Elliot's screen began filling up with words—the basic information and rules for Doomheim. The planet, he was informed, had an Earth-like atmosphere and a temperate climate. Gravity was one point two gee and a wide variety of flora and fauna were present. A shuttle-bubble would land him at any point ten kilometers or more from the lifter that was his goal. None of this was new—Elliot had read it several times as he watched other gamers try their luck on Doomheim—so he skimmed it quickly and then moved on to choose his equipment. As he did so a line of words began to appear at the bottom of his screen:
Good luck, Orion Nomad. I'll be rooting for you. — The Adrian
Elliot grinned. The Adrian was one of his most loyal fans; only a so-so gamer himself, but an avid spectator of most of the SF games. Elliot had had several long conversations with him via the Net and had been astonished by the lists of players, scores, and standings he could reel off. It was apparently a family tradition; the Adrian's grandfather had done the same thing with football and baseball statistics. Or so he said.
But Elliot had no time for chitchat now. Turning his attention back to the equipment list, he began to type out his selections: medium-thickness body armor with respirator; extra heavy leatherite-steelmesh boots and gauntlets; two thermite torches; one laser armgun—more powerful than a pistol but still a one-handed weapon; three knives—one hunting, two throwing; fifteen grenades—seven blast, six concussion, two fragmentation; binoculars; compass; radio direction finder; and finally, a balloon lifter pack. The latter was a simple backpack with inflatable balloons and two small tanks of compressed helium, plus steering jets. It was lighter and less bulky than a full jet pack and, while not nearly as easy to maneuver with, it also did not attract predators as often. Its main disadvantage was that it was slow, taking up to thirty seconds to inflate completely.
Thoughtfully, Elliot scanned the list. A little light, perhaps. On the other hand, the Orion Nomad was quite fast and agile, and Elliot had often been able to outrun the creatures he would otherwise have had to fight. And several heavily armed, solidly armored adventurers had already gone to their deaths on Doomheim
IV. Elliot would try it this way.
And it was time to go. From here on it was just the Orion Nomad against Doomheim—with maybe a thousand spectators electronically watching over his shoulder. Well, they wouldn't be disappointed; Elliot would make sure of that. Taking a last deep breath, he pressed the "start" key.
The TV screen split into nine sections. Five of them were full-color views of Doomheim's lower atmosphere as the Orion Nomad, descending in the shuttle- bubble, could see it; front view, left, right, above, and beneath, arranged in a convenient plus-shaped pattern. The four corner sections held data that he would normally have on a real planet, but which the TV's sight and sound alone couldn't provide.
As he had expected, nothing he could see was doing him any good. Below his bubble, the landscape was obscured by low-lying stratus clouds, a trick that Thorndyke almost always used on the worlds he created. Elliot took just a moment to confirm there were no breaks in the clouds and then checked his compass and direction finder, displayed on one of the screen sections. The needles were nearly in line; Elliot was coming down almost due south of the lifter. He changed the bubble's course slightly—
LAND BUBBLE R = 10KM, 180 DEG
—so that he would be exactly south of his goal. Now, if anything happened to his direction finder, he could use the compass to find his way.
The bubble passed through the clouds, and for a brief minute Elliot could see the surface of Doomheim. Between himself and the lifter he could see bluish plains, at least one range of rocky-looking hills, and a patch of darker blue that he tentatively labeled a lake. And then he was down, a few hundred meters south of the hills, in a vast plain.
He stepped out—
LEAVE BUBBLE, STOP/TURN
—and looked around. The "grass" of this prairie looked much like ankle-high cattails with broad blue leaves extending horizontally. In many places the ground was completely obscured; he'd have to watch for concealed snakes and insects. There was no time to investigate the flora now, however—from his left two animals were loping toward him. Elliot turned—
TURN LEFT, RH = ARMGUN, AIM AT L ANIMAL
—and raised his laser. He was well prepared for this moment; one or more of these small tyrannosaurs had attacked every other landing he'd watched and he had expected them. They could be killed, he knew, by a one-second head shot... but there might be an easier way. The fact that they always showed up so soon implied they had seen him coming. Maybe it was the bubble that attracted them.
BUBBLE GO SW, HORIZ, 2 KM, .1 VEL/RETURN TO SHIP
The bubble floated lazily away from him—and sure enough, the tyrannosaurs veered to follow. Elliot grinned. A minor victory, to be sure, but he had just saved two seconds' worth of laser fire, and little things like that often made the difference. Waiting until the animals were too distant to notice him, Elliot checked his bearings and began to walk.
He'd taken maybe ten steps when he heard a faint whistle. He froze, searching around him for the source of the noise. Nothing was visible, so he risked a slow turn... and spotted it. Or, rather, them.
In the southern sky, a mass of black specks had appeared. They seemed to be closing, fast.
Elliot looked around him, but there wasn't a scrap of cover anywhere within reach. The hills were still too far away, and nothing higher than the cattails seemed to be growing on the plain. The birds—or whatever—were close enough now that he could estimate their numbers. There were at least two hundred of them, far too many to pick off with his laser. And he'd seen what these birds could do to light armor like this.
He'd have to move fast. Running to a bare spot of ground, he lay down—
LIE DOWN ON L SIDE, TUCK LEGS CLOSE TO BODY, LH = TORCH, RH = TORCH
—and drew in his legs, sheathing his laser and taking a thermite torch in each hand. Waiting until the birds were nearly on him, he—
IGNITE TORCHES, LH = SWEEP HORIZ
ABOVE LEGS, RH = SWEEP HORIZ
ABOVE TORSO AND HEAD
—lit the torches and made them into a fast-moving shield above him. On the TV screen, words began appearing, telling him whenever a bird got through and how much damage it did to his armor. Most of the birds seemed to be blinded or burned before they could hurt him, however. He kept at it grimly, even though the screen warned him that he himself was suffering light burns from the torches' heat.
As quickly as it had started, the attack was over, the surviving birds resuming their northward course. Elliot had sustained light damage to his armor, especially on the arms, and had first-degree burns on arms and chest. Both would be duly noted by the computer, and Elliot's defense and attack capabilities appropriately adjusted. All in all, though, it had been a very successful encounter.
Standing up, Elliot extinguished the remains of the torches and stowed them away, again taking up his laser. Looking around carefully, he set off again toward the hills. —
The data flow finally ceased, and the Sirrachat paused to consider it, impressed in spite of himself. The Drymnu had amassed a truly fantastic store of information on Earth and its fragmented race, not only monitoring the various broadcast media but also managing to tap into the more private cable systems. And all this without dropping even a hint of its own existence, as far as the Sirrachat could tell. "You have done well," he told the other.