by Liam Clay
“Station 12 is equipped with an Airnex V5 oxygenation system. Piece has two minutes to disable it without setting off its security measures. If successful, the marine onboard station 12 will be removed from play. The two minutes begins now.”
The engineer passes through a door in the inner dome, and goes to work on the hologram. Wherever he touches the machine, it turns red and becomes movable. The seconds slip past, and the engineer speeds up, working frantically now. But it isn't enough. A buzzer sounds, and a bolt of electricity arcs down from the ceiling. It grounds itself through the engineer. He goes into convulsions and drops the floor. Two slaves drag him away, allowing the game to continue.
The next altercation occurs when Sipholo sends a marine into a station occupied by Datsel. His own marine has already been weakened by a poisonous spore created by a scientist in a previous turn. The two combatants move into the inner dome, and start to fight. It doesn't last long. Datsel's marine can barely stand up, and Sipholo's man bests him with ease.
The game drags on. I pick up enough to make a few suggestions, but I'm not sure how helpful they are. What is clear is that we’re losing. Nor is Datsel responding well under pressure. He is frazzled and frustrated, missing simple moves and then apologizing for his lapses. We are down to five pieces. And then three, until only a marine and a scientist remain.
“Woe is you, Datsel!” Sipholo crows. “Don't worry though, I will still honor our agreement and give you the killer's name.”
“I haven't lost yet.” He says through clenched teeth.
“Don't be silly. Unless... how would you like an extra piece to play with? That might put you back in the running.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I will allow you to put your toy into the game as a marine. That way, he can participate in his own defense.”
Datsel turns to me. “What do you think?”
This is a joke. Sipholo still has seven pieces; putting me into the game isn't going to make any difference. But she is watching me closely, and so I have no choice but to play the obedient slave.
“Whatever you think is best, sir.”
He nods. “It’s the only way to save you.” And then to Sipholo, “I accept.”
The woman's smile is all teeth.
“Excellent.”
A slave escorts me through the outer dome, and points me to an unoccupied station. The game resumes. Datsel seems to have recovered his wits, and he manages to remove two of Sipholo's pieces from play without losing any of his own. But she rallies, using her superior numbers in a tit for tat knockout sequence that leaves me alone with three of her pieces. One of these is the handless marine who fought earlier. She sends him after me. Datsel moves me away from my station, and a chase begins. But this is just drawing out the inevitable. I am eventually cornered, and the marine moves onto my square. He is a thick-shouldered bear of a man, with a squashed nose, cauliflower ears and a blocky jaw. We enter the inner dome together, and face off against each other.
I consider trying to talk him down like I did with Nem, but the man looks too dense to reason with. At least I've already seen him in action, so I know what to expect. This marine fights almost exclusively with his elbows. He's good at it, but predictable. The same definitely cannot be said of me, because I haven't settled on a fighting style since losing my arm.
But style isn’t everything, so I throw my entire weight behind a looping haymaker. The blow catches the marine completely off guard (he must have thought I would be a pushover). My knuckles find that magical spot on his jaw, and that's all she wrote. Datsel woops with joy as the man is carried away. I look down at my fist, as surprised as anyone. Where the hell did that come from? I must be getting some of my old mojo back.
Sadly, the contest goes downhill fast after that. Emboldened by my victory, Datsel forces me to attack a station occupied by an engineer. But Sipholo counters by having her piece blow up the station with us onboard. We both die, leaving Sipholo with a lone piece and a narrow victory.
Datsel looks so defeated that I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. Sipholo, on the other hand, is bursting with cruel delight.
“Maybe next time, sport.” She says. “But look on the bright side: now you get to find out which of your precious employees wants you dead.”
Datsel looks up. “That was real?”
“Of course it was. And I always keep my promises.” She looks to her slaves. “Can someone give me a drumroll?”
“Just tell me who it is.” Datsel says tiredly.
“Very well. Your would-be murderer is named Pep.”
Datsel and I both burst into laughter.
“You don't believe it?” Sipholo says.
“No, I do not. And neither would you, if you had actually met the man. Pep can barely tie his own shoes, never mind assassinate someone. His old owner threw him in as part of a batch, otherwise I never would have taken him at all. He is nothing but a harmless lunatic.”
“That's what he wants you to think. In reality, his name is Peppin Rojas. He is an Opacian actor and con man whose sister died in your service, some years ago now. He has been plotting his revenge ever since.”
Datsel isn't laughing anymore.
“You are serious about this?”
“Completely.”
“But I do everything possible to protect the lives of my performers! Without them, I would be nothing. Surely he must know that?”
“Yes, well, people can be unreasonable sometimes.” She claps her hands together. “Now, I'm sure you will be anxious to deal with that little problem. And I would like to get acquainted with the newest member of my menagerie. So if you don't mind...”
Datsel is still muttering about safety standards, but he allows himself to be ushered from the tent. I wonder if he will be able to maintain his deluded self-image in the wake of this newest setback. When he's gone, Sipholo orders me to prostrate myself before her. I obey, wondering if I will be able to maintain my recently improved self-image in the wake of this newest setback.
