The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  The last few agents soon made their way to the camp, each with equipment they’d need over the next few weeks of the tournament, Melanie Harper with a huge crate of rations, just in case, Christian Fagan and Jacques Leclerc, both toting more energy packs for the weapons as well as a storage crate holding X7’s for each agent who’d arrived.

  Finally, Arnholt himself strode in, a multitude of data pads clutched in one hand, a viewing screen monitor in one. Something about that made Derenko a little proud. It was only a small thing, but the boss was mixing in with them, helping set everything up. It made him proud to work for him. Terence Arnholt was a pretty popular guy amongst those who worked for Unisco, it was rare anyone had a bad word about him. They might not always agree with his decisions, but he had enough respect amidst the organisation to ensure that no grudges were kept forever.

  These were not the only agents on the island, but they were the only ones not competing in the tournament itself. Derenko had seen the list of competitors, he’d been impressed. At least four of them worked for Unisco that he knew of. With them all together on the island, they’d be a formidable force… For what?

  He didn’t know what. They might not even be needed here. The whole thing might go off without any hint of a hitch. If they were lucky, it would. But if something did go wrong? They’d be here.

  Better to be prepared to fail than failing to prepare. If nothing happened, it’d doubtless raise some eyebrows about the need for this large a team out here. But if something did happen and there wasn’t this presence here…

  As he looked at Arnholt, Derenko didn’t envy him having to make the decisions like this. Because it was very unlikely that there’d be one right option he could go with. Every decision had repercussions that you sometimes never saw until too late. And when you had the lives of not just dozens but potentially millions in your hands, he could imagine the potential stresses of that burden on your shoulders. The weight of the kingdoms and their security bore heavy. It took a special sort of person to bear that load.

  He just hoped Arnholt could cope.

  Chapter Thirteen. The Opening Ceremony.

  “It’s a tradition for an opening ceremony. Every tournament has them, they’re more than just decoration though I know some think they’re a waste of time. I don’t think that personally. I think of it as a chance for the new host to one up the previous ones, a way to say look at us, we’re going to do it better than the last lot. And because this is the first time Vazara has hosted it, I think we’re going to see something truly special.”

  ICCC Master of Ceremonies, Raul de Blanco on the upcoming Quin-C event on Carcaradis Island.

  The seventeenth day of Summerdawn.

  The morning had come, and Scott hadn’t known what to feel. Excited? Yes. Happy? Again, yes. Nervous? Definitely. Terrified? Absolutely. All the above. Completely. He sat up in bed, took in a deep breath and sighed, letting it out. What was there to worry about? Today wasn’t even the tournament, it was only the start. The proper stuff didn’t even start until tomorrow. He might not even be fighting for another few days yet. If he was feeling wrecked now, how would he feel come his first match?

  He needed to pull himself together. This wasn’t him. All that was happening was the opening ceremony. The bit of the tournament which would probably be watched all around the five kingdoms… Why was he even thinking this? It wouldn’t be focusing specifically on him. It wouldn’t be doing that at all. He’d be lucky if he even got a close-up shot. He’d be completely anonymous amidst a crowd.

  Sighing, he dropped back to the mattress, pulled the cover over his legs as he lay thinking. Maybe it was natural to have doubts like this. It was the biggest tournament he’d ever compete in. It was unlikely to be topped for drama and suspense and heart-stopping stress. What made the whole feeling worse was he wanted to talk to someone about it, someone who’d understand it and give advice he could use without having to second guess it. He could have talked to Pete. Except he wouldn’t. It was a sad day when you couldn’t trust one of your best friends because you didn’t know what they’d come out with.

  Pete was competing too. He might even end up fighting him and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to beat him. Maybe it was possible even in the opening round. Last time they’d clashed for serious, they’d been evenly matched. Something here, something there, nothing between them. Pete would know this as well, would take any chance to get in his head.

  He missed Jess, her space in the bed cold. They slept together on the road, but he hadn’t seen her since the other night. Not since…

  Mia.

