The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  “Yeah you did a great job of trying to hide it,” Pete said. “I only got the impression it was trouble in paradise once or twice a week. Just let me get this straight. You were worried she’d steal him from you, so you broke up with him. I love the way you think.”

  “Well what was the point?” Jess said with real anger in her voice. “He wasn’t making things easy, we’d been fighting a lot, it wasn’t going anywhere. He loved spirit calling more than he did me. I’m not going to be second fiddle to a damn sport!”

  “Yeah, you’re better than that,” Pete replied. “And don’t get me wrong, I think one day he might regret what happened between the two of you. But…” He reached out, put a hand on her arm and fished around for the right way to phrase it. “But, Jess, that day isn’t today. It probably isn’t going to be any time soon. You can do better than Scott. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy like a brother, but he annoys the hells out of me sometimes.”

  She raised an eyebrow quizzically and smiled at him, the sort of smile he wasn’t used to seeing her give. It was almost friendly. When she’d walked in, she’d looked haggard and tired, like the world was wearing her down. Now, he could see reassurance in her eyes. She sat down, rested a hand on his.

  “It’s nice of you to say,” she said. “Of course, you might just not want me back near your friend. I was never very nice to you, was I?”

  “No, you were a complete bitch. And here I am being nice to you. What does that say about me?”

  “You lack judgement skills,” she murmured, ignoring the bitch comment. She glanced into his eyes, intensity still there but different. Her pupils were dilating, cheeks flushed with colour. “Or I’ve been reading you wrong for a long time.”

  “I think you might very well have been,” he said. “Hey, we all make mis…”

  Whatever he might have been about to say was lost as her lips met his, taking him by surprise as slowly he returned the gesture. She tasted like strawberries, he felt the twist of arousal in his stomach. Somewhere at the back of his mind, a warning blared out how wrong this was, and he wanted to listen to it. He really did. He could taste her as he crushed his mouth down on hers, her fingers fumbling for the clasp on his belt as he pushed her down onto the bed, one hand pulling up the hem of her dress to her waist. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

  By the time he’d gotten his shorts down his legs, he was rock hard and ready, their lips still in tandem as he teased her playfully, felt her body sense with anticipation. Even amidst ecstasy, he caught the look of exasperation and he sped up, entering her slowly at first and then gradually more vigorously. She was warm and wet, every motion bringing a strangled cry of pleasure as they became little more than a frenzy of pure animal emotion.

  Amidst it all, the absurdity of the situation never crossed his mind, instead the moment caught up with him and all he could think of was her, in a way he never had before.

  “Unbelievable.”

  Derenko sounded annoyed and Lysa Montgomery couldn’t blame him. They’d met, the six of them in one of the cafes for an informal meeting. Her, Derenko, Fank Aldiss, Anne Sullivan, Jacques Leclerc and Al Noorland. No doubt it looked a strange meeting but hey, it was turning into that sort of tournament. Anywhere else, it might have looked even stranger for many recognisable figures to congregate. Here, they might just get away with it.

  “I’m afraid that it isn’t so,” Leclerc said. “Wolf Squadron was wiped out.” His knuckles went white as he gripped the table. His allegiances to the squadron were well known, he’d before he’d transferring to field duty. A lot of field agents were qualified to fly cross-kingdom aeroships, it didn’t make him special. Warships were a different matter though. Only the best of the best found themselves behind the controls of those. Lysa had heard rumours that he bore the squadron’s insignia tattooed on his back. Whether it was true or not, she couldn’t say. “Could you back me on this, Alvin?”

  “It’s true,” Noorland said. “I saw the reports. The transcripts of the radio transmissions from Wolfmeyer and his squad. They were wiped out, Rocastle vanishes into the sunset.”

  “This is worrying,” Aldiss said. “I mean; do we think this is random?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence,” Derenko replied. “I don’t think anyone else here does. Reports say it was the Vazaran Suns. I’m already making a case to the director we investigate this further. This sort of behaviour cannot be allowed to stand.”

