Utahraptors at Dawn

 

Yanal Çaǧaptay gripped the pommel of his saddle and squeezed his knees around the downy feathered hide of his Utahraptor. Not for the first time, he wondered how he’d gotten into this ridiculous predicament—and how he could get out of it without looking like a coward.

His challenger, an influential internet personality by the name of Jesse Cox, seemed as comfortable on his dinosaur mount as Yanal seemed ill at ease. They faced off across a golden-yellow steppe, still untouched by the first light of dawn. The distance between them was just great enough that they needed to shout in order to hear each other. Normally, their handbrains would allow them to speak in each others’ ears, with text appearing in their peripheral vision. But for the purposes of the duel, the simulation had been set to full realism.

“This is insane,” Yanal said to his second, Zoe. He’d chosen a woman as his second to stick gender equality to the redneck boneheads who constantly obsessed over the rules and etiquette of virtual dueling. But now, she seemed just as uneasy and out of place as he did.

“You can’t back out now, Yanal,” she told him. “There’s over two hundred thousand viewers watching.”

Yanal winced. “Please tell me they didn’t hear you say that.”

The Utahraptor tugged on his reins and let out a shrill cry, making Zoe scramble to keep it under control. Across the field of honor, Jesse Cox adjusted his gray Confederate uniform and stroked the side of his mount.

“He’s not going to go through with it,” his second, Carl Břenek, said with dismay. “He’s going to back down like a coward—I can feel it.”

Jesse drew in a long breath and sat up in the saddle with his back perfectly straight. “If he does, then honor will still be satisfied.”

“If you ask me, honor won’t be satisfied until you soak the ground with his blood.”

“The blood is only simulated, Carl. And whether he is defeated in combat or decides to back down, his lifenet privileges will still be revoked for one year.”

Those were the stakes they had agreed upon—the minimum requirement for duels of this kind. Yanal had granted Jesse the choice of weapons in exchange for being able to set the stakes, and the fact that he had set them so low was yet more evidence of his cowardice. Still, having lifenet privileges revoked was no small thing. For a social justice activist with more than a million followers, his platform would be crippled for the duration of the ban. The same was true of Jesse, but he knew and accepted the risks the moment he issued the challenge. For him, it was primarily a matter of honor.

“Here we are, you racist pig,” Yanal called out from across the field. “That Confederate uniform adds quite the touch. Too bad the stars and bars are banned as hate speech.”

“Heritage, not hate,” Jesse shouted as Carl bristled.

Yanal laughed. “Tell me, are the Utahraptors part of your so-called ‘heritage’ as well?”

A smile curled up around the edges of Jesse’s mouth. “Why settle for pistols when you can watch your opponent get dismembered limb from limb by a large, deadly carnivore?”

Sweat began to pool on the back of Yanal’s neck. Why did the simulation have to be so damn realistic? He knew that the military programs were high-fidelity, but never like this. A cool morning breeze tickled his skin and played with the feathers on his Utahraptor’s neck. What would it feel like to have those claws dig into him—to feel those deadly sharp teeth rip off great chunks of bloodied flesh? Did the simulation replicate the pain of dismemberment as accurately as everything else?

“Come on,” Zoe urged him. “You’ve got this.”

I can’t do it, Yanal thought to himself, blood rushing from his cheeks. I have to get out of this somehow.

Zoe looked at him and frowned. “If you back out now, Yanal, you’ll lose your lifenet privileges for a year. The community—”

“I know,” he snapped. “But this is just—this is insane.”

Across the field of honor, Jesse and Carl waited as Yanal and his second conferred.

“Three hundred thousand live watchers,” said Carl. “If he backs down now, he’ll be the laughingstock of the lifenet. I almost wish he would.”

The Utahraptor scratched nervously at the ground with its great sickle-shaped claw. It snapped idly at a butterfly and began to preen its primaries. Jesse couldn’t help but admire the work of those who had programmed these magnificent beasts.

“This whole thing is stupid,” Yanal shouted from across the field. “A pointless exercise in barbarism. How can justice possibly be served by—by this?”

“I told you he’d back down,” Carl muttered.

“It’s not about justice, it’s about honor,” Jesse shouted back. “Your people have always twisted ‘justice’ to suit their agenda, but true honor is recognized by friend and foe alike.”

“What you call ‘honor,’ I call a piss-poor excuse for failure to moderate an online forum.”

Jesse scoffed. “It’s called self-moderation, you fool. The moment you insulted me on that forum, you should have been ready to face me across the field of honor.”

Across the field, Yanal wiped his sweaty forehead. The first light of dawn was just starting to touch the tops of the western hills, and his Utahraptor was becoming increasingly restless.

“Your stall tactics aren’t working,” said Zoe. “The opinion poll is turning rapidly against you.”

“I’m not going to let that bastard frame the narrative,” Yanal snapped. Especially if everyone thinks I’m a coward for backing down.

“Forget the narrative—the rest of us can handle that. You’ve got to get out there and fight.”

