The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  Now, Nick noted, it appeared history was giving a second chance to someone by the name of Maddley to defeat Sharon Arventino. Privately, he was interested in this far more than in his own bout, as strange as it sounded. Very interested indeed.

  She’d returned to the office when the special summoner rang, the one she kept in her desk solely for communication with her contact. If it should fall out of her hands, she dreaded to think what might happen. It had been supplied by her own personal agent inside Unisco, to lose it would be a major step back, with that being the best-case scenario. The worst, she didn’t want to think about. It was a simple device, hard to track and even harder to monitor despite the common make. You could walk into any store across the five kingdoms and buy any such device for a few credits. Rookie callers usually did.

  Somehow, she suspected that there was more to it than met the eye. She didn’t even know if it could function as an actual spirit projector, despite the space for a capture crystal. A useful tool. She suspected that it would be able to project. Her contact prized accuracy, he knew how out of place a fake device would look amidst her collections

  She ran her thumb over the activation pad and placed it on the desk in front of her, it flashed into life with a beep.

  “Speak to me,” she said.

  “Something you might be interested in,” her contact said, the voice electronically muffled. There was no way to tell if it was even male or female let alone nail down an identity. “Harvey Rocastle was just arrested on Carcaradis Island for attempted kidnap.”

  If her attention had threatened to wander before, it was sharply and painfully brought back to reality. She repeated the words to herself, pondering their full meaning before letting out a series of sharp curses bringing into doubt Rocastle’s lineage, masculinity and sexual preferences.

  “Yeah, I thought that might be your reaction,” the contact said without a hint of amusement in the electronic voice. “He actually tried to drag her off in the middle of a dance, if you can believe it.”

  “And he got caught?” She tried to keep the disbelief out of her voice. Of course, the idiot had gotten caught. What was wrong with him?! She gripped the sides of her chair keep her hands from shaking. How could Rocastle have been so stupid? “Where is he now?”

  “Locked up in the jail cells. They’re transporting him to Vazara in the morning. By hoverjet, special prisoner transport series, some agents from the mainland are coming to get him. I’ll send you the transponder ID and specs if you want to do something about it. They know he was scouting, they don’t know why but they’re sceptical about the logic behind it.”

  “We can’t let Rocastle get into the system,” she said. “What sort of guard detail is he likely to have?”

  “Standard. One hoverjet for transport, minimal armaments but heavy shielding, six assault HAX class ships for escort duty. Be at least four agents on the transport, not including the pilot and co-pilot.”

  This time she cursed silently, before asking the question, “Can you delay his transportation? Allow us the chance to get the preparations in place for his retrieval or his termination.”

  “I’m not entirely sure I can. This has pissed off someone high up. Anyone else, I might be able to fudge it. I’ll see what I can do but no promises I’d want to make”

  That was aggravating but she held her tongue. Her contact wasn’t a miracle worker, she knew that. Throwing a fit wouldn’t help the situation, she needed to keep a cool head. If the worst came to the worst, Rocastle would have to die.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Do everything you can. What you have given me may be enough. If you can’t do anything more, it’ll have to be.” She couldn’t keep the snippiness out of her voice, as petulant as it might have sounded. “Usual payment will be on its way to you.”

  “Oh no, thank you Mistress,” the voice said, still electronically devoid of emotion. It might have sounded sarcastic in human tones. She couldn’t tell, that alone annoyed her as much as anything. “I’ll be in touch if I have anything else.

  The line went silent as quickly as it had burst into life and she leaned back in her chair, attention momentarily catching on the holoimage Sinkins had forwarded to her earlier in the day. Hovering in three dimensional images high above the projector were words she had never heard before with meaning that still escaped her. And yet, her interest had been piqued.

  First came the Source, the well of everything past, present and future.

  Second came the Statue, the sign of a riddle yet to be solved, a door to be opened.

  Third came the Stone, the key to all you seek.

  Together awaits infinity and all its treats.

