by Scott Meyer
Despite supporting another creature almost its same size, the dragon did not look alarmed. It continued to fly, gaining altitude and scanning the sky as if trying to figure out where Martin had gone.
Gary said, “And you pick on me for having no originality.”
“I invented this macro myself,” Martin grunted.
“Yeah, a long time ago.”
“I’m using it differently now.”
“You’re using it to grab and hang on. How imaginative.”
“And I’m using it to tell you to shut up.”
Martin let go of his staff, freeing his other hand to hold on to the dragon. The giant silver-block representation of the staff fell, spinning to the forest below. At one time losing his staff would have robbed Martin of all his powers, but the wizards fixed that weakness first thing when they finally got serious about defending themselves.
The dragon tried to gain altitude. Martin tried to keep his grip. He saw Gwen streaking through the sky with another dragon following behind. Nearby, Brit the Younger flew slowly while an attacking dragon closed in from the side, what they referred to as a flanker.
From the way she flew, Martin could tell that Brit saw the dragon. From the way the dragon flew, Martin could tell that it saw Brit. Then, from the way its trajectory changed, Martin could tell that it saw that there were suddenly two Brits. Then there were four of her, then eight. Soon the dragon was surrounded by identical reddish-brown-haired women wearing horn-rimmed glasses and dark blue robes, wielding magic wands.
The dragon spun in the airborne cloud of Brits, not knowing which Brit to attack first. All of the Brits pointed in the same direction, moving in unison. Martin nearly followed their fingers to see what they were pointing at, but then one of the Brits, whose finger just happened to be pointing at the dragon, shot a ray that caused the monster to lose consciousness and fall from the sky.
All of the Brits collapsed back into one. Martin turned his attention to his own dragon. With his gigantic left hand, he grabbed a handful of the beast’s neck, then he pulled himself forward and brought his immense right fist down into the back of the dragon’s head. Its neck bowed slightly, reacting to the downward pressure, but otherwise the dragon took no notice of him, which Martin found more than a little insulting. He pounded on the creature’s head several times, with all of his might, to no effect.
“Stupid dragon,” Martin said. “I’m wailing on the back of its skull and it doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“Ugh, noted,” Jeff’s disembodied voice said. “Try, uh, try hitting it in the side of the head. That should be more vulnerable.”
Gary shouted, “Or you could try this!” Martin turned to look. Gary stood on the back of a dragon holding two spiderwebs as if they were reins. He raised his staff into the air, and shouted: “Fumo ĉarego!” The staff transformed into an Uzi submachine gun.
“A gun?” Martin said. “You’re a wizard, man! You’re supposed to have style! Where’s the style in just shooting it with a gun?”
“Asked the guy punching his dragon in the head.” Gary leaned to the side, having learned from Martin’s mistake, and fired a burst toward the dragon’s temple. The dragon went limp and dropped like a stone. Gary hovered in the air, watching it fall.
Martin punched the dragon in the side of the head. It finally noticed Martin and spun violently, trying to shake him off or maneuver him so its hind legs could slash at him. Martin hooked an arm around the dragon’s neck and swung around its circumference like a poorly weighted hula hoop. He slid forward and found himself hanging just below the dragon’s head. The dragon barely seemed to notice him. Martin let go with one hand, balled his giant silver fist, and hit the dragon in the eye as hard as he could.
The dragon didn’t look injured in any way, but it instantly went limp and spiraled to the treetops below. Martin let go and floated in place, watching the dragon fall and listening to Gary’s sarcastic slow clap.
“So stylish,” Gary said. “So elegant. Without a doubt the most refined eyeball punching I have ever witnessed.”
Martin looked past Gary to a lone dragon flying in the distance, searching for an opportunity to attack.
Martin said, “I’m glad you’re paying attention, Gary. Keep watching. I’ll show you what teamwork looks like.” Martin, still a blocky silver behemoth, streaked past Gary. In the past the wizards had needed a staff or wand in order to fly, another weakness they had chosen to rectify. Martin flew with great speed and seized the lone dragon by the throat.
As the two lumbering figures pinwheeled through the air, the dragon said, “What the hell, man?” in Tyler’s voice.
Martin moaned, “Oh, that’s right. Shape-shifter.”
“That’s right,” Tyler the Dragon said. “Shape-shifter. I’ve only been working on this morphing protocol for weeks. You helped me write the code!”
“We’re fighting dragons! If you turn into a dragon, what do you expect me to do?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d let go of my throat, for one thing.”
In the background, Gary stopped laughing long enough to yell, “Go team!”
Martin knew that he didn’t really have Tyler by the throat. He had a projected copy of whatever dragon Tyler targeted when he triggered the spell, by the throat. Tyler was suspended inside the dragon, in control and quite safe, just like Martin inside his own giant façade.
Martin let go. Giant Martin and Tyler the Dragon hung in midair.
“Thanks,” Tyler said, sarcastically.
A dragon flew in, a blur of momentum, and barreled into Tyler, knocking him out of Martin’s field of view.
