The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  Still he’d rather be here than prowling the Eye for the missing Cavanda. That girl had to be here somewhere, but she’d proven evasive. That the ship was large, and therefore an easy place to find somewhere to hide, lay in her favour and she’d taken advantage. It felt like a fool’s errand to seek her out, if she was still here then she’d show herself eventually. The only question remained how many she’d kill when she revealed herself. They’d discovered the hole she’d cut through the hull; they’d been at work patching it up ever since. No sign of her, no trace of her in the Kjarn. She was chameleoning herself, he’d guess, making herself impossible to find through mystical means. Not a hard technique but infinitely useful for one in her circumstances.

  He felt a tinge of disgust, saw Silas rise and make for the door. Though his face was neutral, there was no hiding his feelings and they sickened him. Silas was the sort of man for whom being drowned at birth would have made everyone’s lives easier.

  “I loathe that man,” the Mistress said as the door closed behind him. “I truly do.”

  “And yet, you’re willing to work with him.” There was no amusement in Wim’s voice, just a statement of fact, cold and unyielding.

  “Well yes.” She sounded by surprised by what he’d said. “If I only worked with people I liked, I wouldn’t have much of an army.”

  “And the fact he’s proving himself to be a traitor doesn’t worry you?”

  “Everyone’s a potential traitor. The known ones aren’t a problem. It’s the unknown ones I worry about the most. You know what they say about keeping your friends close?”

  “Enemies closer?”

  “Absolutely. I need the assistance of everyone here for now. I know some of them are already plotting to stab me in the back. If others want to stab others in the back, then at least the knives aren’t pointed at me. It buys me time.”

  “It’s a dangerous scheme you’ve embarked upon. I see at least you are prepared for the realities of the path you’ve chosen to walk.”

  She gave him a smug look. More than that he could feel it radiating from her. Like poison. “I’ve spent years planning this. I have foreseen every detail. I have my confidants, they’ve thought of things I haven’t, and we’ve accounted for as many variables as possible. When all the pieces come into play, we will be victorious.” She didn’t mention his own part in proceedings, but he could tell she was fighting the urge. People like her always did, they had a tamborlute and they wanted to play their own tune.

  “I have a request,” he said. There was a viewing screen in his quarters, he’d spent a lot of time watching the Quin-C tournament, not normally something he’d done throughout his life but now he had the opportunity. Thus, the purpose of his visit had come into existence.

  “Really?”

  “I need to go to Carcaradis Island. I need help in regards of the problem, some brains that need to be picked for extra information. There is someone there who can help me with that. I require transportation. Are you willing to provide me with it?”

  He left no room for interpretation in his voice, resisted enhancing it with the Kjarn to power his suggestion. He had the impression she’d be resistant to it, would have the willpower to see through it. If she was feeble minded, she wouldn’t have gone ahead with this entire scheme. It wasn’t a theory he was curious to test.

  “Who?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Who do you need to see? I’ll have them brought here.”

  He shook his head. “They are like me. Or they were. You would struggle to restrain them. And it is one thing doing it in a remote area like you did with the girl. In the middle of a public place, someone would spot it. Secrecy would be lost. I imagine you don’t want a scene. It undermines everything you’ve done so far.”

  He trailed a finger across the table top. “No, I must see her in private. It is the best way to engage cooperation. I hope we have enough remaining history to ensure that it can be done amicably.”

  “You speak wisely,” she admitted. She didn’t look happy about it, didn’t feel happy in the slightest. “I want you to take someone with you. A witness. I don’t entirely trust you. You might run.”

  He almost laughed out loud at her words. “Where am I going to run to? It’s an island and I have no credits to get off it. As much as you might have faith in my abilities, I’m not in the habit of abusing them just to get out a deal I made willingly. If I were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. When are you going to work out my word is my bond? This trip is in your interest. There is no need for a witness.”

  “I think there is. It’s not that I don’t trust you…” He could tell immediately those words were a lie and he fought the urge to give her a sarcastic smile. “It’s not. I don’t trust those you might talk to. You’ve shown your own opposition to my undertaking and I do not wish to have it undermined by anyone you might contact. Some people have stronger consciences than you.”