  Damn her. He barely knew the girl; he knew the brother more, if he was honest. They’d fought at a tournament in Serran a year or two ago when he’d been just starting out. Scott hadn’t truly had much more experience himself. He’d not even known Matt had an older sister then, not that Jess believed him. Was it so hard to accept? He supposed he should be grateful she was so jealous but at the same time it really didn’t feel like a blessing. Not for the first time, he’d realised truly how hard it was to understand women. Preach one thing, act in an entirely different way.

  Privately he wondered how long this relationship could keep going. He didn’t want to break up with her while he was competing, but at the same time, any more nights like this and he might have to. He laughed bitterly. Any more nights like this in bed alone and he might be cuddling up with Palawi. Least that’d make the pooch happy… It would have done back in the old days anyway. Now, he didn’t know. Not since he’d claimed Palawi’s spirit into a crystal. He might lay there and be warm but there wouldn’t be any affection. Not like there had been. It’d all be synthetic. Just a reflection of what he’d felt.

  Scott sighed, got to his feet, and went looking for his clothes. Time to start having a wander down to the stadium for the opening ceremony. He had to admit that those things were always worth seeing, even if it didn’t interest him as much as it might have. What did interest him was the draw for the qualifiers taking place immediately after, the first round of bouts to get the competition underway. He could find out who he was fighting. That interested him.

  Maxwell Brudel had found himself a spot near the viewing screen in one of the bars, a glass of ryk resting in front of him, a spicy local liquor that burned his throat whenever he swallowed some. It might just be the best thing he’d tasted in a long time, the taste of freedom, of something deprived to him had fortune, or an effeminate weirdo, not smiled upon him. He’d been plucked from the depths of obscurity to complete a task which he’d assured him was of the utmost importance.

  Mr R, as he’d insisted he call him, had had him out of there inside an hour, had even arranged for him to use his hotel room for the time being. Max had showered, felt relief to get the grime of that prison cell off him. If there’d ever been a better feeling in his life, it had been hard to place it right then. In the meantime, new clothes had been arranged for him to blend into the crowd. All while he’d been dressing, Mr R had been briefing him in a way that was starting to become slightly less uncomfortable than it had been.

  “Now then, sweetbuns,” he’d said. Remembering that, Max rolled his eyes and flinched in his seat. “It’s about a girl.”

  He’d bitten down the urge to snippily comment about how he doubted it was about a girl for a guy like him. Yet he’d desisted, and restraint had been rewarded. “It’s always about a girl, right?”

  “Maybe.” Mr R had looked thoughtful about that. “Yet this is a very special girl. One who I have a history with. You’re going to find her. You’re going to follow her, and you’ll make notes on who she meets with, where she goes frequently and when. Scratch that, go further. What she wears, what she drinks and eats. Even who the little whore fucks if you can. The whole shebang. I want nothing but your best work. You best be good.”

  He’d glared as if silently saying, ‘or else’. Max wasn’t keen to find out exactly what that threat entailed. Probably either waking up dead or ending up back in
prison. And yet Mr R was a little more creative than that. Especially if that story about that charity worker who’d appealed to him was true. He’d inquired, immediately regretted it. What had freaked him out wasn’t so much what had happened, more the way Mr R had told it, so nonchalant as if it were unimportant.

  “Well, I couldn’t stand for it now, could I? See I wasn’t always such a busy man. I did my own research, watched her, tracked her, eventually cornered her in her home one day. And what a beautiful house it was, so pretty with all the little knick-knacks you’d never need. Now a woman that affluent asking me for MY credits? It didn’t save her.” He could still remember that cold smile that had flashed across Mr R’s face as he’d carried on, apparently unaware Max was there in the present as he recalled the past. “Drugged her. Kidnapped her. Sold off everything she owned and gave the proceeds to the earthquake victims. I could have probably left it there.”