Martin said, “You’re welcome.” He turned to Gary, who kept laughing. “You saw that dragon coming.”
“Yup.”
“And you didn’t warn Tyler.”
“No. I didn’t warn you either.”
“Yeah, I noticed. And what about you, Phillip? Where were you?”
“Watching Gwen,” Phillip said, quickly. “There’s three of you idiots against one dragon while she’s on her own with two followers on her tail.”
Martin and Gary wheeled around and saw her in the distance, a small speck in a charcoal-gray robe with a light brown pixie cut, pursued by two larger, more menacing green specks with huge wings and teeth. Behind the dragons they could make out another dark blue speck: Brit. She had noticed Gwen’s situation on her own while they were bickering. Martin and Gary flew, closing the distance between them and Gwen as quickly as they could.
“Hold on, Gwen,” Martin said. “Help’s coming.”
“Don’t.” Gwen said. “Stay back.”
“It’s cool. We’re happy to help.”
“I don’t need help. I’ve got this. Just give me room, all of you.”
Martin and Gary both stopped dead. Brit altered course to meet up with them.
“Okay,” Brit said. “We’re clear.”
As the three of them watched, the hem of Gwen’s robe lengthened, billowing out behind her like a cape. It continued growing, folding and flapping hypnotically. The mass of charcoal-gray fabric drew to a point where it emanated from Gwen, but easily measured thousands of square meters at the rear, where the dragons attempted to fly through it, and became hopelessly entangled.
Gwen disconnected from her immense train. The fabric began to constrict and withdraw, collapsing in on the dragons until they both fell to the ground, helplessly encased in a tight fabric envelope.
“See, Gary,” Martin said. “That’s the kind of thing we’re looking for. That has style.”
“Thank you,” Gwen said, flying over to the other three wizards as they hung motionless. “Although, turning into a giant silver golem and grappling with the dragons does have a certain epic quality.”
Martin smiled and bowed.
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“And . . . ?” Gary said expectantly.
“And shooting the dragon with a gun is just brutish and stupid.”
“Yeah, it is,” Brit agreed.
Phillip’s voice cut in. “There’ll be plenty of time for all of us to make fun of Gary later, and we will, but there’s still a dragon in play.”
Martin said, “Tyler’s on top of it.”
Phillip said, “Only about half the time. He could use some help.”
In the distance they saw two dragons locked in combat, seemingly at a stalemate. Without a word, they all set out to intercept them.
“Tyler,” Gwen said, “in the future, you might want to turn into something stronger than your opponent—not exactly as strong.”
Tyler grunted. “Hindsight.”
“Hold on, Tyler,” Martin said. “We’re almost to you.”
Roy said, “Negative! Clear the area. Inbound.”
Tyler moaned.
Back in his original time, Roy worked as an engineer at the Lockheed Skunk Works, and his approach to the dragon problem reflected that. The wizards stopped well clear of Tyler and the other dragon, who were grappling and slashing viciously at each other in a clear blue sky above an emerald-green pasture, dotted with sheep like tiny cotton balls. Their dragon battles had never drifted this far from the starting point before, but then this one dragged on a bit, through no fault of the dragons.
“There,” Brit said, and pointed to a distant white line that quickly became surprisingly close. Tyler changed from a dragon back into his human form, a stocky black man in a purple robe and hat, and tried to put as much distance between himself and the dragon as he could, but he had very little time.
Roy moved with so much speed the air itself seemed damaged by it. He flew behind a transparent cone-shaped shield that he produced via magic. It pulled him along by two handles and protected him from wind and damage. It had the opposite effect on the first dragon it hit, which was destroyed on contact.
This time he knifed through the exact spot where the dragon had been hovering, but at the last possible second, it leapt two of its own wingspans to the left in a manner impossible for a creature its size.
Roy was long gone before the deafening crack of the sonic boom had dissipated, replaced by the voices of wizards, mostly whining that what the dragon had done was cheap and unfair. They all converged and defeated the dragon with no difficulty, then drifted over to Tyler, who had actually been closer to Roy’s flight path than the dragon Roy targeted in the first place.
Gwen asked, “You okay, Tyler?”
“If none of you tries to help me anymore, I might live.”
Roy decelerated and looped around to rejoin his friends. His contrail formed a large circle in the sky. “Tyler’s fine. We’re all pretty much indestructible, or I wouldn’t have passed Mach One that close to any of you.”
“And I’m glad you did,” Phillip said, ascending from his high vantage point. “It looked really cool from up there, and Tyler needed the help. At any rate, the battle’s over. Time for notes.”
They all descended to the pasture, landing roughly at the exact spot where Tyler’s dead dragon would have, if it hadn’t dissolved before hitting the ground.
Once they had all touched down, Martin deactivated his macro, changing from a shining silver giant back into the slightly less attention-grabbing form of a young man of average height and weight with short black hair, wearing a shining silver robe and matching hat. He held up his hand and said, “Martelo de Thor.” They heard a distant rustling in the woods, then Martin’s staff flew out of the forest, across the pasture, and into his hand.
