The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  Nick held his hand up, taking it from his weapon. He pointed to Wilsin, pointed left. He pointed at himself, pointed right. You go left, I’ll go right, we’ll meet in the middle. Wilsin nodded. He understood. Next, he held up three fingers. Wilsin got the message. Took a deep breath.

  He put one finger down. Two.

  Another breath, Nick let it exhale as he checked the room again. Still no reaction from the guys inside. They weren’t prepared.

  He put a second finger down. One.

  Wilsin’s weapon felt slippery in his hand. The rain, he told himself. He gripped it tighter. Tried not to think about what’d happen if his aim wasn’t true.

  No fingers left. Go time!

  The door was stiff, but Nick booted it hard, it came back off the wall with a crash, one almost drowned out by the first shot as the X7 shouted, struck the guy on the right in the throat. He wasn’t packing a shield, it went through him easily, one already cauterised hole in his neck. He didn’t even bleed as he died.

  Wilsin didn’t think as he fired his own weapon, aimed and shot, the realisation only swept in as the guy on the left went down, a gaping wound in his stomach, the shock already doing for him. He’d just killed him! Dead. Snuffed him out.

  No time to contemplate, the third guy was already dropping to his knees, a table between them. He wasn’t fast enough, both X7’s reported repeatedly and not even his nearest and dearest would have recognised the man who hit the ground, his face almost blasted away completely.

  They swept into the room, blasters going to all corners to check they were alone. Another dark uniformed man, a Burykian by the looks of it rose to his feet, his hand dropping to a weapon and Wilsin let him have three shots to the chest. The first shunked off his shield, the second and third punched through and dropped him in a writhing heap. Fourth shot finished him off, Wilsin knew he shouldn’t have the moment his finger closed on the trigger. Still Nick didn’t seem like the type to call him on it. Officially they were supposed to try and take people alive for interrogation, yet he didn’t want to get shot in the back. It was realism. Still, didn’t mean he couldn’t feel a little twinge of regret.

  “Clear!” Nick said, lowering his weapon. Already he’d scooped up one of the fallen weapons and was running a check on it, a bulky assault rifle with a long thin barrel. “Hey, a Broxtie. Love these things.”

  “Not your average gun for hire then,” Wilsin said, retrieving one of his own from the guy he’d dropped. “Bit expensive, huh?” BRO-60’s were high class blaster rifles, favoured by the best, usually the only ones who could afford them. These four certainly hadn’t been that. Unisco didn’t use the weapon, preferring the more cost-effective Featherstone.

  “Yeah but you get what you pay for,” Nick said, sounding like he was ready to salivate over the weapon. “Best follow up ever. I hated the BRO-50. These though, I wish we’d gotten the green light to use these on official missions.”

  “Noorland said they weren’t as good as the Featherstone.”

  “In this case, Al doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Nick said hotly. “The Featherstone is no use against good quality shields. It takes half a power pack just to burn through one. You could murder anything with one of these. Anyway, where were we?”

  A quick search of the room hadn’t turned up anything of interest, though a search of the fallen combatants had turned up several power packs for the weapons which they’d split between them. With three ways out, they’d been spoilt for choice on where to go next. By the looks of it, the dead men had been playing Ruin. Nick plucked up a hundred credits token and slipped it in his pocket, shrugging as he did.

  “We need this much firepower to finish the rest of them off, it’ll be overkill,” Wilsin said. “I don’t see those three guys here anywhere.” They both fired up their personal shields while they waited. So far, they’d gotten lucky. All it’d take was a stray shot to kill them.

  “So maybe six left then,” Nick said. “Three at least. See, not so hard.”

  “I so know that’s going to come back and bite us,” Wilsin muttered. “It won’t take six of them to kill us if we go in cocky.”

  Nick nodded. “That’s why I didn’t say easy.” He consulted his glasses again, checked the three doors to see which way to go. “Most footprints converge there.” He pointed left. “I think we should head that way.”

  “Straight into the snake pit,” Wilsin grimaced. “Still not the worst thing I’ve ever had to do in the name of Unisco.”