  “Do you seek revenge or justice,” Anne inquired mildly. “Wiping out the Suns will not solve the problem here. It will cause more problems than it solves, if anything. They do keep some semblance of order in Vazara. Without them, it’d be war in the streets.”

  “That’s true,” Lysa said. “I recently spent some time there. It’s not uncommon to see a couple of Sun units in every city. They’re probably the biggest employer in the kingdom. Going to war with them would be a messy affair. If we got rid of them, Nwakili would struggle to keep the same order on his lonesome.”

  “What we do,” Derenko said. “Is a messy business. Sometimes it isn’t, but always remember, we are required to make hard decisions.”

  “And sometimes,” Leclerc added. “We have to make smart ones. I agree with Anne, I don’t think it’s a fight we can win. And the negative publicity would be a nightmare.”

  “And we’d be in trouble if we tied up resources dealing with them,” Aldiss said. “I’d recommend caution. Maybe negotiate with them. See if we can make a deal with them to give up whoever paid them for the attack.”

  “Because they’re so likely to be openly honest and welcoming with that information?” Noorland asked sarcastically.

  “You can ask nicely, you know,” Anne said. “At least do that before immediately going for Plan B. They might cooperate.”

  “With the greatest of respect, Anne,” Derenko said. “Sometimes I think you don’t have the stomach for this job.”

  Anne said nothing, just smiled at him, a tight little smile that started at and finished with her mouth. “Isn’t it funny,” Lysa said. “Whenever someone uses the words with the greatest respect, they’re about to show you as little as possible.” It was Derenko’s turn to smile, though there was no joy in it. “Vassily,” Anne said. “I don’t need a stomach for my job, I prefer to use my brain. It makes things so much easier, I suggest you try it sometimes.”

  Lysa smirked at that. Noorland and Leclerc joined her, both chuckling under their breath.

  “For the very least, I think we should try negotiation first,” Leclerc said. “I mean, not all our HAX’s went down.”

  Aldiss blinked at that. “Excuse me?”

  “He’s right,” Noorland said. “We got the satellite imagery for the entire area during the engagement, we have radar readouts, thermal imagery and the telemetrics from those that did go down. Captain Wolfmeyer did manage to transmit before he was shot down. We’ve even considered sending an investigative team out to study the wreckages, but the battle took place over fifty acres of ocean and it might be a while before we get them all found. But the fact of the matter is, there’s two HAX’s unaccounted for. Ross Navarro and Alexandra Nkolou. They weren’t shot down, they just vanished into thin air.”

  “There were reports of a rider with a vos lak entering the field of play,” Leclerc added. “Any of you know anything about them?”

  “They’re rare,” Lysa said. “I’ve not seen one for a long time.”

  “They’re extinct, aren’t they?” Noorland asked. “That was my impression. It’s not really my field of expertise.”

  “I suppose,” Anne offered. “You’d probably be better asking Wade.”

  “Shame he’s in a medical coma,” Derenko said. “Or we would.”

  “I knew a guy who had one,” Aldiss said. “But I doubt it’s him. He has kinda a solid alibi.”

  “Yeah?” Noorland asked, sounding more than a little offhand. “You sure? Because that’d make things easier.”

  “Not unle
ss he’s gone massively off the rails. Plus, he used to be one of us.”

  “Am I the only one not missing the point here?” Anne asked. “These two HAX’s… How’d they even vanish anyway? Our ships aren’t fitted with cloaking devices, right?”

  “Some are,” Leclerc said. “These weren’t. Doesn’t mean something else wasn’t.”

  “That’d be my guess,” Noorland said. “We have fourteen odd enemy ships, six HAX’s on screen and one vos lak which shows up as a large unidentified object. Nothing else. Not on our radar, not on our thermals, nothing.”

  “So, if something grabbed them, it was something we couldn’t see,” Derenko said.

  “An old interceptor, perhaps?” Aldiss asked. “Do they even still make those?”

  “Not wholesale,” Lysa said. “I wonder if the Suns have one.”

