-7-

 

 

As he stepped through the door of ARCADE, a score of brightly lit machines burst into a clatter of loud noises. Lively music filled the air and visual stimulation was everywhere. Though startled at first, Grey began inspecting the fascinating machines set side by side against the walls.

"Sit here! Sit here!" the AIR WAR machine instructed.

Accustomed to obeying instructions, Grey climbed into the oval shaped pod and settled down in the bucket seat. Then he waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Before him, a darkened video screen showed no activity. A pair of handles protruded from a sophisticated control panel, but the panel was inactive. Scanning the instrumentation closely, Grey noticed a button that read PUSH TO START. He did.

The pod hatch closed, the lighting faded, and when the illumination returned, Grey discovered himself sitting in the cockpit of a jet-powered aircraft! The aircraft was flying rapidly though clear blue skies and he could feel the vibrations of thrusters behind his seat. Within seconds the image of another aircraft appeared, an African MIG X10 swooping down on his forward sensor! The low orbital fighter approached at high speed and opened fire with laser cannon. As the fighter veered off, a read-out on Grey's instrument panel credited the enemy category with ninety points.

Grey continued to watch as another aircraft, this time a Russian Starfire, repeated the X10's maneuver employing a slightly different approach pattern. Once again Grey's aircraft was fired upon, and again the enemy category registered ninety points. Having watched many stories of aerial combat, he quickly discerned the purpose of the simulation. It was a training device!

As a third fighter swooped in, Grey gripped the flight controls and turned his aircraft to meet the attacker. For a brief moment they seemed on collision course, but then the enemy broke off and the player category registered ten points.

Grey smiled and concentrated on the next aircraft coming into view. The heat sensor gave initial warning, then radar transfers showed speed and location, and finally a faint visual image appeared. Well before the fighters closed, Grey turned his craft in a looping curve and flanked the enemy as it sought to come in behind him. When the target finder focused, he pulled the triggers tightly and saw bursts issue from his gun ports accompanied by the sound of laser pulses. The enemy craft took a hit, rolled to one side, and dove into an escape pattern. The player category registered sixty-five points, a good score judging by the enthusiasm of the instruments.

When the Air War machine announced GAME OVER, Grey climbed out to survey the rest of the arcade area, recognizing dozens of similar devices. As he moved from unit to unit, he noticed the scenario of each simulation was different. Many subjects were familiar from his studies, others were too bizarre to fathom. Then, given more space in the back of the room because of a wide semicircular screen, Grey found the WILD WEST machine.

"Step up here, pard', and try your luck a'ginst the toughest hombres that e'er rode the Rio Grande," a voice said with a funny accent.

Grey stepped up to the player platform and found a pistol tucked into a leather holster. Though shaped like a western six-shooter, the pistol was really a high intensity flashlight.

Suddenly the screen activated and Grey found himself standing before the three dimensional image of a frontier town. He watched in fascination as a tall, rather dirty desperado type came out of a nearby saloon and walked toward him, halting about ten paces away. The man frowned. He sneered. His lip curled under a long black mustache. Grey tried to recall an appropriate salutation from his courtesy studies.

"I'm pleased to meet you," he said, believing those to be the proper words.

"Ya low down sleazy dog!" the desperado shouted at him. "There ain't enough room in this her' town fer the two of us."

Grey thought the moonbase huge and the human's complaint wholly unjustified. He was just about to speak up in his own defense when the desperado drew a six-gun and fired at him!

BAM! BAM! BAM! the shots rang out.

Grey dove behind an artificial rock, sealed his life support hood, and wondered what would happen next.

"Har, har! I got ya!" the voice roared.

Then quiet followed. Grey looked up, saw the screen had gone dark, and let out his breath. It was another simulation.

Getting back on the player platform, Grey took up the designated position and strapped the holster around his waist. Having seen cowboy movies, he knew what to do.

The screen came to life again and he found himself standing along the bank of a shallow creek in a desert area. The scene was very still, the only movement that of a small bird digging for worms in the mud. Then the bird suddenly flew off.

The next thing Grey knew, three hooting and hollering Native Americans came riding over the embankment! They were all painted up with scary streaks on their faces and rode rabid looking ponies that snorted and grunted. Less surprised than before, Grey drew his pistol and opened fire!

First one, then a second of the attackers toppled from their horses, screaming as they fell in the river. Unfortunately, the third was able to charge in close enough to throw a very nasty looking spear at him. Grey ducked instinctively but the Wild West machine informed that him he had been killed.

Grey played the machine again and again. By the end of the afternoon, he had slaughtered half the Old West and been killed dozens of times. The device captured his imagination as nothing else ever had. Not only did he enjoy the clever simulations, but competition with the realistic characters was exciting. It wasn't until hours later, when the night warning sounded an early alert, that he decided it was time for food.

He stepped off the player platform, returned the holster, and started to leave, pausing for a final glance. Then, almost as an afterthought, he drew out the six-shooter and tucked it in his belt, thinking that if he practiced more, he might finally get the better of Snotty Rat-Nosed Sam.

As Grey retraced his steps toward the Old Section, he drew the six-shooter repeatedly and fired at imaginary targets. Once, when confronted by a hostile mirror, he even beat himself to the draw. Then, as he passed the last branch corridor before reaching the amphitheater, Grey saw a sign that read HOTEL. He paused.

– End Chapter Seven –