by O. J. Lowe
Although they were far from the only notable losses on her record, they were the only ones where she had failed miserably. She’d lost to perhaps more notorious champions, Terrence Arnholt, Vassily Derenko, Mikael Burke, Wade Wallerington and Brendan King among them as well as Nick Roper, but they’d never been as decisive as the bouts with Baxter. She’d won as many as she’d lost. On the other hand, her victories often were decisive, all the way back to when she’d announced herself to the five kingdoms by absolutely destroying Luke Maddley for her first trophy. Maddley hadn’t quite been the same after, Pete remembered. He’d lost form after the infamous bout and hadn’t been able to keep his position.
Most of the rest of it he knew, it wasn’t really of interest, so he scrolled to the next section on her combat style. This was probably the thing he should have focused on from the start, his thoughts were filled with the link between his sister and Ruud Baxter. She’d never tell him, it had been a long time ago. Maybe he should just forget it.
Fighting Style, he read. Sharon Arventino has been known to favour a mix of offensive tactics while relying on defensive solidity to build a platform from which to launch counter-attacks. Like her mentor, Ruud Baxter, she has excellent reactions but goes beyond it with almost an uncanny sense of anticipation as to what will come next.
The excellent reactions thing wasn’t so much a problem, any spirit caller wanting to go beyond decent had to be good at reacting to changing situations, but the other part about anticipation didn’t bode well. Maybe he should be unpredictable. Do stuff she wouldn’t expect a sane individual to do. He laughed at the thought.
“And Bruzack’s final choice is a golem, a surprise selection but if he feels it can get the job done, then let the final bout of the match begin. The stakes are high here, the winner will have one foot in the next round. If Taylor wins, he will qualify, if Bruzack wins, he’ll have to defeat Leslie Graham to go to the next round and hope Taylor fails to beat Nicholas Roper.”
Bruzack’s golem wasn’t among the most impressive he’d ever seen, but even a clumsily erected golem could be a formidable opponent. Proper creators of the creatures could make them look elegant in their execution, but just because this one looked like a crude metal statue didn’t make it any less of a threat. It stood on two stumpy legs, its body a cylindrical boxy shape tapering up into an oval shaped head. Its face, if it could be called that, was little more than a squat square shaped into the steel with four hollow dots to make eyes. Its arms were lumpen and misshapen, each of them ending in hands that held four thick fingers. Until he was proven otherwise, Scott saw it didn’t look the most mobile. But appearances could be deceiving.
Either way it was something he was about to find out, the video referee trilled, and he saw the energy already forming about the centre of the golem. Stuffed into the pool, there wasn’t anything Snooze could do to avoid the uniblast. Scott gave the order to protect the head, but it felt painfully inadequate. It struck Snooze on one of his arms, the sloth bear roaring a bellow of frenzied pain as Scott smelled singed fur, steam rising from the wound.
Trying to ignore the smell, Scott saw the platform the golem stood on wasn’t going to stay afloat much longer. Already the water was covering its feet, slowly the two were sinking beneath the surface of the water. He didn’t know if it gave him the advantage or not. At least on the surface he’d know for sure where it was and what it was about to do, but at least it wouldn’t be able to move under the water like Seasel or that bloody eel.
At that point, he made the choice to take the initiative and Snooze pushed forward off the bottom of the pool and hit the golem hard in the centre of its blocky body with his head, a loud clang silencing the crowd as bone met steel and the golem suddenly found itself thrown into the other side of the pool, weight shattering the tiling around the edge. Bits of plaster and brick floated to the surface and the crowd let out an ooh of delight. Snooze rubbed his head, a little dazed judging by the look on his face.
Okay, so don’t do too many more of them, Scott thought with a wince. Snooze had a hard skull but there was little point in pushing it. The golem didn’t look too badly hurt by the attack, it slid into the water and moments later he heard a muffled thump as it hit the bottom.
Hey, Snooze, he called mentally. How about hitting it with a uniblast of your own?
Through the mental connection he shared with the spirit, he was sure he sensed a flicker of glee before the energy started to charge about the great maw that was Snooze’s mouth and the blast ripped through the water, parting it until it hit the stationary golem. Scott winced as he saw the blast slash into the steel body, not too much visible damage otherwise. A few burns maybe, he heard a hiss, saw a few plumes of steam breaking the surface. Huh, maybe he could superheat it into submission. A nice thought, one he probably would have liked to try in a different set of circumstances. Here, it wasn’t a practical solution.
Almost taking him by surprise, the golem sprang from the water with a sudden burst of speed, a sharp acrid smell hitting Scott’s nose as it brought one fist back. He reacted just a fraction of a second too late, Snooze made to counter-attack and missed, one cumbersome fist batting only at the air. The golem’s aim was true, it caught Snooze about the chin and sent the bear toppling backwards, Scott having to jump back as the great head came to rest in his area on the side lines.
Shit!
It wasn’t a fatal blow, but Snooze’s eyes looked unfocused like there was some struggling going on. He reached down to pat the great head and sighed. Come on, Snooze. Get up. We can still win this. Don’t take that.
The video referee was observing them, Scott prayed it didn’t give a swift verdict…
Please, I just need more time, come on Snooze!