“I swear you deliberately lose your staff, just so you can do that,” Gwen said.
“And you’re right,” Martin said.
Jeff materialized.
Gary gestured toward Jeff and bellowed, “Behold, The Dragoneer reveals himself!”
“I’ve told you, I’d prefer to be called The Dragon Master.”
“And I told you, that’s not going to happen.”
“Yes, Jeff,” Phillip said. “I’m afraid The Dragoneer has stuck. If it’s any consolation, the Jeep Wagoneer was a fine vehicle. Anyway, let’s start by talking about what went well. My missiles and Roy’s hypersonic ram both worked, as did the Multi-Brit, but I think it’s clear that the standout was Gwen’s macro.”
Everyone agreed. Gwen thanked them, muttering about how there were still improvements to be made.
“Always,” Phillip said. “Which brings us to what went wrong. We’ll start small. Gary, your gun is stupid. Please, at least dress it up to look magical. Make it look like a demon skull and have the bullets glow an eerie green. Something, okay?”
Gary said, “I accept your note.”
“Also, I don’t like your spiderwebs, but I agree with Brit that you actually made a case for them fitting your milieu, so well-done you. Martin, you had difficulty downing your dragon, but that’s not really your fault. It’s part of a larger issue we’ll come to in a moment.
“Tyler, perhaps it would be instructive if you told us what you think went wrong with your macro.”
“Like Gwen said, I should probably turn into something stronger than the thing I’m fighting. Also, I realized that dragons, even these dragons”—he glared at Jeff as he said this—“have more experience fighting as dragons than I do, so I should probably choose a few creatures to turn into, and practice fighting as them.”
“An excellent idea. Sadly, that brings us to the problem we end all of these sessions on—the quality of the opposition.”
Jeff looked at his feet. “Before you all tee off on me, there are a couple of things I have to say. First, lacking though my training dragons are, and I admit they are, just getting them to this point has been really difficult. I don’t think you appreciate how hard my job is here. You each just have to develop one or two powers. I have to construct a synthetic creature from scratch that can hold its own against all of those powers at the same time.”
Tyler raised an eyebrow and asked, “Really, from scratch?”
“Okay,” Jeff admitted. “Not totally from scratch. I grabbed the dragon models and animations from a special effects house that worked on Game of Thrones, but the behavioral algorithms, the AI, the attacks, and the integrated seating positions and riding algorithm are all me.”
“Yes,” Roy said, “but who told you to waste time making the dragons rideable in the first place?”
Tyler said, “I did. Sorry. It’s just . . . dragons! Someone’s gotta ride ’em eventually. Right?”
“The point is,” Jeff said, “I’ve done a lot of work on the dragons, and none of it has been easy. Especially since they’re supposed to fight a coordinated pack of indestructible, overpowered wizards who adapt their tactics every time. Remember the first battle, where you just had rays automatically target and obliterate them as soon as the battle started?”
“Yes,” Phillip said. “And we agreed that wasn’t fair to you. That’s why we allowed you to make them invisible to the auto-targeting algorithm.”
“Then the next battle you just trapped them in an invisible force-field box so they couldn’t move.”
“They’re called exclusion fields, and then we allowed you to make the dragons immune to all exclusion fields after that.”
“You can call them exclusion fields all you want, but I’m calling them force fields from now on, for the same reason the rest of you are calling me The Dragoneer.”
Brit the Younger said, “And, for the record, I took out my dragon today by putting an airtight force field around its head until it passed out.”
“Isn’t that kind of cruel?” Gwen asked.
Brit said, “The dragon wanted to eat me. Besides, it’s not a real animal.”
Jeff said, “
The point is, how could I have predicted that? And how am I supposed to defend the dragons from it next time, let alone have them fight back effectively when you’ve also made me fix their fire breath and talons so they don’t actually hurt anything?”
Martin said, “The fire, the teeth, and the claws don’t damage anything, but they do still hurt. Any chance of getting the pain simulation turned down?”
“No. Sorry. I know you don’t like the pain, but that’s the point. Without the pain, we could just let them slap us around all day with no consequences.”
”Jeff, I’m just saying, the dragons are meant to be sparring partners. We want them to be challenging, but not dangerous. It’s understood that if one of your dragons breathes fire on us or slashes us across the throat or gut we’re out of the fight.”
“Is that understood?” Jeff asked.
“Yes,” Gary said.
Martin added, “Now that we’ve made it clear to Gary that it’s important to follow the rules, and that crossed fingers are not legally binding, it is.”
“Look, Jeff,” said Phillip, “we all appreciate that there are serious balance issues, and that you’re doing your best. We’re willing to work with you on this, but Martin beat the hell out of that dragon, and it didn’t even notice. I think making the dragon’s scaly back tougher than its belly is fair, it just can’t be impervious to damage.”
“Why not? We’re training for battle here. What if we have to face a foe that’s impervious to all damage?”