  He’d adjusted his trousers and the smile had grown. Those pale sausage fingers brushed against his crotch, he’d let out a little moan. “But I didn’t. I found myself with a question. How far did I want to take it? How far could I take it? Could I take her life? I didn’t want to kill her. Not yet. But then I started to think, my little sweetie. Take her life. Could I do that? I’d taken her possessions, what about everything that made her who she was?

  “I know a great many people; some of them have some remarkable skills. She was delivered to one who was tasked with making some alterations to her. I know a guy. Don’t think my nose is this cute naturally, do you? Nothing like turning a leggy blond Premesoiran beauty into something so twisted you cross the street to avoid them. Her anguish was delightful when she awoke. The best feeling I’ve ever experienced, believe me.

  “She wept for days as she saw her new face, saw what had been done to her body. I heard she even wept as I arranged for her to be delivered to her new life, an invisible servant in her former home. They didn’t ask questions, I didn’t give any answers. That was the price she paid for presuming to cross me.”

  Max hadn’t been able to say anything; mouth had hung open in shock and disgust, fear slowly replacing the latter emotion. Mr R had simply smiled and patted him on the shoulder. The amusement on his face had been plan for all to see. Maybe he’d assumed the silence was awe.

  “So, y’know, honey, no pressure to succeed. Don’t want to have to break you.”

  He’d still been sweating after the meeting with Mr R, more from the discomfort of hearing that story than the heat. It was a pleasant night; he’d got the mental image of the girl in his head, the actual picture on a data pad. He wasn’t going to do something as blasé as actually show it around, attract all sorts of wrong attention. Last thing he wanted was someone with a badge poking around him again. His body still hurt from the last time that had happened, some bruises took a long time to fade. In the night, the crowds had been growing around the resort and he’d took on the casual gait of someone who had all the time in the world and wasn’t shy in letting people know it. How many dark-haired girls could be on this island?

  Short answer, lots. Yet that wasn’t the only thing he sought out. Pale skin… Remain here for a while, it probably wouldn’t stay that way unless she was fussy about it. Nice boobs… Yeah, if he was lucky that was the way he’d be able to recognise her. Ears pierced twice in each lobe… Not uncommon but again, on this island how many were likely to have that? It all added up. This detecting lark wasn’t hard when you thought about it. Maybe he should have stayed in law enforcement. It wasn’t like his life of crime was so much more glamorous. Look at him now, running errands for the world’s laziest psychopath. Because he hadn’t been told what he wanted with this girl, he noticed. In a way, he was glad, it meant he didn’t have to worry about the guilt. Whatever he was, he somehow doubted it was good for her. Not with that story to keep in mind…

  He’d wandered for about an hour when he’d seen someone who MIGHT be her. Still sauntering casually, he’d wandered over, keen to listen in on the conversation. He had the data pad in his pocket, especially supplied by Mr R for this purpose. Good of him. An expensive model, powerful but exceptionally portable. Something about her looked familiar. As did the boy with her. Where had he seen them before? It’d come to him. He paused, lingered, waited for something until he’d caught the conversation.

  “… Just so much bigger than I thought,” the boy was saying excitedly. “Is this the best or what, Sis?”

  Brother. Interesting. So, she has a brother.

  “Sure is, Matt.” She didn’t sound too interested. But her brother’s name was Matt. He made a note of that, still trying not to look too conspicuous. It was a hard job. Still that piece of information might be useful. But what was HER name? “You like your hotel?”

  “Awesome. It’s like the best room I’ve ever been in in my entire life. Almost as big as our old house on its own.”

  The girl’s attention was wandering as her brother continued beating his gums, the two of them wandering through the crowds with ice creams in hand. Max made a note, beat the data out blindly on screen. Likes what looks like strawberry ice cream. Probably useless.

  “… And some of these stadiums are just going to be sweet. They’re all brand new, built in the last three years. Not even sure some of them have seen bouts before now. How awesome would that be, being the first one ever to fight in a stadium.”

