“I already had an idea, but thanks for letting me know,” Quircy Rau said as she wiped comical soot from detonated pigeon bombs off her face outside the grand mead hall in Holy Legend Army. Other games had felt the consequences of sudden pigeon attacks. A few at first, then many, and then all, save perhaps card games or Universe Testament, which lacked pigeon-reachable targets, theorists theorized. When pressed as to what counted as targets to pigeons, they responded, “Shut up, Lasva.”

The agitated leadership invited everyone to a general conference to foist on the public the responsibility of deciding on a response at Model Zero's astute suggestion. Speaker after speaker went up to the podium in Furious Galaxy's massive, modern auditorium and asserted the proper response could only be one thing: consider the pigeon thing nothing more than a fun diversion. There in that sophisticated facility, enclosed by walls bearing monitors that displayed irrelevant objects rotating or panned and zoomed over diagrams of nothing in particular, little birds seemed incapable of threatening the new pan-ludic order.

One bold voice, however, defied the forming consensus, stirring up opinions before they could congeal. Gaelvry Bride conquered the podium and spoke with queenly authority. “Aerywe would love a bomb pigeon. She'd spend all day training it. At least a small task force taken away from other jobs to hunt pigeons wouldn't be unacceptable, I don't think.”

Otsk V. Zops supported her suggestion of a pigeon hunt, given that Exploring's former personnel wanted employment equal to their skills. In addition, Furious Galaxy's crews relayed messages from their stealth ships that their capabilities suited them for that job much more than cargo hauling.

“Wait. The ships are characters too?” Quircy Rau paused the proceedings to ask.

“Of a certainty. They have the pride of warriors,” Musashi averred.

The conference resumed, and the sentiment prevailed that Gaelvry, Otsk, the Voidhunter-class stealth ship, and anyone else who wanted to waste time chasing weird delivery birds ought to be allowed to do so while the other 99.906% of the population should attend to the pressing matter of arranging the greatest bowling tournament of all time, to be held of course in Everyday Pin.

“That tournament is where the pigeons will strike next!” Gaelvry Bride pounded the table with one white-gloved hand, which split into a couple dozen shards of clear glass. “Oh my goodness! I'm really sorry!”

“Interesting. It stands to reason our furniture isn't specced to handle everything you fighters from other games can throw around, since our alloys do the fighting around here,” said Escal Zindrin, an Alloy Saga pilot who had joined the effort.

“Your . . . alloys? I don't know what alloys do that could be called fighting.”

“Miss Adan, I can see why someone embedded in fantasy like you, not that there's anything wrong with that, most of us are, might not know this, but it's downright unthinkable for a mech-heavy property like this one not to have its own term for mechs.” Sindze U. Radalo shook her head and let her long blonde hair fall over her green dress and quiver that, if in that Alloy Saga bar if nowhere else, set her apart. “Am I wrong?”

“You and I both know you aren't. I'm partial to cataphracts, but every name is filled with its creator's love of piloted robots.” Escal and Sindze might have diverted the discussion into topics of niche interest, except that a waitress interrupted them by bringing in a new table and sweeping away the remains of the old one, and not in a symbolic sense, either.

“Thank you. I'm so sorry for the trouble. Right, so, yes. I am proposing that we concentrate our efforts at Everyday Pin. How stealthy are those stealth ships?”

4* Lieutenant diBior answered Gaelvry on behalf of the Voidhunter hovering over the building. “Pigeon radar and sonar technologies have surely not advanced enough to detect them. The Mark I Eyeball, however, will do the job nicely.”

“OK. Get the tournament advertising people to give you some of those promotional banners. Hang them off your ships. That's their camouflage.” The Furious Galaxy participants nodded. “The rest of us will hide as part of the crowd in the parking lot, ready to roll. Is there anything fancier we can employ? Cantrell Uwendis? Dr. Golovkin?”

The doctor ticked off the options. “There is the pigeon radar, the pigeon telemetry forecaster, the homing pigeon homing signal. We have not invented those yet. What there is to suggest now is to attach the paint balls to the arrows and the javelins in place of the pointy part. The paint will mark the pigeons and drip to the ground, which is better than to kill them for our purpose today.”

The group's hunters, Otsk V. Zops, Sindze U. Radalo, Belphoebe, Radiant Illusion Country's own Leelit, and all the rest did not object to the idea, since sometimes not killing your quarry is the best way to show off. The anti-pigeon team decided who would take what position when the big day came in a couple hours. “Wait! I mean, don't wait! We only have a couple hours left! Get going!” Gaelvry broke up the meeting in that fashion. The other hunters exploded from their chairs and raced out of the bar while she rose, backed away from the table with her hands up, circled it step by step, and then walked outside.

Fireworks! Streamers! Balloons, both with and without passengers! Nothing deserved to be omitted except not having a good time when the first pan-ludic bowling championship series started. Travelers on their way to the big event passed over painted arrows, under aerial ads dangling from balloons, and between poles holding up billboards placed on the way to the big event at distances incapable of testing the fragile floor. Closer to the destination, the sky banners waved behind zeppelins and stealth ships flying circuits around Everyday Pin's options while around them burst artificial stars of every color fired from Paradise the Enchant cannon manned by UTASes programmed for the purpose.