“You are now my property.” The woman tells me. “I had planned to have you tortured in public, for no other purpose than to anger Datsel. But business comes before pleasure, and you showed promise on the board today. So I have decided to make you a playing piece instead. Do you have any skill in engineering or science?”
“Not really.”
“No matter, you will be a marine then. How does that sound?”
“Very good, thank you.”
“Excellent. Now get out of my sight. The other pieces will show you to the stables.”
I fall in behind Sipholo’s slaves, and we cross the gamefloor in a group. Passing through a low doorway, we enter a corridor with barred pens to either side. Hay covers the floor, and everything smells of piss and turpentine. One of the engineers points to an empty pen.
“That's you.”
“Where are the guards?” I ask. “Shouldn't they be overseeing this?”
“Someone will be along to lock us in later.”
“Seriously? If security is that lax, why doesn't everyone just run away?”
The engineer looks confused for a moment, and then he backs away from me in a hurry. Shaking my head, I duck into the pen he indicated. My new home is constructed of iron sheets welded together in a patchwork pattern. The ceiling is barely more than a meter high, with a low trough along one wall for waste. Taken as a whole, it is a definite step down from the battle circus lockup. But it still beats the crap out of getting tortured in public. Good thing I knocked out that marine.
Speaking of whom, I can see someone moving around through gaps in the wall to my right. And based on his size, I think it might be him.
“Hey buddy.” I say tentatively. “Sorry for hitting you out there.”
There is a pause. And then the man says, “It was my fault. Shouldn't have let you get the jump on me.”
“I still feel bad though.”
A grunt. “Can't think why you would. You new or some
thing?”
“Yeah. Came in on the last barge.”
“The one that got attacked during the storm? That must have been hectic.”
“You have no idea. Things were actually looking up for a while after that, until Datsel let himself get duped for what I'm certain was not the first time.”
The other man laughs. “You ain't wrong about that. From what I hear he's a great showman, but not much good at anything else. What's your name, newbie?”
“Anex.”
“You mean that famous guy Vorashia brought in? No way.”
“Yes way. You're pretty well informed, though - how do you know all this stuff?”
“You live here long enough, you learn which doors to listen at, you know? And the whole damn pyramid is a boiling pot of gossip, so it ain't hard. Oh, and my name's Bruin, in case you were wondering.”
“Nice to meet you. How long have you lived in Ninetown?”
“My whole life.”
“You were born here?”
“Uh huh, in a factory over crater way. Worked there until my hands got done in a sawbelt accident a few years ago. The foreman was all set to fit me with a pair of lead shoes, but Sipholo snapped me up instead. Although sometimes I wish she'd let him drown me and have done with it.”
“You don't like it here?”
“Course not. The factories ain't no cup of tea, but at least we have our own communities there. I had family, friends, even a woman now and again.”
“Right. And if someone was to start a rebellion in the factories, do you think the laborers would join in?”
“Hah. Rebellion, he says. Sure, people talk a big game about hating the system. But we’ve lived here for generations, man. So almost everyone’s got someone to lose.”
I remember being on the opposite side of this scenario. Porter was holding Sophie hostage, and I fought against people who should have been allies to keep them from endangering her.
“What if there was already a rebellion going on here in the quarter?” I ask. “Would they join in then?”
“Maybe - not that it matters. You know why they don't bother to lock us up? Because if they ever spot me out of my pen, Sipholo's guards will kill me no questions asked. Same goes for all of Ninetown. It's a mindfuck, see? They always give you the choice.”
“And how many guards does Sipholo have?”
“By law, every slave owner has to have one guard for every five prisoners.”
While I'm absorbing this, there is a tapping sound against the roof of my pen. I look up. And through a gap in the sheet iron, I see a single glowing word.
“Hey.”
“Nem, is that you?” I whisper.
“Who else do you know that talks through their neck?”
“Well, technically everyone.”
“Cute. Now do you want out of there, or not? I liked your idea of stirring up trouble from the inside, but I don't think you'll last long here at Sipholo's. I'd say it's time I introduced you to the pyramid's hidden places.”
He makes a good point, but the gears are turning inside my head now.
“I want to try something first. Can you get me back to the battle circus?”
“Why the hell would you want to go back there?”
“Just trust me.”
“Who are you talking to?” Bruin interjects from the adjacent pen.
“Oh, how rude of me. My friend Nem is in the ceiling.”
“How come I can't hear him then?”
“He's very softly spoken. Hey listen, we're going to get out of here. Want to come?”
“Don't be an idiot. Security will track you down within hours.”
“They won't have to. I'm going straight back to Datsel's.”
“Then it will be a pair of lead shoes for you.”
“No it won’t. I've got a plan.”
“Oh, well that's just fine then.”
“Hey, don't be like that. I've thought this all through.”
“In the last 30 seconds?”
“It's been at least 45.”