  “No.” Wim sounded strangely defiant as he said it. “They really don’t.”

  “Regardless,” she said, insistent in her words. “A witness is what you need, and a witness is what you shall have. Of my choosing and of my command.”

  “I do not think…”

  “That it is a good idea? But I do, my dear Wim. It’s with a witness or without.”

  He felt a stab of annoyance. “You’d really sabotage your own efforts?”

  “What I need from you is a part of my plan. It is not the be all and end all. If needs must, I would do without it. But should I not need it, then I wouldn’t need you. And do you really think you’d be able to make it off this ship alive?”

  Anger rushed through him as he stood up straight, his hand twitching to go for his weapon. He took several deep breaths and tried to push them down inside him, not look threatening. That wasn’t right. He shouldn’t have risen like that. “Do you?” he asked quietly.

  “You have so much you want to live for,” she said. “I’m prepared to die in the pursuit of my undertaking. I’ve made my peace with that.” He could feel the steel in her words, they rung with true conviction. “Can you say the same?”

  He glared at her. “Talk to me of witnesses. I want someone reliable.”

  As it happened, she had just the person in mind, someone she wanted out of her hair for the time being. Someone useless here for the time being but had experience of Carcaradis Island. Someone who Wim would be able to intimidate into good behaviour. She smiled at him coolly. He undoubtedly wouldn’t like it. What he did or didn’t like wasn’t her concern.

  They’d arrived on Carcaradis Island shortly after mid-morning and Wim was already regretting that she’d made him bring Rocastle along. The man had proven himself to be a truly disgusting individual and already he was looking for an excuse to either cut him loose or cut him down. Either would suit nicely. Until then though, he’d play nice.

  A pair of pilots sat up front, guiding the craft down to the aeroport, him and the fat man stuck in the back. Rocastle dug under his nails with a flint of metal as they sat in silence, neither of them willing to speak to the other. He’d grown a beard to help disguise his identity, wispy and dyed black, contacts in his eyes to give them a watery brown tint, his long hair cut short. Wim couldn’t keep his eyes from his prosthetics, the new fingers he’d been granted following his aborted attempt to keep the girl prisoner.

  He had no sympathy for him in that regard, nor for his bloody Mistress. They should have informed him they had a prisoner with such abilities, he would have been able to assist in keeping her contained, rather than have her screw things up the way she had. The fingers hadn’t been covered with synthetic skin yet, they were a dull blue colour, every joint exposed. Every time he moved them, Wim saw the flinch on Rocastle’s face from where the clasps dug into his knuckles. Due to the cauterising nature of the kjarnblade, they’d been unable to reattach the original digits. He might learn a lesson from this about going up against an opponent with a kjarnblade with a blaster. That
wasn’t a fair contest, not even for a skilled combatant against a novice bladesman. Nothing about Rocastle spoke to him of skill. He was a bully and a coward, those were his impressions and he’d seen nothing to say otherwise.

  Granted he did have a weapon in the interests of protection, be it from Wim himself or from the target but somehow Wim didn’t find that too worrying. How accurate he was with it would be open to debate. He could sense unease in the man, buried beneath pain and resentment, maybe a little worry. He wasn’t happy to be back on the island. There’d been some sort of trouble weeks earlier, Wim wasn’t clear on the details. He’d asked as much and Rocastle had refused to answer, giving him a sarcastic sneer that told him it was none of his business. Wim had probed deeper across the surface of his temporary partner’s being, an act he found disgusting, but he sensed no regret to balance out that fear. All Rocastle had said was he didn’t want to be recognised or there’d be trouble afoot.

  With that in mind, it had made Wim wonder why she’d picked the fat man to go with him. Surely there’d be someone less likely to bring trouble down on them. Or maybe she’d just decided to cut them both loose and to hells with the consequences if they didn’t come back. Either way, it meant he’d need to ensure Rocastle wasn’t recognised. Some sort of abject lesson in teamwork he really didn’t need? If that was the case, he could do with teaching that bloody woman a lesson. Who the hells did she think she was, interfering with him like this. He clenched his fists, ground his teeth and felt himself shaking under the righteous indignity of it all.