Silently he was shouting now, resisting the urge to jump up and down impatiently. Snooze!
Come on!
The eyes flickered open.
Finally! He breathed a sigh of relief as slowly the sloth bear pushed himself to his feet and stretched again. Scott heard the crack of muscles flexing and a big grin moved across his face. This was going to be it. One final effort, Snooze rose to his full height. He looked strong, Scott breathed out, before giving the command.
It took a few seconds, but the legs gave way and the bear fell forward onto the golem. It was the same tactic he’d used on the eel and Scott watched with satisfaction at another great splash, yet more water thrown up and the golem vanishing beneath Snooze’s bulk.
“See ya,” he muttered, folding his arms confidently. “Wouldn’t want to be ya.”
For a few seconds more he stood waiting, suddenly assaulted by the feeling something wasn’t quite right. Something clutched at his chest and he straightened, suddenly looking into the water with a very real sense of worry. There Snooze was, laid face down…
SHIT!
He glanced up at the large video monitor atop the north stand, saw exactly what the underwater camera could see. The golem had Snooze atop its back, holding the sloth bear at bay with its shoulders, straining under the weight but not exactly uncomfortable.
“Snooze, uniblast!” Scott yelled, suddenly worried. He didn’t like the look of this. How effective a uniblast would be underneath the water would be debateable, but he needed to do something.
Too late. The golem flexed its legs and suddenly Snooze was thrown out of the pool, Scott’s heart fell with him as the giant bear landed in an untidy heap on his right, face first, neck bent at a horrible angle.
No! No! No! Silently he repeated the words, not quite able to believe it as the video referee trilled out a decision that announced Bruzack as the winner and the applause of the crowd fell upon him, cheers and adoration for the rat faced man drowning out Scott’s curse as he walked towards Snooze, his heart heavy with the spectre of defeat.
He’d blown it. Completely.
“It was good of him to make sure he got his hands on this,” Okocha said, looking at the wallet in front of him. Already he and Noorland had star
ted the process of going through the few contents. On a screen, he had the profile of one Doctor Jeremiah Blut up and available, he’d forwarded it to all Unisco agents on the island for reference, on another screen he had facial recognition programs running across footage, searching not just for the doctor but for the three men with him. Their bodies were being returned to the mainland as they worked, ready to be examined in a Unisco laboratory. Their identical features made them something, in Okocha’s opinion, worth investigating. Noorland had agreed, Brendan had signed the orders. All they could do now was wait.
“Yeah,” Noorland said. “Heh, bet he wishes he hadn’t.”
“Huh?” Okocha didn’t get it. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Roper did this, didn’t he? He got this. This proves Blut existed and now there’s no trace of him. Roper even admits he threw him into that portal thing, even if there’s only his and Wilsin’s word that it even existed…”
“Should have taken a spectrometer down there to scan for energy residue,” Okocha remarked. “Hindsight, eh?” Noorland nodded in agreement. The truth was, they hadn’t expected to need one on the island. By the time they’d scrounged up the parts to put together a makeshift one, there wasn’t any residue left to scan. At least nothing they could pick up. Okocha was expecting a reprimand to come their way sometime soon.
“Yeah, but I imagine they’ll be wanting words with Roper about what went down in there,” Noorland continued as if Okocha hadn’t spoken. “I mean, it’s not really professional to start throwing suspects into the unknown.”
“Yeah but…” Okocha didn’t know what to say. Noorland was right, of course. It’d be professionally negligent if they didn’t at least talk to Roper about his actions. The reports had come in, he’d seen the transmission to the director and well, he was glad he hadn’t chosen to be a hero right now.
He busied himself fiddling with the wallet, examining it again for what felt like the thousandth time. They’d emptied it, a few credit chips, some identification, a badge for the University of Bacar where Blut’s file had said he’d both graduated from and worked and that bit of card that had no significant value on the face of it. They both had studied it several times, found it blank on both sides. A combination of professionalism and curiosity had prevented them from ripping it up and tossing it. Yet as William Okocha stared at it yet again, he had a feeling that there was something about it that neither of them were seeing.
He moved over to his equipment bench, found the hand scanner and hefted it, a multi-purpose piece of examination equipment. Various functions in one small piece of technology. Noorland had built it, he glanced over and shook his head. “Already tried that.”
“Yeah, you did,” Okocha said. “Now it’s my turn.”
Noorland laughed. “Yeah, you pull something off it with that and I’ll buy you a steak. Deal?”
“Very much so,” Okocha replied, returning the grin before returning his attention to the wallet. He ran the wand over the card, picking up nothing but the material composition of it. Cellulose, recycled paper… ink? He jerked it up to his eyes, not sure he’d read it right.
“Al.”
“Yeah?”
“I like my steak extra-large, well done, plenty of onions…”
“Excuse me?” Noorland sounded sceptical. “No way you found something.” He moved over, snatched the scanner from Okocha. “What the hells are you looking at?”
“There’s something written here,” Okocha said. “We just can’t see it. Try UV lighting, see if that’ll show it up. If not, heat it up. That usually works. You missed the ink when you scanned it.”