“On his terms?”

“Right now, the only way he wins is if you back down,” Zoe urged. “If you manage to defeat him, you beat him at his own game. If you don’t and he kills you, you become a martyr for the cause.”

“Words are cheap, Yanal,” Jesse shouted from the opposite end of the field. “What is your answer?”

Yanal’s Utahraptor tugged hard on the reins and clawed the sandy ground. There was a fire in its eyes that filled him with dread, but Zoe was right—it was too late to back down now.

“I hope you’re ready to die, you fascist racist scum,” he shouted. “It’s on.”

A small wooden box materialized in front of Zoe, containing an ornately fashioned antique pistol and a cavalry saber. Zoe retrieved the weapons and handed them to Yanal, who took them with shaking hands.

“The pistol has exactly three shots,” she explained. “Your opponent has an identical one. When you’ve fired them all, throw the pistol aside and draw your saber. And whatever you do, do not fall off of your dinosaur.”

“Got it,” said Yanal. He hooked the scabbard onto his belt and slipped the pistol into its holster.

“Here are the reins,” said Zoe as she handed to them. “Good luck.”

“On the count of three,” Jesse’s second shouted from across the field. “One…”

“Two…” Zoe joined in. Yanal’s heart all but stopped.

“Three!”

With a shout, he jabbed his heels into the flanks of his dinosaur and drew his gun. The Utahraptor took off with deafening speed, nearly throwing him from his saddle. He leaned forward and gripped the pommel for support. The dinosaur spread out its arms, the bright red primary and secondary feathers spread out like miniature wings.

Jesse watched coolly across the field as his opponent charged. Instead of rushing after him, he leveled his pistol and took careful aim.

Yanal felt the shot at the same time as he heard it. The bullet hit him in the shoulder, nearly throwing him off his dinosaur. Remembering Zoe’s words, though, he steadied himself and wrapped the reins tightly around his left arm. Interestingly enough, he felt little pain. He thought it was a glitch in the simulator at first, but when he tried to lift his pistol, a sharp throbbing in his shoulder prevented his arm from complying.

Jesse lowered his gun and spurred his raptor forward. His opponent was charging too fast to be stopped with bullets now. But with less than twenty yards to go, he simply could not get his dinosaur up to speed. His opponent’s raptor leaped, feathers splayed out wide with the deadly sickle claws arrayed like vicious daggers. A sharp, high-pitched cry split the air, and the massive beast fell upon him.

The next few moments passed in a blur. Yanal hung onto his saddle for dear life as the Utahraptors brawled. The force of the impact knocked Jesse’s gun from his hand, and his raptor nearly crushed him as it fell to the ground. Fortunately, it landed on its side, not its back, but the sharp sickle claws of his opponent’s beast slashed viciously as it looked for purchase. Dust, blood, and feathers flew everywhere in the chaos.

Jesse drew his cavalry saber as his opponent’s raptor sank its teeth into his mount’s neck. He slashed at its snout, and the beast leaped back, screaming as it shook its injured head. His Utahraptor rose warily to its feet, bleeding from half a dozen wounds. Its left arm was limp, and it panted from shock and exhaustion.

The two dinosaurs circled each other warily. Jesse took advantage of the lull in the action to do a quick mental inventory. His uniform was torn and covered in dust and blood, but aside from a few bruises, he seemed to be all right.

That was when he saw the pistol leveled at his head.

Yanal clenched his teeth to blunt the pain as he took aim at his opponent. His arm was shaking, but he would not allow this bastard to get the best of him—not when he had him in his sights. He cocked the hammer and squeezed the trigger.

Thinking quickly, Jesse kicked his raptor in the flanks. It dove forward, dropping to the ground as it charged. The bullet whistled mere inches above his head, and he leaned in close to the beast’s neck to make a lower profile.

Yanal screamed and cocked his hammer, but it was too late to take the last shot. His opponent’s raptor lunged to the side at the last second, and Jesse’s saber flashed in the light of dawn. Pain exploded across his chest, and he fell back off his dinosaur with the slashed reins still bound to his arm.

Jesse circled back and surveyed the scene. Free from its rider, his opponent’s Utahraptor trotted off to the edge of the field, clearly unwilling to risk any more injury. On the ground in front of him, Yanal stumbled to his feet, blood gushing from a saber cut that ran diagonally across his chest. His pistol was still in his hand, though, and his eyes were wild with hatred.

“You son of a bitch,” he said as he leveled the gun squarely at Jesse’s face. When he pulled the trigger, though, the gun failed to fire—it must have discharged accidentally in the melee. The hatred in his eyes quickly turned to terror as he realized that he had.

“You fought well, sir” said Jesse, reining back his raptor. “If you wish to preserve your honor, I am willing to call a draw.”

The hatred returned to Yanal’s eyes. He spat contemptuously on the dusty ground.

“That’s what I think of your ‘honor.’”

Jesse smiled. “Suit yourself.”

He loosened the reins, and his Utahraptor rushed in for the kill.