  Cryptic enough. Sinkins hadn’t forwarded any information as to what it meant, meaning either he wished to surprise her or, more likely, didn’t know himself. Either way, it could wait. She sought out another number, cursed Rocastle again. Who knew what this was going to end up costing her.

  “I need to talk to Phillipe Mazoud,” she said as the connection was made. “I have some more urgent work for the Vazaran Suns.”

  Chapter Two. The Vos Lak.

  “The vos lak can grow up to thirty feet long, and under the right circumstances, it will. It’s a shame they’re extinct in the wild now because they were beautiful creatures in a savagely graceful way.”

  Professor David Fleck on the vos lak.

  The sixth day of Summerpeak.

  “Status report, Wing One?”

  In the cockpit of his HAX, a stubby high-speed aircraft with twin sets of wings protruding from its guts and six powerful thruster jets, as well as enough armament to lay siege to a small city, Unisco combat pilot Commander Richard Wolfmeyer considered the voice for a moment before diverting his attention back onto the task at hand. “Everything looks good up here, Box. Got nothing on my sensors, everything’s running fine.”

  “He’s gone and jinxed it now,” Wing Three said, her voice crisp and throatily feminine. Wolfmeyer found it incredibly sexy amidst the roar of engines. Strange really given behind her flight handle, Ellen Thwaite wasn’t really anything to write home to mother and father about. “Watch.”

  “Thanks for the optimism there, Wing Three,” Wing Two said, his voice bearing a Burykian accent. Jiro Hasigawa, Wolfmeyer’s second in command, was a jolly man in life but over the comms he always sounded so serious. “How would we ever cope without your little bit of sunshine in our lives?”

  “Badly, I think,” Wing Six offered. “That’s when we used to know to head to the hills. When everyone starts to think the best is going to happen, it’s when you run.” Wolfmeyer hadn’t really gotten the chance to know Beck McCaffrey yet, he’d only been in the unit for a few months but so far, he’d proved himself to be a good pilot. He’d replaced Alara Coselli as Wing Six when she’d been KIA, Something Wolfmeyer still regretted.

  It wasn’t your fault. Nothing you could do. Twin sets of four words he’d grown so used to hearing, they’d lost all meaning.

  “Personally, I think heading for the hills is best,” Wing Four said. Alexandra Nkolou, a pretty Vazaran had been in the squad nearly the same length of time as Wolfmeyer and Hasigawa and he liked having her around. She made things interesting, she had an uncanny ability to perform perfect manoeuvres bordering on suicidal. “Been too long since we did some good old-fashioned hill flying.”

  “What is hill flying?” Wing Five sounded interested. Ross Navarro had been in the squadron only slightly longer than Six, a pleasant mixed race Premesoiran/Serranian with an interest in mechanics, a broad accent and broader love of women. “Most I ever hear of flying over hills is when folks go crashing because they ain’t got a clue what they’re doing.”

  “Hill flying, Five, you dip,” Wing Three said. “Up and down, up and down. You getting motion sick yet? You probably did it in training. If you didn’t, why the hells are you flying with us?”

  “You need someone to fill that charming rogue quota, I think Three. Don’t say you don’t. I know
it, you know it, hells Box knows it down there.”

  “Ah this is the famous Wolf Squadron banter then,” the pilot of Box One said. The transport had been designated Box due to its design, something Hasigawa had accurately pointed out resembled an overweight boxbug, an oval shaped craft with twin wings painted silver. Wolfmeyer knew that its armour and shields were top of the line, all but impenetrable in full force. Only the nose of the craft broke up the otherwise smooth shape, a triangle point concealing a pair of powerful laser cannons. “Not all you hear it’s cracked up to be.”

  Wolf Squadron. He’d been given the authorisation to form the unit years ago, he’d named it for himself, a touch of ego but it had stuck, and slowly they’d become as much a part of Unisco Air Division as he’d dared to believe. It might have surprised some to find the organisation had its own entourage of pilots, but at the same time, it usually dawned on them there was no reason why they shouldn’t. After all, it was a big world and although Unisco could co-opt aid from the armed forces of individual nations, sometimes they liked to keep their activities in house.

