The machine projects more than thoughts, Leoh began to realize. It projects personality.
They worked in the dueling machine day and night now, enclosed in the booths for twelve or more hours a day, driving themselves and the machine’s regular staff to near exhaustion. When they gulped their meals, between duels, they were physically ragged and sharp-tempered, They usually fell asleep in Leoh’s office, discussing the results of the day’s work.
The duels slowly grew more serious. Leoh was pushing he machine to its limits now, carefully extending the rigors of each bout. Even though he knew exactly what and how much he intended to do in each fight, it often took a conscious effort to remind himself that the battles he was fighting were actually imaginary.
As the duels became more dangerous, and the artificially amplified hallucinations began to end in blood and death, Leoh found himself winning more and more frequently. With one part of his mind he was driving to analyze the cause of his consistent success. But another part of him was beginning to enjoy his prowess.
The strain was telling on Hector. The physical exertion of constant work and practically no relief was considerable in itself. But the emotional effects of being “hurt” and “killed” repeatedly were infinitely worse.
“Perhaps we should stop for a while,” Leoh suggested after the fourth day of tests.
“No, I’m all right.”
Leoh looked at him. Hector’s face was haggard, his eyes bleary.
“You’ve had enough,” Leoh said quietly.
“Please don’t make me stop,” Hector begged. “I … I can’t stop now. Please give me a chance to do better. I’m improving … I lasted twice as long in this afternoon’s duels as I did this morning. Please, don’t end it now … not while I’m completely lost-. -.”