by P. A. Wilson
They were down to ten competitors.
4
They were in the fourth challenge and down to six competitors. Well, Jocaster thought, five. I’m not competing.
Pen was playing well and if the game weren’t fixed she’d win. That was if Goya didn’t incapacitate her like she had the last gamer to leave. In a nasty move, Goya had reached out to assist the guy in climbing the wall. When he trusted her help, she let go. He fell and broke his right leg.
“How many more obstacles do you think?” Pen asked as they rested bent over and panting after climbing twenty levels.
“I don’t know. I guess until there’s only two people left. Maybe there’s a hundred options.” If she was smart, Pen was going to ditch him as soon as it was down to a few. She wouldn’t have a choice.
Pen slumped. The first time she’d shown any emotion other than determination. “I hope not. I think that Goya woman is on some kind of enhancer. I haven’t seen her show any effects, have you?”
Sweat drenched all of the gamers, even Nina Goya. But she wasn’t gasping for air like the others. She was already trying to figure out the challenge. “What are you going to do to beat her?” Jocaster couldn’t hold back the question. He realized as soon as the words were out that no real gamer would ask, and no one would give away their final strategy.
Pen grinned. She glanced at Goya and then back to Jocaster. “What are you planning? Have you seen a weakness?”
Now he had to avoid answering, so Pen wouldn’t suspect. “I’m not sure she has any.” He stood and pulled Pen erect as he saw Goya suddenly swoop on a shadow. “Maybe it’s safer to let her be the leader until the final test.”
Pen looked sidelong at him. A tinge of suspicion in her eyes. Then she shook her head and let him pull her toward the darkness that Goya crouched in.
The others were standing there waiting for Goya to tell them what she’d found. Jocaster wondered at the fact they seemed to trust the woman.
Pen leaned in and then turned away, beckoning Jocaster to join her.
“She had nothing. I think she’s going to try to harm one of the others when they get in close. They don’t have the sense to realize she’s playing them.”
If the other two people on his list were taken out by Goya, then it would make his job easier.
Jocaster helped Pen search for a clue that would get them out of the bottom of the stairwell. They’d followed a convoluted path to get here, but Jocaster had no doubt in his mind that this is where they were supposed to be. Unfortunately, everything looked like a dead end.
He was tired of trying to work the odds for Pen without actively doing anything to slow the three people on his list. If this was a test, he’d rather ignore Xandry and help the right person win than worry about what he was supposed to do. He would have to drop out before the end, but he’d make sure the final challenge was between Goya and Pen.
Let the game decide who had the right skills.
It was obvious after a minute of searching that there was nothing to find here. A yelp from someone crowded around Goya pulled their attention. Pen was right. Goya had done something to one of the guys. He was holding his knee and swearing in pain and anger.
Pen grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the stairwell. “We need to go. There’s nothing here but danger. If she gets a chance, she’ll take us all out and win by default.”
A crack of bone punctuated Pen's words. Goya was clearly trying to end the game. If there was no clue here, then they’d missed something on the way down. Jocaster nodded for Pen to go first.
“Hurry,” he urged.
Goya and her opponent were fighting but soon one of them would notice they were alone.
As soon as Pen's boots disappeared up the metal rungs, Jocaster started after her. The rungs were hot and they hadn’t been before.
The game was changing.
He kept glancing down for warning that one of the others were following. He heard a shout just as his head banged into Pen's foot. “They’re coming.”
“There’s a side hatch,” she whispered back.
The rungs were getting too hot to hang onto without gloves. Jocaster looked down again, Goya had started up the stairwell, and behind her was the one other gamer.
“Get in fast.” He only hoped it was the exit and not the beginning of another challenge.
His hope was answered. The hatch opened into a room with no furniture, but five pitchers of water on the floor. Jocaster turned to close the hatch, if he could stop the others entering, the game would be over.
Goya swung her body through and tried to kick his feet from under him as soon as she landed. The final gamer made it through as the countdown started to end the challenge.
Goya tried to punch Jocaster. He dodged.
The rests between challenges was supposed to be a safe place. He was about to remind Goya of that when the intercom chimed.
“Gamer Goya,” it said in the oddly warm computer voice. “Do not violate the rest areas. You will be ejected from the game if you continue.”
Goya stepped back, the fight disappearing from her eyes. “We’ll pick this up in the next challenge.” She looked where Pen and the other gamer were drinking water. “Maybe I’ll save you for last.”
5
Jocaster assumed that there would be only one or possibly two challenges left. It was down to Goya, Alex Racine, one of the names on the list, and Pen. He knew Racine wasn’t going to make it through, Goya had a mean look on her face and her plan to do enough damage to get him out of the game was clear. When that was done, Jocaster had to find a way to make sure Pen had a chance.