  “Same,” Nick said, clapping him on the back. “Come on, we’re getting close.”

  Through the door they went into yet one more identical corridor, the stink hitting Wilsin as they entered. He audibly gagged, only a split second before Nick did the same.

  “What the hells is that?” he choked.

  “Must be the sewage,” Nick said. “Although, there’s something about it…” He tailed off thoughtfully, tracing out the path in front of him with his eyes.

  “I take it back,” Wilsin said. “If we need to wade through the shit of a hundred thousand people, it is the worst thing I’ve ever been on. These are new shoes, man.”

  “Relax, we’re probably not have to go anywhere near the shit stream,” Nick said, sounding like he was smirking. “Don’t worry about it.” He pointed ahead, gesturing left. “Four sets of footprints going that way. Not as many of them as we thought. Dave?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do me a favour if I get killed in action here.”

  Wilsin sighed. Here they went… “Okay, if I’m honouring your last requests, you best do me one in return. If I die here, make sure I’m returned home and buried in the family plot out in the Wilsin traditional family home.”

  “Uh huh? It on your records where that is?”

  “Yeah. What’s yours?”

  “Anyone tries to sleep with my fiancé, hunt them down and kill them without hesitation. She’d better bloody miss me when I’m gone.”

  It sounded full of bravado, Wilsin knew it, Nick probably knew he knew it. He could detect the traces in his voice, just a hint of worry. That made two of them. He was starting to regret it more and more they’d come down here.

  “I’m sure she will,” he said reassuringly. “I mean…” It was then that he voiced something he’d spent some time wondering in recent times. “… Screw it; I’ll come out with it. How the hells did you end up with her? I mean she’s a right bloody catch.”

  “Steady Dave, you’re sounding a bit jealous.”

  “Who wouldn’t be, I mean… Just… Seriously I want to know. How did you end up with her?”

  Nick laughed. “I’ll tell you if we make it out of here. Want to meet her hot cousin?”

  “She has a hot cousin?” he started to ask, before stopping. Up ahead, something lurked waiting. It wasn’t bright, but he could see the faint blue outline, it enough to make him halt.

  Apparently, Nick saw it too. “What is that?” he muttered aloud. “Think this looks like a trap?”

  “Could be,” Wilsin mused. “Bit obvious, isn’t it? What does it look like through the goggles? Bet we’ve got to go in that direction, right?”

  The look Nick gave him confirmed it. “Got it in one. Shall we then?” He raised his weapon, gave it one final check and grinned. “If we’re about to dance the death, then let us go find our partners.”

  On those succinct words, he took off at a run and reluctantly Wilsin followed him, hoping that he wasn’t about to regret it.

  The light got stronger the closer they got, Nick turned the corner first, Wilsin straight after him and they found themselves atop what appeared to be a cavern cut out of the rock underneath the island. Lights had been put up, yet they felt horribly insignificant compared to the magnificence of the blue hovering towards the centre of the room, a gorgeous shade of azure pulsing with the incandescent fury of a storm and the malevolence of a dark ocean.

  Six great pillars held up the roof, all of them engraved with something th
at neither of them could read. Down below, the three identical men stood in uniform formation, all armed, waiting on the orders of the other man, a stooping figure with wispy mud coloured hair examining something in the darkness. Both could hear something in the distance, a low dull humming. As it rose and fell, so did the blue orb above them, convulsing in perfect unison with the voice. Wilsin could smell that familiar copper scent, the odour of blood and he gagged silently. Whatever was going on here, it wasn’t good.

  Nick didn’t look fazed by the sight in front of him, he glanced left and right to check for cover before striding to the peak of the steps leading into the bowels of the makeshift arena, weapon held out in front of him. Apparently, he was satisfied with the wall lining the edges of upper areas, thick but low.

  Still reluctant, Wilsin followed him, painfully aware he was putting himself in the line of fire. This might not end prettily. He couldn’t keep his eyes off that orb. It was just so shiny, rippled like water the closer they got. Whatever purpose it served, something so pretty couldn’t be a threat, surely. It’d be nice to believe but somehow, he just couldn’t bring himself to. Whatever it was, it was the main attraction in the room and instincts told him it was important.

