"Norton, Andre - Time Traders" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

any complaints, go make them to Millaird. And, little man"--he poked a massive forefinger into
Kurt's chest--"wait until you make that first run of yours before you sound off so loudly. No one is
sent out without every advance, and Hardy was unlucky. That's that. We got him back, and that was
lucky for him. He'd be the first to tell you so." He stretched. "I'm for a game--Ashe? Hodaki?"
"Always so energetic," murmured Ashe, but he nodded as did the small Oriental.
Feng smiled at Ross. "Always these three try to beat each other, and so far all the contests are
draws. But we hope . . . yes, we have hopes . . ."
So Ross had no chance to speak to Kurt. Instead, he was drawn into the knot of men who, having
finished their meal, entered a small arena with a half circle of spectator seats at one side and a space
for contestants at the other. What followed absorbed Ross as completely as the earlier scene of the
wolf killing. This too was a fight, but not a physical struggle. All three contenders were not only
unlike in body, but as Ross speedily came to understand, they were also unlike in their mental
approach to any problem.
They seated themselves crosslegged at the three points of a triangle. Then Ashe looked from the
tall blond to the small Oriental. "Territory?" he asked crisply.
"Inland plains!" That came almost in chorus, and each man, looking at his opponent, began to
laugh.
Ashe himself chuckled. "Trying to be smart tonight, boys?" he inquired. "All right, plains it is."
He brought his hand down on the floor before him, and to Ross's astonishment the area around the
players darkened and the floor became a stretch of miniature countryside. Grassy plains rippled under
the wind of a fair day.
"Red!"
"Blue!"
"Yellow!"
The choices came quickly from the dusk masking the players. And upon those orders points of the
designated color came into being as small lights.
"Red--caravan!" Ross recognized Jansen's boom.
"Blue--raiders!" Hodaki's choice was only an instant behind.
"Yellow--unknown factor."
Ross was sure that sigh came from Jansen. "Is the unknown factor a natural phenomenon?"
"No--tribe on the march."
"Ah!" Hodaki was considering that. Ross could picture his shrug.
The game began. Ross knew of computer games and had heard of chess, of war games played with
miniature armies or ships, and of board games which demanded a quick wit and a trained memory.
This game, however, was all those combined, and more. As his imagination came to life, the moving
points of light were transformed into perfect simulations of the raiders, the merchants' caravan, the
tribe on the march. There was ingenious deployment, a battle, a retreat, a small victory here, to be
followed by a bigger defeat there. The game might have gone on for hours. The men about him
muttered, taking sides and arguing heatedly in voices low enough not to drown out the moves called
by the players. Ross was thrilled when the red traders avoided a very cleverly laid ambush, and
indignant when the tribe was forced to withdraw or the caravan lost points. It was the most
fascinating game he had ever seen, and he realized that the three men ordering these moves were all
masters of strategy. Their respective skills checkmated each other so equally that an outright win was
far away.
Then Jansen laughed, and the red line of the caravan gathered in a tight knot. "Camped at a
spring," he announced, "but with plenty of sentries out." Red sparks showed briefly beyond that
center core. "And they'll have to stay there for all of me. We could keep this up till doomsday, and
nobody would crack."
"No"--Hodaki contradicted him--"someday one of you will make a little mistake and then--"
"And then whatever bully boys you're running will clobber us?" asked Jansen. "That'll be the day!