The only thing he felt right about was trusting the game. That meant he couldn’t interfere at the end. He’d have to let himself be Goya’s target, so he had a reason to leave. He wasn’t worried about getting hurt so much as getting in the way at the end.
The countdown started, this time at twenty-five.
Did that mean anything?
He couldn’t remember his own session, it melted into a blur of speed and focus. “Pen, what happens if we get separated?”
She looked at him, but he could see her lips keeping time with the counter. She shrugged, and then perhaps realizing counting along wasn’t going to help, said, “Am I on the list?”
The timer was almost run out, Jocaster shook his head, not trusting himself to blurt out the truth, but forced to answer, he said, “If there’s a list, I wouldn’t have it.”
The count ended before she could put words to the expression on her face. Jocaster knew what she was going to say.
She’d known all along. She thought he was helping her because she was on the list.
The ceiling disappeared and gas seeped in across the floor.
“Just win,” he whispered. “Don’t worry who’s on some speculative list.”
He reached down and grabbed her ankle, hoisting her to the crossbeams that now slid into place above them. She reached down to help him up.
Jocaster took her hand. If she wasn’t going to abandon him, maybe she wasn’t all that sure of her assumptions.
They balanced for a moment watching the other two. Now Goya would be regretting not making an alliance. There was at least one more barrier to get through. That one wouldn’t require teamwork like this one did.
Pen gasped, pulling Jocaster’s attention back to the contest. While he’d been lost in thought, Goya had rendered Racine unconscious. He didn’t seem to be breathing, but must still be alive or the game observer would have disqualified her.
A tug on his arm reminded him they had to leave and find the next challenge.
The gas on the floor was rising now and it would eventually overcome all of them. Games rarely ended without a winner, but there were tales about it happening.
Goya had folded Racine’s body and now she ran a few steps and used it to gain the height she needed to grasp a crossbeam.
“He must be dead,” Pen whispered. “Come on, we don’t have much time.�
�
The only way that Goya could kill and stay in the game was if the overseer hadn’t recorded the loss of Racine’s life signs. Gamers only got ejected from the game if they were caught. Jocaster could only think that Xandry was watching them. He’d let her through no matter what. If she won, she’d get her posting, no matter what she’d done in the game.
Pen's sigh caught his attention again. His lack of focus was probably confirming her suspicion that he knew who would win. It was time to change tactics.
“Go ahead,” he said to Pen. “I’ll catch up.”
She just ran to the wall where a port was irising open.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” Goya said, rushing him.
Now, Jocaster had to compete.
If he didn’t fight back, he’d die. Goya would toss him from the beam without a second thought. Then she’d be after Pen.
“No,” he said. They were on the same beam and she would have to get past him to keep going. If they were trapped here when the hole spun closed, then Pen would win. Jocaster would take whatever punishment came out of it. If Goya got through and won, the ship would suffer.
She was focused over his shoulder at the door. The exit that represented her only chance.
“I know you have to let me win,” she said, quietly. The game recorder would pick up her words, but perhaps not the overseer.
Goya’s quiet voice contrasted so much with the violence in her eyes that Jocaster felt the air chill.
The dry scent of the gas tickled at his nose. He recognized it. Walcortone gas. Not fatal, but if they breathed in too much, they’d be coughing out the irritants for a week.
“I don’t have to do anything.” If he was lucky, delaying her would work. Surely the exit would close soon.
She shifted her weight and inched toward him. “You want Xandry on your case? He promised me this. He won’t like it if you make him break that promise.”
Jocaster slid one foot behind the other. It moved him a few millimeters toward the door, not enough, but his plan was to improve his balance, not get away. “Did he put your name on the list?”
She sneered. “Are you really that naive? He made up the whole fucking list so it looks official.”
Relief flooded him at the thought the game was pure. “Big risk,” he said.
She was almost in arm’s reach now. Jocaster could see the muscles in her shoulders flex ready to swing. “I’ll make it worth his while. At least until I get what I want.”
She swung her arm trying to unbalance him.
Jocaster pulled away at the last second. He reached forward to use Goya’s momentum to topple her, but she had anticipated the move and took a step back.
“What happened to Racine?” Jocaster wanted her to keep talking. It couldn’t be Xandry on oversight. He wouldn’t have let her continue after that comment. Or maybe he was waiting to deal with her after the game.
Too many possibilities.
“Dead,” Goya mouthed.
She wasn’t going to play with him much longer. Jocaster saw the change in her just as he heard the countdown start.
