[a worth1000.com contest 4yrs ago, rules were: pick 3 themes from
Rock concerts, World Cup Football (Soccer, for the yanks), Chess,
Romance (if you pick this, keep it PG), Giant Robots. 800-1500 words]
The sub-process called upon to
run mechanics of the upper portion was perceptively slower than that
required of the next segment down, but even this could not match the
minute and precise movements required by the lowest extremity.
The Game was something like ancient Chess, only that was a game
reserved for the lesser abilities of Deep-Blue class machines. Even
Rodenberry's fictional universe had only conceived of a third axis upon
which to play the Game, which, for processors of the current era, was a
mere step away from simple algebraic equations.
No, perhaps the Game resembled nothing in mankind's history. For this
was a game played only by the elite on Umberia; the Umbaudsmen who
could afford the risk involved were seldom known to cower in defeat.
But for Firkenwrench the stakes were an entirely different matter.
His machine held secrets even he, himself could not define. The
programming, which had begun as an inebriated joke upon his
insomnia-riddled mind, had exploded into an entirely new avenue for
Umberkin design. No one on the home planet had ever dreamed it
possible, not since the early trials over two centuries ago.
Svelt Firkenwrench woke as though from a fugue. He disentangled
himself from the bed sheets and ran a hand over his face, lacing his
fingers through his thinning hair, before reaching out to reclaim his
eyeglasses. Standing from his bunk, Svelt remembered at the last moment
to duck his head, avoiding the overhanging light. This maneuver should
have been second nature by now, sixteen months into the flight, but the
numerous scratches and welts adorning his ample forehead proved
otherwise. It wasn't that Firkenwrench was uniquely tall, in fact he
was hardly 6'5 in his work boots, but the vessel he was traveling upon
had not been designed to carry Umbaudsmen as anything more than day
passengers. The bunking rooms were all crafted for the delicate and
compact Shargrians, who were known universally for their wanderlust.
Although Firkenwrench's travel choices were not unheard of, they were of
such a rare occurrence that bunk expansion was not high on the list of
InterOp concerns.
After a quick shave, carried out at a slouch in front of the in-room
mirror and a standard InterOp supplement pack, Firkenwrench made his way
through the tubes to his lab.
The latest match between the Umberkin and Shargerkin players had been a stalemate.
On its own, this news does not appear startling, until, of course,
one acknowledges that in seventy two years of play, no game had ever
been concluded without a clear victor. Firkenwrench's new programming
was creating a buzz which had rippled across the InterOp channels faster
than even the annual tournaments could boast.
One Umberkin was a visual army unto itself and facing opposite the
Shargerkin player, the sight was impressive even to the untrained eye of
a novice viewer. Firkenwrench had dubbed his newest programming
masterpiece with the honourable title of K’Umber, a token to the bygone
goddess Kuli, said to have been the creator of all chaos, fire and
aggression on ancient Umberia. Thusly, K’Umber was bedecked in darkness
and flame while the Shargerkin's player, Shark, named for an extinct
killer from the sea, portrayed harsh blues and grays. The opponents
were given the chance to begin on equal footing at a predetermined time,
but for this match K’Umber had taken the seldom used second stance.
Following Shark's initial maneuver, K’Umber responded with a daring
flank and skipped the opening formalities. This play, while respected
and honoured amongst Game Masters, was not generally seen from new
players, due to the often costly results. This gave K’Umber the
momentary upper hand and Shark was forced to retaliate sooner in the
Game than usual.
For those watching each snapshot coming from the Games room, a common
breath was held. Shark was playing by the book; K’Umber, without
breaking any rules, was doing something different.
K’Umber's next move seemed to betray a weakness in part. Was defense a
universal weakness when chosen over the attack or only in the Game?
Wait, was K’Umber protecting a single play? This made no logical
sense. K’Umber had programming. Certainly the most advanced of any
machine to date, but programming none the less. In the viewing rooms,
the elders, both Umberian and Shargrian, peeled their eyes from the
screen and glanced at one another. It was not current curriculum to
dissect the foibles of two centuries long past, but it had been at one
time. The theory had been pronounced, tested and thrown out in under a
decade. The possibility of revival was absurd.
Firkenwrench watched the match snapshot by snapshot on a small
viewing screen in his lab. Chair of Honour was offered to the lead from
both parties, and while most Umbaudsmen reveled in the attention granted
by this position, Svelt knew something monumental was happening. He
preferred to experience the awe in privacy.
K’Umber made a final sweep. The snapshot froze as the Game ended.
Shark had not been defeated. The viewing rooms were silent. The
expressions of young and old ranged from confusion to elation,
respectively. The Games room went black and both machines stepped back
from one another, slinking to the floor, while each retaining contact of
the others lowest extremity -- these seeming to pulse.
The sight of machines, thirty stories high and taking up two city
blocks, holding hands was enough to confuse even the smartest of the
youth. One elder stepped up to the InterOp communication board and keyed
in a network message.
Firkenwrench smiled into his view screen. K’Umber had affected Shark.
The first domino had fallen. It was only a matter of time before the
entire fleet would access the new programming. Betting pools all over
the galaxy collapsed instantaneously. Robots with emotions meant that
the Game was over.