  In the time that he and Jiro had been running the group, they’d gotten a reputation and although the mission might be an easy one, escort the transport of some sick scumbag from Carcaradis Island to mainland Vazara, it didn’t mean he wasn’t intending to see it went through without a minimum of fuss. They were as close to the best as they were ever going to be, he wanted to keep it up. Wolfmeyer had immense pride in his squad, flying with them was one of them best feelings he’d ever have, and nothing would take that away. Even in the few events where death had taken some of those around him, the hurt had eventually faded replaced by the sense of peace in motion.

  They’d met up with Box just a few miles off the island, flying for half an hour so far amidst smooth conditions. He’d chosen not to relax though, still on edge in his cockpit as if something might come out of nowhere at any moment. His sensors weren’t picking anything up. Neither were Box’s. If anything, their sensors would be far more sensitive than those on the Hensley Assault eXecutioner that Wolf Squad had come to favour. Yes, Wolfmeyer conceded, the HAX was likely the most dangerous thing in the sky. It was unlikely they’d face any sort of need to exert that dangerous side on this trip.

  Unlikely but not impossible. Jacques Leclerc, a former Wolf himself and rumoured to be the pilot who’d flown the director to Carcaradis Island for the tournament and since transferred to the main investigative arm of Unisco, had told Wolfmeyer in private the priority regarding this prisoner. He’d attempted to kidnap a spirit dancer, tried to run off with her only to be stopped violently by Wade Wallerington from accomplishing his goals.

  Wolfmeyer knew Wallerington by reputation but what a reputation. He’d liked to have stopped by the Quin-C himself, but duty had permitted it. He hadn’t been one of the employees detailed to go, much to his dismay but he hadn’t let it get in the way of what he’d had to do. He’d managed to keep track of it as much as possible, most of the pilots on his squad had. A barracks sweepstake had been running since the start, Wolfmeyer had some broad named Katherine Sommer and he was hoping she did the business.

  Around him, the banter continued across his wings, he didn’t discourage it as a rule where others likely would. He’d always believed it built morale, helped his team function as a unit rather than a group of individuals and they weren’t careless enough to let it interfere with performance. His people were professional, one thing he didn’t worry about.

  Amidst that pride, he caught the low sound immediately, a dull buzz of warning dragging across his sensors as an early alert danger was incoming and he cursed before finding his focus, moving his gaze to the long-range scanner.

  “You pick up on that, Wing One?” Box asked. “Looks like thirteen… No, fourteen incoming ships. No ID’s active. Assorted makes.”

  “That’s never good,” Wing Four said. “What’s the order?”

  Wolfmeyer said nothing, studying his interface briefly before sighing. He knew it had been going too well. “Stay sharp. Box One, if they continue to approach, hail them and advise them to turn back. If they continue their course, warn them their continued advance will be met with reprisal.”

  “We’re a bit outnumbered here, Wing One,” Wing Two said. “Might be tight.”

  “You out of practice Wing Two? We might be outnumbered but not entirely outgunned.” Wolfmeyer glanced at his screen and then out of his cockpit. He could see them in the distance now, several specks approaching fast, growing larger by the minute. He could hear Box hailing them, giving them the warning to turn back.

  No answer. Still they didn’t retreat. Wolfmeyer sighed again. It looked infinitely likely this wasn’t going to be the simple trip he had imagined a few minutes previous. The banter had faded in those few short seconds, he was pleased to hear. “Okay, Wolf Squadron. This is going to be rough. We can do this though. Don’t hold back, pick your targets carefully and try to keep them off Box. We don’t want them getting too close.”

  “You worried, Wing One?” Wing Four asked. “Nothing’s getting through Box’s shields. I’d be more worried about us.”

  “You’re worried, Alex?” Wing Five inquired. “Now I’m terrified. Okay, somebody take the five on the left and I’ll go after the five on the right, someone meet us down the middle. Easy. Be home for lunch, right?”