  “Okay, break it up!” Nick shouted down. “I don’t know what you’re doing, and I don’t want to know. All I’m going to say is surrender and nobody else has to die.”

  The triplets reacted a lot faster than Wilsin had expected, they’d set into motion the moment he’d spoken, weapons coming up and spitting deadly fire in their direction. Nick swore, spun out of the firing line and dropped behind the wall, already sidling along in a crouch along it as laser fire smashed through the stone where he’d stood. Wilsin couldn’t help but notice he’d been right about the destructive power of the Broxtie.

  “Of course, death is always an option!” he shouted, bringing another blast of fire down on the location of his voice. “Feel free to shoot, Davey!”

  What do you think I’m doing? Wilsin asked silently as he dropped into cover himself, raising the Broxtie up over the barrier, firing blind into the pit, a yell of pain echoing over the blasts. Confident he’d hit someone, hoping it wasn’t one wide of the mark that had tagged Nick; he withdrew the weapon and continued to move. Seconds later, the wall where he’d leaned was obliterated by a concentration of fire on his position.

  Next thing he knew, he could see Nick firing, the BRO-60 dancing in his arms, struggling to get free. Their attention caught between two targets, Wilsin found the opening he needed to peek up and over, hoping he wasn’t going to catch one in the face as a reward or curiosity. One of the triplets was down in a pool of his own blood, the mud haired man had dived into the darkness.

  DUCK!

  The remaining two triplets were firing into the air, one trying to lock on Nick, the other fixated on him. As he ducked, he smelled singed hair, breathed a sigh of relief despite the fire burning through his skull, already kicking himself off the ground and further out of sight before firing blind over the wall again.

  Bare seconds passed before the cover alongside him suddenly shattered, shards of stone raining down on him. He winced as silvers of rock shredded his face, a dozen little cuts opening up. He could taste the coppery tang of blood on his lips. But they’d given him an opening, where they’d fired through the wall, he could see one of the remaining triplets pointing his weapon up towards him seeking out any sign of movement. If he timed it right…

  Wilsin dropped the assault rifle, slipped a hand to the weapon holstered at his waist in one fluid motion, slamming the barrel of his X7 against the opening and emptied the pack as fast as he could pull the trigger, sending every shot in the direction of the threat, mentally fist pumping the air as he heard a yell of pain and the sound of a weapon being dropped.

  He ejected the spent pack and reloaded, before retrieving the dropped rifle. It had been a good ploy; he’d needed that control and speed that the rifle wouldn’t have given him in confined spaces. Fire enough shots and something had to land eventually. His old instructor would have had a fit with that ideology.

  Down below, the last of the triplets had given up on Nick, made the choice to follow the mud haired man into the shadows, apparently in hopes they’d be able to protect him better. Wilsin rolled his eyes. If they’d started with that sort of survival instinct, this might have gone differently.

  He met him halfway, Nick covered in dust and other various accumulus that had found its way here over the years, Wilsin looked down at himself and realised dolefully he didn’t look much better. At least Nick hadn’t managed to get his face cut open.

  “Do I have to call you Bloody Davey now?” Nick asked, dropping down into a sitting position. “Nice shooting.”

  “I try,” Wilsin said modestly, ignoring the nickname comment. He really didn’t want one which made him sound like some sort of mass murderer. “What we train for, right?”

  “Uh huh,” Nick didn’t really look like he was paying too much attention to the words; instead he craned his neck and studied the ground below them. He wiped the glasses with a finger, grimaced as he tried to find a dry part of his shirt to clean them off. “One left. And that other guy.” Above them, the orb continued to pulse, a wet slurping motion emerging from it. They looked at each other and shrugged. Neither of them knew why.

  “I’m not comfortable with leaving this thing unchecked,” Wilsin said. “We need to find some way of shutting it down.”

  “Agreed. The other guy. Let’s try to take him alive. He looked like he might know what’s going on. I’d like to ask him a few questions,” Nick said, digging into his pack.

