted contest. Open desert country, slightly rolling.”

  Wendell’s fingers wiggled nervously over the keyboard as the minutes of orientation dragged by. This would be a rough one for him, demanding skill from his weak points. He felt like consulting Terri, but negotiations
conducted through the contractors with the opposing team had produced the agreement that no talk would be allowed between partners. Speaking would eliminate the factor of on-field communication, which had always been important.

  “Opposition,” said Richard. “Victory by Mamluk Egypt, under Baibars. He himself is part Mongol and produces this first major trouncing of the Mongol army by utilizing their own style of war against them. Speed, surprise, mobility, discipline.”

  “Right.” Wendell had all of this in him somewhere, but having it spoon-fed relieved him of both the pressure and energy of trying to recall it. He squirmed in his seat as the final seconds approached.

  At least, the Mongol style of battle required a minimum of on-field communication. The general plan was discussed first, and the actual timing was coordinated as much by the judgement of the unit commanders as by conveying orders. Wendell and Terri, as any Masters, were prepared to utilize those plans and styles without discussion. In the last practice session, Terri and Wendell had commanded a loose confederation of Hindu forces at Tararori in 1192. Hamstrung by a disjointed command and strict Hindu religious laws, they had been easily overrun by Mohammed of Ghur. This clash, on the other hand, matched nearly identical fighting styles.

  “Go!” screamed Richard.

  The two sides closed fast and kept moving. Terri worked quickly and easily, setting up one side of a pincer movement. Wendell was ill at ease in the open, slash-and-run conflict. Repeatedly out-maneuvered, he failed to bring about the second wing of the pincer. She was probably annoyed, he thought, as she reconsolidated her wing.

  “Back. Wheel about. Faster. No, faster.” Richard’s voice was quick and steady.

  Wendell tried to set up a defensive posture, but the enemy’s mobility on the open land could outflank any stand. “I’m still no good at this,” he thought to Richard. Fleetingly, he remembered again: Richard was the undisputed number-one.

  “Attack. What are you waiting for? C’mon!”