“Penmanship,” Noorland said, glancing at it. “How dreadfully archaic.” He sounded rueful, Okocha wasn’t about to blame him for it. Everyone made mistakes. It hadn’t cost them. Especially if it turned out to be a shopping list. And yet if it were, why the secrecy?
“And yet,” Okocha added, picking the card up and running the scanner back over it, a purple light scanning over the centre of each side. For several seconds nothing happened until some words came into view and he felt a giddy rush of triumph. Oh yes! “A cunning way of keeping it hidden. Sometimes we get so caught up that we forget to look at the obvious.” He held it to the light, read it to himself. “Huh.”
“Interesting reading?” Noorland asked, taking it from him. “Let’s see what it says, shall we?” He read aloud from the card, his face knotting up with bemusement. His voice sounded just as confused, Okocha couldn’t blame him.
“What was once shall be again.
First there was chaos
As order became unrestrained.
A champion will fall, an inferno rises
And sacrifice is its name.
A new rising, an age gone since the last.
The three pillars shall fall in their wake
The cherished will be united.
Courage. Hope. Compassion.
Anger. Fear. Love. Greed.
All will form the chain of fate
That will shackle the beast beyond.
And the Green will overcome.”
It wasn’t something that made a lot of sense. Unfortunately, they had to regard the words as part of an ongoing investigation. No matter how much babble about three pillars and chains of fate and sacrifices might truly grate on them. Because a vanished man linked to a truly horrific event had it on his person, he’d deemed it important enough to keep. Everything or nothing. Okocha wondered which it would be. He knew someone was going to suffer an awful headache working this out.
Chapter Twenty-One. Things Not Said.
“No matter how much you lie in the line of duty, it’s important you never swallow your own bullshit.”
A famous lecture from long ago in the Unisco archives, care of Terrence Arnholt.
The twenty ninth day of Summerdawn.
“And this was easy, easy for Nicholas Roper to romp home to a win here, Leslie Graham never stood a chance and she falls before this mighty caller on his way to qualification. What a masterful performance, easy, easy, easy!”
He’d heard the commentary afterwards, found it a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t something he could control, but he wished the announcers would rein it in a little. He was all about enthusiasm yet there needed to be a limit somewhere. That was the last thought he’d had before falling asleep, the first upon awakening being the waft of the scent of strawberries into his nostrils, something soft and heavy nestled against his chest snoring gently. He smiled, tried to adjust beneath her, cramp tugging at his muscles. There were worse problems to have, plus a few more days until his final bout, one he still needed to get something from to guarantee top spot in the group, but he wasn’t worried. Not about the tournament anyway.
Brendan King had asked to see him, enough to raise warning bells in his head, despite him expecting it. It was standard procedure following incidents like this. They’d probably be interviewing David Wilsin as well, maybe he didn’t have much to worry about.
Or maybe he had plenty to worry about. He hated having to justify himself, but it was going to be a necessary evil. Accountability could be a good thing. It could also be very, very irritating when there were things he’d rather be doing. His thoughts were interrupted by a little moan, Sharon shifting on top of him, lifting her head to look at him through weary eyes.
“Morning,” she said through a yawn.
He smiled, leaned down and kissed her. “Good morning beautiful. Sleep well?” She stretched, rolled onto her back and checked the time on her summoner before letting her head settle back on the pillow with a sigh. “Take that as a yeah?”
“Yeah, I did,” she said, covering her eyes with the back of her hand for a moment before snuggling up over to him. “You?”
Oh boy… How best to explain? One of the things he hated doing was lying to her about what he really did. She didn’t know he carried a weapon or he’d killed more men than he could remember. Somehow, he doubted she’d look at him the same if she di
d. Sometimes he didn’t recognise himself in the mirror. Even if it was for the greater good. The secrecy surrounding Unisco wasn’t just for protection against reprisals. Sometimes he thought it was to keep their families from looking at them differently as well.
He’d never killed anyone who didn’t deserve to die. He repeated it to himself a lot. Always in self-defence, never in cold blood. That wasn’t true anymore, was it? Dress up what had happened to Blut however you liked, it hadn’t been something he could stop thinking about. Blut hadn’t been an imminent threat, despite his alleged complicity in some serious crimes and he’d made the choice. Sure, he might not be dead, nobody knew for sure, but it didn’t stop the guilt. He’d felt that before many times, mostly involving Sharon if he was honest, evolving from lusty thoughts about other women to lying to her about things best left unsaid.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” By this point, he’d been with Unisco long enough now for the lies to be easy. Poor liars didn’t last very long.
She looked at him through blue eyes, her manicured brow furrowed. Like she didn’t believe him when he said it. There was something in that look he never felt comfortable with.
“You sure?” she asked. “You look troubled. Something bothering you?”
He shook his head, rolled onto his side and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She was warm and smooth, he felt better just resting against her. “Nah, I’m good. Just been mulling over tournament stuff.”
Technically it wasn’t a lie. In the same way it wasn’t technically the truth either. He did enough of that these days. “Trying to work out the group permeations, all that stuff,” he added, mentally blanching as he realised it was as blatant a lie as he would ever likely to tell.