  “It’s more a pirate thing than a mercenary thing,” Noorland replied. “But’s it’s not impossible.”

  “It’d definitely be something worth checking out though, I think,” Anne said. “There you go, Vassily, something for you to bring to the director.” She picked up her cup and drained the contents. It tasted lukewarmly sweet against her taste buds. “Looks like you might get your action against the Suns after all.”

  “I don’t want this,” Derenko said. “But I think it is necessary. We can’t let this action stand. We’re supposed to have a truce with the Suns.”

  That was news to Lysa. “What?!”

  “Yeah. They don’t go after us; we don’t go after them unless they dip their hands in the dirt. Then they’re asking for it.”

  “Didn’t Nick and Dave kill some Suns not long back?” Noorland asked. “Maybe it’s a revenge killing.”

  Derenko didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. Maybe not. There’s easier ways for revenge.”

  Unbelievable.

  He had an in after wondering about how best to interrogate Darren Maddley. The trick was getting information from someone without them realising they were being interrogated. Of course, if he showed up and started small talk, they’d work out something was up, unless the witness was a congenital idiot. And they tended not to make the best people to ask.

  In this instance, he had Sharon to thank for the excuse. She’d told him about the apology and Nick had jumped on it. It was only polite, he’d said, to go and thank him in person. She’d taken a bit of bringing around but that was then, and this was now. They’d found themselves outside his room and mentally he was congratulating himself on his ingenuity as he rapped on the door, grinning at Sharon.

  “Still don’t see why you’re making such a big deal about this,” she said, a little sulkier than he found attractive.

  “Hey, it’s only polite,” Nick said. “You’d appreciate it as well, wouldn’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t have started an argument with someone if they beat me on the battlefield.”

  “That’s because you’re unbeatable,” he quipped. She blushed, punched him lightly on the arm. He could have caught her blow before it met him but that would have led to more questions he didn’t have answers to.

  “I’m not though,” she said. “Stop spreading that rumour about me… Hey you hear about Wade?”

  “Course I heard about Wade,” Nick said. I was there when he got injured, he added silently. “I went to see him earlier. Still in a medical coma. They were sorting out his burns when I went up.”

  “Poor bastard,” she said, just as the door opened and Darren Maddley peered out through a crack between rim and door. He didn’t look a well man, Nick had to admit. Small wonder. Last time he’d seen him, he’d been about to piss himself with fear.

  “Who is it?” he asked. He didn’t sound well either.

  “Darren, it’s Sharon Arventino,” Sharon said. Nick hid a snort. Not like he doesn’t recognise you, love, given the argument you had. “Can we come in?”

  The door slammed shut, he caught the sound of chains being removed and that puzzled him. Apparently, this hotel was more security-conscious than his own. Eventually it opened all the way and Maddley stood there, eyes a bloodshot. His hair looked wild, he smelled like he hadn’t taken a shower for a while. Sweat and fear, as well as something probably overpriced from the minibar.

  “What do you want?” he asked, his voice slurred.

  “Just wanted to…” Sharon started to say, before halting, running an eye over him. A manicured brow furrowed as if she was trying to work something out. Nick had already known what to expect. Maddley’s part in the whole thing was thankfully being downplayed by the media. Their priority had been the destruction of the ICCC building, the ineptitude of Unisco agents and the injury of Wade Wallerington. Darren Maddley had been mentioned only once briefly towards the end of the article. No surprise Sharon had missed it. He might have, had he not been looking for it. “What happened to you?”

  “Don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “What do you want?!” This time it came out bluntly and Nick wondered if maybe he’d overreached with his cunning genius. He’d gotten them in, it wouldn’t be any good if Darren refused to talk to them.

  “I wanted to thank you for the apology,” Sharon said. “It takes a man to realise when they’re in the wrong and say sorry. Truly. I want to look you in the eyes and offer you my respect. Sometimes it’s not enough to be a great spirit caller. Sometimes it’s better to be a good person as well. Your father would be proud of you.”