The marine grunts. “Well, it's your funeral. So long, Anex.”
“Actually, you might see me again sooner than you think.”
“If I do, I'm sure I won't be happy about it.”
“Hmm. Probably not. So my apologies in advance.”
“Are we going or what?” Nem cuts in.
“Yeah, so hurry up and pry the lid off this thing already.”
“Gladly. Now, where did I put my can opener?”
From outside the lockup, I hear the sound of footsteps.
“That will be the guard coming to lock us in.” Bruin hisses. “So if you're going to go, it had better be now.”
“I could just kill him.” Nem says conversationally.
“How are you going to do that from up there?”
“I’m not sure. Um, how attached are we to stealth at this point?”
“Not at all.”
“Lovely.”
There is a terrible screeching sound, and an entire section of the ceiling peels back to reveal the albino.
Bruin must be able to see him too, because he yells, “It's the fucking ghost!”
Then the door to my pen swings open, and a baton-wielding guard rushes in. I step sideways, he course-corrects... and Nem kicks him in the ear through the hole in the roof. The guard falls into the hay and does not rise.
“Holy crap.” Bruin says, clearly impressed. The albino holds a hand out to me. I take it, and he pulls me up into a tight crawlspace. The other slaves are at their doors now, rattling the bars and shouting about hauntings.
“If Sipholo asks you what happened,” I tell Bruin, “just say the ghost did it.”
“The ghost did do it.” He points out.
“Then you won't even have to lie.”
And now we're gone, crab walking through the crawlspace to a tear in the tent's side wall. We climb out and drop to the ground. The quarter is in the lull phase between the day and night crowds, and it isn't busy. But it’s not exactly empty either.
“Can you get us to the circus without being seen?” I ask.
“Certainly. Right this way.”
CHAPTER 15
Nem leads me to what looks like an unbroken stretch of ground and crouches down. His fingers quest across the rusty iron - and then he's pulling open a trapdoor.
“This place is a mecca of maintenance tunnels.” He explains. Motioning for me to follow, he slips down into the dark. The tunnel is much like the crawlspace that preceded it, except that it smells like rat droppings and fried cabling instead of piss and turpentine. I close the trapdoor behind me, and we are plunged into total darkness.
“You should hold onto my shoulder.” He says, each word lighting up the encroaching walls. “If you get lost down here, even I won't be able to find you.”
“Gotcha. And on that topic, did you find my friends by any chance?”
“No, although not for lack of trying. The factory crater is ten times bigger than the entertainment quarter. But I checked it all, except for one place I couldn't get into. Most of the factories have barely any security, but this one is a different story. And I heard that lots of new recruits are being sent there, so Tikal and the gang might be inside.”
“That's a start, at least. Thank you - for everything.”
“That’s okay, I already know how you can make it up to me.”
“How?”
“By making me famous again.”
“Famous? Again?”
“Actually, you can forget about the again part. That just slipped out. If you ever get your show back, I just want to be on it, alright?”
“I have approximately a million questions about this, but let's start with how you think I could possibly get my show back? My retcom is gone, Nem.”
“That doesn't matter. Your feed is synced to your neurals, not your retcom. Otherwise hackers would have copied your hardware and hijacked your feed months ago.”
“I don't understand.”
“Think of it like this. Your retcom may be the camera, but your brain is the antenna. So all you have to do is get yourself a new glass eye, and then we can become a modern day Bonnie & Clyde!”
“Weren't they a man and a woman?”
“I'm willing to be flexible on gender.”
As we start down the tunnel, I try to imagine having my show back. But if I start broadcasting again, the Architect will find some way of dragging me back into her plans (assuming she hasn't conquered Opacity and the Hive already). And besides, too much has happened since I went dark. My viewers might not even recognize me anymore. No, things are better the way they are. Hopefully Nem won’t be too disappointed.
The albino halts a few minutes later.
“We're right under the circus now. Hold on, I'm going to see if the coast is clear.”
He cracks open another trapdoor. Through the gap created, I get a view of the patron’s trapeze.
“Do you see anyone?” I ask.
The albino might respond, but I can't see his throat so it's impossible to tell. We must be good though, because he climbs out of the tunnel and into the circus. I follow him, and find the area deserted. Judging by the silence, the big top is too.
“Where is everyone?” Nem asks.
“I don't know, but this is perfect.”
“Is it now? Do you mind telling me what you're planning to do?”
“Sure. I'm going to get back in my enclosure and take a well-deserved nap.”
“Fantastic! And what should I do while you’re in dreamland?”
“Anything that takes you out of play for a while.”
“You are exhausting to be around, Anex. But never boring, and that more than makes up for it. Pleasant dreams, sweet prince.”
Then he jumps down through the trapdoor and shuts it behind him. Reflecting on all the ways this could go wrong, I return to my glass box. It feels almost like a homecoming, which is about the most depressing thing imaginable. The wallscreens have been turned on in preparation for the night's entertainment. Their glow washes over me as I drift into a half sleep.