Once inside, the visitor, whether there to compete or just to see the sights, could enjoy a chili dog and nachos from stands set up around the central parking lot while watching Evan Wheelwich convert balloons into dragons, Ulrik juggle balls, scimitars, and diminutive Sprites from Holy Legend Army, or the enigmatic Moira of Modern Incidence Record tell fortunes over her crystal ball, all as a prelude to ALL=truism's pre-tournament magic spectacular. The dedicated hunter, however, watched the skies, possibly through shades which decreased visibility but, according to the experts of Convergence/Divergence, increased coolness and hid the bloodshot consequences of excessive cyberpunking.

Gaelvry Beruvo may have held mistaken notions about this or that, but when it came to pigeon bombing campaigns, it was hit after hit, like your favorite tier list maker except correct instead of entertaining. Bowlers were entering their assigned alleys for the first round when the ultraflock appeared, heavy with bombs and dire intent. Automated turrets popped out of the trash cans, dumpsters, and fire hydrants surrounding the alleys, not the kind with speakers for advertising reasons but the missile kind. C/D had added street-level security in case of sore losers, but the turrets could point up as well. Meanwhile, Furious Galaxy had equipped the alley roofs with CIWS systems on the understanding that occasionally, though not often, their ships became impatient with listening to the radio for the results of sporting contests and blasted holes in the obscuring roof. Who could have foreseen that such precautions might help with other problems?

Not Gaelvry Bride, who ran around in an attempt to find someone with the authority to adjusting the turrets to target bombs only. She shouted also to bystanders who did not stand still when pigeons attacked not to kill them if possible, or failing that, to restrict their violence to the non-painted ones. She hoped to spare her hunters from the anguish of a good effort squandered, but they cared about nothing but painting as many pigeons as possible.

“Purple and gray, that means Sindze! Though I do feel sorry for those pigeons, I really do, because if somebody told me to wear those colors, I would have to turn that suggestion down.”

“Hrm.” Otsk V. Zops grunted to acknowledge that his colleague and countrywoman said something without devoting his impressive concentration to figuring out a response, and then hurled a javelin tipped with a ball that burst into green, purple, and brown paint. Each painter had been assigned a distinct color scheme by Dr. Golovkin, and each wanted as a consequence to paint more pigeons than the others. No sure count could be taken without capturing every target, which would allow every participant to boast of being the best without fearing that any real evidence against the claim would arise. The turrets that detonated incoming bombers along with their bombs here and there gave the hunters even more of an excuse.

Bombs burst in air, missiles fwooshed, gun batteries rattled, and in general the whole thing made a lot of noise, but not enough to disturb the raucous bowlers, bowling fans, and betters indoors where the tournament had started with no regard for gatecrashing birds but a heap of respect for the letter B. The parking lot was abandoned by all but the hunting squad, whose members also Cracked Orbed their way out when they saw the pigeons retreating.

A furious pursuit by Furious Galaxy stealth ships had already begun, but Gaelvry ordered her hunters to join the chase, reasoning the stealth ships might require support or at least witnesses to their glorious deeds. The Voidhunters, Glatteses, Albacores, and more skimmed the bottom of Opuwa's cloud cover behind a less intimidating but more interesting cloud of birds.

They left civilization behind, or what Commandment of Hero and Holy Legend Army thought of as civilization, which consisted of a painted floor and signposts at regular intervals. The pigeons flew over the hinterlands where any bowling alley seen by travelers likely hid a couple hundred warriors who hated losing, loved being sneaky, and could take or leave honor, depending on the circumstances. Though the followers on bikes and one-man rocketships behind grabbed all the maps they had at hand, none could figure out any plausible pigeon plan. Even former Exploring staff could not imagine what destination they might have.

“I cannot imagine what destination they might have,” Sindze said, “which isn't the way I would usually put that, but I've been trying new things ever since Exploring shut down. Just treating it as a new start, you know? Eek!”

That Sindze scream came not because of her own distress, but at seeing that of the stealth ships, which smacked off some obstruction in the clouds invisible from below and bounced back, their thrusters busy in an attempt to preserve a little of their dignity. Upside-down spaceships orbiting a planet look cool, but in the atmosphere, fashion is topsy-turvy. They righted themselves, spread out to investigate the situation, and reported that a vertical complaint wall had arrested their progress.

Gaelvry called out, “That's the same as when there's a game there. Exploring? Former Exploring rather?”

Otsk responded by pointing down, and indeed no options buttons spread under the game-enfolding cube's indicated position. To deepen the team's befuddlement, the Furious Galaxy ships insisted the pigeons had flown right through, causing the humiliating spectacle which the ground-bound hunters agreed to hush up out of camaraderie. How was it possible?

“Pigeon magic,” Escal Zindrin suggested.

“Do pigeons have magic in Alloy Saga?” Cantrell Uwendis asked.

“Nothing has magic there.” Escal shrugged. “Except the magic of courage and the bond between a pilot and his alloy that transcends scientific understanding. What's a little pigeon magic next to that?”

“Good point. Even so, I won't include speculation in my report. Back to Everyday Pin, everyone,” Gaelvry Bride commanded.