  For a moment, he thought Darren was going to slam the door in their faces again. Yet Nick was to be surprised. “It’s no problem,” he said. “I was out of order. I didn’t want my family legacy tarnished I’m the last Maddley. I nearly died the other day, it got me thinking.”

  Nick seized his chance. “You nearly died? Do tell.”

  He nodded. “Some crazy woman on a… Think it was called a taccaridon, I’ve only seen pictures of them…

  “They’re extinct, aren’t they?” Sharon interrupted. Nick cursed silently, although he had to agree he had heard the same thing. Darren glared at her.

  “Apparently not.” He couldn’t hide the sarcasm. Nick couldn’t blame him. He’d seen the spirit in question and it did look like a taccaridon. “But yeah, this woman, she was insane. She wanted to recruit me for some quest. Some babble about a new world and how she was going to rule it. Wanted me to be part of her chosen people or something.”

  “Takes all sorts, don’t it?” Sharon smiled. “What did you say?”

  “Given she attacked me,” Darren said. “What do you think? Told her where to shove it, didn’t I? I know when I’m being manipulated. She was taking advantage of my mood to get me to go over. I don’t play for anyone’s tune.”

  “She didn’t give you her name, did she?” Nick asked, realising it might be too much to hope for.

  “Nah, but she looked a bit important. I got the impression she was wealthy. But the same time, I think she was quite disdainful about what’s going on here. It was weird.”

  At the very least, he had some stuff to report. They’d stuck around another fifteen minutes, Darren had invited them into a room that had probably been nice until recently. For the moment, it looked like housekeeping hadn’t been let in for a while. They’d made small talk, Darren had mainly asked Sharon what she could remember about the famous bout she’d waged against his father and she’d been diplomatic over it. He’d tried to prise more out of him about his attacker but other than a vague description of long brown hair, about mid-forties and expensive clothes, which was marginally more than he’d managed to pass on himself, he’d been disappointed.

  Still as they left, he couldn’t help feeling he might have done more. They were further than they were at the start, but something was going on here that worried him. He didn’t have all the pieces. But as they came together, he got the feeling it wouldn’t be good news.

  Fortunately, it wouldn’t be his problem for the time being. He put an arm around Sharon’s shoulder and grinned. Off the clock for the next few weeks. So why did he feel
so unsettled?

  Chapter Eight. Secrets.

  “If you have a price, then you’re willing to do a deal. Simple business economics. I find however, you should always make sure the price and product match up. Otherwise you’re going to end up with a very unhappy consumer. And an unhappy consumer is one who won’t come back. If they don’t come back, can’t take their credits from them. That is the simplest truth of them all.”

  Christian Coppinger in his book, Credits! Truth and Myths.

  The eighth day of Summerpeak.

  Having medical webbing wrapped around your arm, Scott could testify, was not a pleasant experience. The stuff, administered by a sour faced medic in a sweat soaked white uniform, clung tight to the cuts across his arms, already closing them shut, sealing them with its regenerative qualities. He knew the discomfort would last a few minutes longer. It wasn’t the first time he’d been patched up with the stuff, likely wouldn’t be the last either.

  He couldn’t abide the smell in the tent either, a potent mix of the chemical and the biological. Despite the cooling air, the Vazaran medic had managed to sweat profusely, the smell getting to him. He tried to smile it out, make out it wasn’t bothering he could ignore the constriction in his arm, but it was a losing battle. Slowly his grin faded, replaced by the grimace of pain. The adrenaline of his victory was slowly trickling from his system leaving the remnants behind, painful and confusing.

  As much as he’d relished the final moments of his bout, he had questions he wasn’t sure how he could answer. If he approached it logically, then he’d been able to see things before they’d happened. Every movement Irrow had thrown against Palawi, he’d seen it and countered it without so much as breaking a sweat. Before Palawi had been swallowed, they had gotten through the round without taking a hit. Even after being swallowed, the most the pooch had suffered was being drenched in what passed for cavern crusher blood. Somehow, he doubted that was a pleasant experience but at the same time, it was better than being beaten, crushed, stomped, eaten, any of the truly bad choices.