  “Let’s outline the situation. They’re down there below us. We can’t use the stairs, we’ll be open targets and our shields won’t stop Broxtie rounds for long.”

  “Suppose we could drop in on them,” Wilsin said. “I mean, you got a nylorope, right?” Nick nodded. “Me too. Tie up here, drop down on them. I wouldn’t see it coming.”

  “Maybe they have more imagination than you,” Nick said. “It’s not the worst idea. But problem is, if the other guy is with him, it’s dark down there. Might hit him if we fire blindly. You don’t have these.” He tapped his glasses.

  “Did you just volunteer to go first?” Wilsin smiled. “That’s good of you. You drop, take the guy with the weapon out… You know where he is?”

  “Roughly,” Nick shrugged. “He’ll show up down here. It’s freezing. I can see your body heat fine. Unless he has masking technology which I doubt very much.” Sensor masking equipment was usually the size of a briefcase, very cumbersome and obvious as to its purpose, none of them had worn it before.

  “So, what are you waiting for? An invite?”

  Nick grinned at him, grabbed his nylorope and hooked it to a knot in the wall, testing it was secured. He clipped the other end to his belt and stood up, BRO-60 in his hands.

  “Don’t make me wait, yeah?” he grinned. “See you on the flipside, Dave.”

  Wilsin rolled his eyes as he started to go through the same process with his own nylorope, locking it onto a different securing point. “Don’t make them wait.”

  Nick winked, stepped backwards off the edge, the nylorope holding firm and the moment he vanished, Wilsin heard the roar of Broxtie fire fill the cavern followed by a rather final strangled yelp and a scream, the tell-tale sound of a body hitting the ground.

  Wilsin went himself, stepped out into the gloom, the rope jerking him back. The moment he hit the ground, another burst of laser fire struck the air and he snapped his own weapon up to defend himself, momentarily kicking himself as he realised it hadn’t been directed at him. Nick stood unharmed and unconcerned, pointing into the darkness, clearly seeing something Wilsin couldn’t.

  “That was a warning,” he said. “I know you’re there. We can still end this in a civil fashion. Come on out and nobody else gets hurt.”

  He shot a sideways glance to Wilsin, shrugged and gestured with his head to go in and circ
le around behind him, before he carried on talking.

  “You don’t look like a fighter. Doesn’t mean you’re not one but I’d say you’re here for other reasons. This orb. What does it do?”

  No answer. Already Wilsin had stepped into the darkness in search of the mud haired man, feeling his way around. He knew it was a stupid idea. If their prey had tech like Nick, he’d be a sitting duck, seen in seconds.

  Nick fired, Wilsin instinctively ducked, realised his surroundings were illuminated briefly, and he caught a glimpse of his target stood leaning against a pillar. Deep breath and he lunged in that direction, to the feeling of his hands catching on something soft and warm as the darkness engulfed him again. That something quickly realised what was going on and reacted, panicked hands pushing away at him, slapping and grabbing. Not enough room to throw a punch properly, Wilsin realised, or maybe he genuinely wasn’t a fighter as Nick had speculated.

  He, on the other hand, did know how to fight, even when denied light. Unisco trained them to fight in the dark. Blindly he threw a punch at his attacker’s kidneys, felt it land and heard breath being driven from him. It sounded painful and he pressed it, using the sounds of pain as a guide, twisting around to stamp on his knee. There was a snap and a howl, he reached out and grabbed him in a chokehold, pulling him into the light.

  “You… You broke my leg!” the man howled as Wilsin threw him down beneath the glowing of the orb. “Oh Divines, I’ll never walk again.”

  “Could be worse,” Nick said. “Looks pretty bad to me.” He winked at Wilsin. “You don’t get help soon; it could really be bad for you, just my opinion.”

  “Now we would call for help for you,” Wilsin offered. “But there’s one small problem with that. The storm took down the communication net. While that’s ongoing, not much chance of getting someone down here.” He exhaled sharply. “Doubt you’ll be able to get back up there on your own as well. Still suppose we’ll help you up there, won’t we Agent?”

  “Oh yeah,” Nick said. “What the hells are you doing down here?”