  “I’m sure someone has,” the girl said. “Just probably not competitively.” Her eyes caught something. “Hey, who’s that?” She sounded interested, Max had noted at the time. A possible opening?

  “Who’s who?” her brother asked, glancing around. Max’s gaze followed them until it fell on a couple, a red-haired girl with a large tattoo on her forearm and a mixed-race guy, brown-ish skin and dark hair who was looking increasingly uncomfortable by the second. Neither of them looked familiar. Probably shouldn’t. About what he looked uncomfortable, he couldn’t quite see. “Him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know that guy. Well I know of him. That’s Scott.”

  “Scott? Nice name.” She clearly had an interested note in her voice. “When did you meet him?”

  “At a bout. Two years ago, maybe. I think. Could be more. What am I, a calendar?”

  “Old friend, eh? Want to say hello to him? Have a quick catch up?”

  What Matt had to say about that, Max didn’t hear, their passing of a musician temporarily blocking out his answer. He wasn’t playing the leelaphone well at all and unless he got better in the next few seconds, Max was finding himself tempted to take him off it and insert the long silver nozzle where the Vazaran sun wouldn’t blemish it.

  Yet he hadn’t been disappointed in his task, the girl and her brother had made a beeline for the half race and the redhead. He didn’t dare run to catch up, didn’t want to draw attention to himself. The same rules of thieving applied here, he noted with a wry smile, but in a few long steps he was close enough to hear some of it.

  “Yeah, yeah, course I remember you,” Scott had said, wringing Matt’s hand. “How you been?”

  “Good, good,” Matt said. “Didn’t know you were here, I saw you and thought I’d say hello.”

  “You met him a few years ago and yet you remember him?” the redhead remarked, sounding more than a little amused.

  “He let an impression,” Matt said defensively. Comprehension dawned on the redhead’s face, a nod of agreement. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Anyway, Scott, this is my sister, Mia…”

  So, the right one then. Max felt a surge of glee rush through him. This was turning out to be easier than he’d expected.

  Scott and Mia shook hands, he noticed that she let her fingers linger against his for a few seconds more than was maybe proper, a faint pinkish tinge to her cheeks as she gave him a sweet smile. He couldn’t see Scott’s face from here; he imagined he’d have to have a heart of stone not to be smiling.

  The redhead coughed. “Put my boyfriend down, will you? I think he wan
ts his hand back.” It could have been construed as a joke. Something in the way she said it, Max got the feeling she hadn’t meant it that way. There’d been a hint of outrage there, snappily angry. It looked like a very reluctant Mia who let go of Scott’s hand. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly; Max could see he was trying to avoid looking at his girlfriend. Silence held between the four of them for a moment, before Matt quickly broke it.

  “Well, it was nice seeing you again,” he said. “But we’ve got some place to be, so…” He quickly steered a pink cheeked Mia away from the other two and back into the crowd. Barely a second had gone before Max heard the fallout and promptly realised they’d had the best idea.

  “The little bitch!” the redhead spat. “Who does she think she is? She’s lucky I didn’t give her a slap! Touching my fucking boyfriend like that! I saw the look on her face! And you didn’t exactly discourage her, did you?”

  “Huh? What I do now?” Scott sounded confused. Max shook his head. He probably should get out of here. Mr R wouldn’t be interested in this.

  “Way she had you, she looked like she didn’t want to let go. And you didn’t pull away, did you? What were you hoping for, a hug? A kiss?”

  The sounds of argument followed him as he’d wandered away, the two of them not quite shouting at each other but the air around them felt like it had grown a couple of degrees hotter as well as a thousand times more uncomfortable…

  Still, he wanted to know who those two were. Who the boy who she’d shown some attraction to was, maybe even who the red-haired girl might be. Perhaps a potential love rival? That might interest Mr R, you could never be too thorough when you found yourself working for a potentially unbalanced individual like him. That was why he’d found himself in this bar watching the opening ceremony. If he was a competitor and there was a pretty decent chance he was, his full name would be on the screen when they did the draw.