“So, I guess you’re stuck,” he said. “Time’s run out.”
She rushed him and this time they connected.
As hard as he tried, Jocaster couldn’t keep his balance. He wrapped his arm around Goya’s shoulders and pulled her with him into the thick gas below.
6
His throat was raw. Breathing hurt, and so did not breathing.
He was in a bed.
Sick bay.
How long had he been here?
Jocaster opened his eyes. There were five other beds in the room. Two held maintenance workers, both bandaged extensively. The other three were empty.
He looked for a call button. Goya couldn’t have healed faster than him.
He wouldn’t be able to talk, but there’d be something that he could use to communicate, surely.
“Welcome back,” Pen's voice came from the doorway.
He mimicked writing and she handed him a tablet.
How long?
“Only a couple of days,” she answered. “You got a lungful.”
? He scribbled.
Why didn’t she just tell him what happened?
“So, yeah, obviously, I won.” She waved at the uniform. “Goya is pretty badly hurt. You landed on her. She’s in the brig. Racine was dead when they cleared the room.”
Xandry?
“He’s detained. They’ll be down soon to get your statement. He’s saying he doesn’t know anything. You need to tell them.” She turned and Jocaster caught the sound of boots on metal flooring. “There they come. I haven’t given a statement, but you know I was there. I’ll tell them what I saw. And, maybe we can talk about teaming up for other things?”
“Ensign Tromarin, wait in the gangway.” The words came from the Captain.
Jocaster had never seen the man before. Why was he involved?
“At ease, Lieutenant Bryman.” The captain held up a hand. “The doctor ordered me to keep you from speaking.”
He gave a sharp nod, hoping it would serve as a salute.
“Your promotion was effective at the end of the game. You earned it, don’t look surprised. You kept the integrity of the game without killing, unlike Nina Goya. If she had made it through, we would have a real problem on our hands.”
Jocaster eyed the tablet. Would he dare ask questions?
“Security will be down tomorrow to interview you. We have the tape of the game, but we don’t know what happened to get you involved. Tell them what you know, Lieutenant.”
Jocaster nodded.
“The game is needed,” the captain continued. “We have to have the brightest and, to be truthful, the most creative people in command. I know most of the civilians, and probably most of the ranks, think there’s no more enemy to fight. Despite the public acceptance of the official story.” He paused and seemed to be lost in memory. “There is…. Well, more than one enemy really. We keep it held close to the command, but not every ship manages to outrun the aliens. We lose a few every decade or so. The game keeps us prepared.”
Jocaster nodded again. His brain filled with questions that would never get answered. Or, if not never, not for a long time. This didn’t seem like a topic that got discussed over mess.
But the game wasn’t fixed. That was the one answer that counted.
Also by P.A. Wilson
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MYSTERIES
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SCIENCE FICTION
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URBAN FANTASY
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FANTASY
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ROMANCE
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NON-FICTION
About the Author
Perry Wilson is a Canadian author based in Vancouver, BC who has big ideas and an itch to tell stories. Having spent some time on university, a career, and life in general, she returned to writing in 2008 and hasn't looked back since (well, maybe a little, but only while parallel parking).
She is a member of the Vancouver Writers Social Group, The Royal City Literary Arts Society, and The Surrey Writing Workshop. Perry has self-published several novels. She writes the Madeline Journeys, a fantasy series about a high-powered lawyer who finds herself trapped in a magical world, the Quinn Larson Quests, which follows the adventures of a wizard named Quinn who must contend with volatile fae in the heart of Vancouver, and the Charity Deacon Investigations, a mystery thriller series about a private eye who tends to fall into serious trouble with her cases, and The Riverton Romances, a series based in a small town in Oregon, one of her favorite states. Her stand-alone novels are Breaking the Bonds, Closing the Circle, and The Dragon at The Edge of The Map.
For more information
www.pawilson.ca
[email protected]
Acknowledgments
People think that the process of writing is solitary. That’s
not the case for me. I have help from so many people it would be hard to acknowledge everyone, but I’ll give it a try.
The support and inspiration I get from my writer’s groups is incalculable. The Vancouver Writers Social Group opens my mind to other ways of telling a story. The Royal City Literary Arts Society gives me the opportunity to meet and share with other writers who have more knowledge than I do. The Other 11 Months group is where I learn about getting the words on the page. And my critique group who helps me find the best parts of the story I want to tell. Thanks to all of the members of these great groups.
Last of all, but definitely a huge part of the process, my beta readers. These are the people who love stories and are willing, and more than able, to tell me if my finished story is ready for you, my readers.