  Once more Box hailed the oncoming aerofighters and once more they declined to comment, prompting Wolfmeyer to activate his comms. “Unidentified aircraft, this is the commander of UAD taskforce Wolf Squadron, advising you to desist from current flight plan and find another route or you will be considered hostile.”

  No response, he drew a deep breath, hands already moving to his weapons systems. “Final warning, unidentified aircraft…”

  “Commander!” Wing Three’s voice came through urgently. “I think it’s the Dark Wind.”

  This time curses broke across the communication frequency, notably from Wings Five and Six. Wolfmeyer felt like joining them. The Dark Wind, the aerial fringe of the Vazaran Suns, notable for crack pilots who didn’t care if they lived or died provided the payments kept coming. An interesting ideology, Wolfmeyer had to admit. He’d always preferred the idea of surviving to the end. Still, that rumour continued how part of the profits for each mission the Suns were involved in were kept back for the families of those who’d been killed in action. Mercenaries with a heart, he’d believe it when he saw it.

  As the unidentified ships got in closer, he saw what Thwaite had said rang true, they were an eclectic mix of ships of all ages and design, all painted in the dark grey not quite black colour the Suns favoured. As they moved in closer, he could swear he saw the logo on the side, a sunlit skull against a desert background.

  “Okay, Wolves. This is going to turn nasty. Assume targets are hostile immediately. Permission to engage granted. See you all on the ground and happy hunting.” With that, he kicked his thrusters and his HAX shot off towards the oncoming crowd.

  Already they were splitting as he approached, aware of the dangers of arriving in a tight-knit group. If they’d stayed that way, it’d have been easy for them. That many ships close together, all his squadron would have to do involved launching missiles into the maelstrom, the combination of explosions and flying debris would have done for them. Yet they weren’t falling for it. Instead he hit the button to ready his forward laser cannons, glad he’d checked them over before they’d taken off.

  “Pick your targets of convenience!” he barked. “Watch each other’s backs.” If command was listening in on this, how long would it take for them to scramble some backup for them? An accurate answer was impossible to predict but either way, it’d be way too long for them to get here. They’d have to do it all themselves.

  Deep breath, Wolfmeyer put all thoughts out of his mind and yanked his HAX into the field of engagement, an enemy ship passing across his crosshairs just for a moment, an old Pash Runner and he let loose a flurry of blasts towards it,
their rake smashing against the Pash’s shields, yet the hull held as it veered and shot past him. He would have banked, kept on its tail but a Licus was already bursting towards him, lining him up in its sights and he jerked down, losing his line on the Pash but escaping with a few bruises to his shielding. Licus’ never did have the most potent of forward armaments, he was grateful to recall. Seconds later the Licus exploded as Wing Three swept in, all weapons blazing with a series of direct hits overcoming its shields and armour in a matter of milliseconds.

  “Good shooting, Three,” he said before locking his HAX in on an ancient Vazran Kesi already accelerating away from him.

  “One down!” Wing Three yelled. “Only another thirteen to go!”

  Wolfmeyer heard her, caught the sound of a hull ripping open and saw the spectacle of igniting fuel seconds later his starboard side, Wing Five letting out a whoop of glee at the result.

  “Make that twelve! One for the Navarro!”

  He needed to get in on this, couldn’t have his wings outscoring him here. The Kesi had decent speed, but so did he and he wasn’t letting it get away. It had to fight the winds up here, he had power to force through them with belligerence, his HAX gaining every second, he’d be in a firing position in a moment…

  “One for Wing Four!” Nkolou didn’t sound as overjoyed as Navarro had over her kill, but he didn’t allow it to distract him as he lined up his sights on the Kesi and squeezed the controls, scarlet fire spitting out his forward cannons and shredding its meagre defences, Wolfmeyer yanked his stick back and brought it above the explosion, punching the air with his free hand. Four down, ten to go and they were keeping strong.