  Something wasn’t right with him, he realised, and it worried him. He’d always been tightly restrained with his emotions before this. He’d needed to be. Vedo didn’t react like this to adversity. They faced it steadfast, ready to do the right thing. They didn’t fall into their anger. That was a Cavanda trait. Wim knew he needed to be more careful, especially when the entire future of the Vedo was at stake. He needed to restore them, but not at any cost and not by building on such a tenuous base.

  It was an old trick but one he relished being able to employ again as he strode through the hallway like he owned it, secure in the knowledge neither he nor his blaster rifle toting companion would be picked up by security footage. Maybe he could own it all. One day, he might be wealthy, have financial influence to back up his power. Having gone from having it all to having nothing, Wim didn’t intend to reach the point where it was scooped from him again. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Vedo of the past would never have aligned themselves with someone like her. That was why they were gone and despite everything, he was still here. He would be triumphant. The last of the old Vedo, the first of the new.

  Of course, that wouldn’t quite be true. It was an idle thought but another disturbing one. Until he’d known true poverty and despair, he’d never thought of greed or desire in these ways before. They were something beyond him before, he’d never wanted for anything but neither had his life been awash with affluence. He’d been comfortable in it. That was the best way to see it. But to want it all was a new one. He couldn’t think like that. Of course, saying it was easier than doing. Then again, the path of a Vedo was never an easy one. He hadn’t been one for a long time, understandable he’d have trouble readjusting. Understandable but unacceptable. He wouldn’t allow himself to fall even further than he had. There was no path back from that. Wim had a task to do here and he couldn’t fail. There were still a few pieces yet to slip into place.

  One of them more pressing than anything else. He knew she was here. All that remained was getting her to talk to him. What sort of condition might she be in, he couldn’t say with any degree of confidence. Once the Kjarn had been corrupted, it had happened, and it had sent the unprepared Vedo who touched it mad slowly but completely. Many of them needed to be put down. He was lucky that he’d been saved, everything happens for a reason and he was to be the architect of a rebirth for losing it had undoubtedly been what had kept him sane. There’d been many times in the past, he’d rather have died than live in the squalor, but some spark inside had kept him going. And now he knew why. It was better now. Once it had been filthy and malignant. Some of it still was. He could feel the remnants of it as he sent a lens flare across the recording image of the camera. It was better but still not perfect. Time was apparently a natural healer. Now he was better and rising again. He would do what he needed, including, apparently, making deals with someone he would have avoided in the past.

  It appeared you couldn’t escape the rot. Sometimes it was in your head, sometimes it was in the world outside. Here they stood, room three twenty-eight and he could sense the remnants of her presence. She’d spent time here. Enough to imprint a sense of feeling on the room. Expanding his mind into the area around him, that sense found everyone, the presences of those in their rooms minding their own business. It no longer exhausted him to do so. He didn’t want to encounter them. If they interfered, Rocastle would put them down, he didn’t want to be responsible for their deaths.

  With a wave of the hand, the lock on the door clicked open and he grinned at Rocastle, pushing it open. “Easy.”

  “You’re quite the little cat burglar, huh?” Rocastle said. “You fancy giving me a hand with something while you’re here? I’ve got some unfinished business with someone…”

  Wim shook his head. “I’ve been warned about you,” he said sternly. “Any of that business and you’ll lose a hand. The other one.” He nodded his head towards the prosthetic fingers his companion wore, his own hand tapping the hilt of his kjarnblade.

  “The Mistress warned you about little old me? She tends to overreact.”

  Without bothering to correct him as to the impressions the Kjarn was giving him, Wim trailed into the room and took it in. He could smell the perfume, azelberry and jasmine. Some things never changed. Back in the day, she’d tried to keep a single azelberry flower in a jar in her quarters in the temple. It hadn’t survived. She’d gotten over it a lot faster than he thought she would, had taken the lesson to heart. Despite your best effort, things always die. “Sit down,” he said, glancing back to Rocastle following him in. “We don’t know how long she’ll be, but I don’t want to spook anyone before we’re ready. And I have work to do.”

  “Fine by me,” Rocastle said, dropping into one of the plush chairs, the kinetic disperser resting across his knees. Wim had chosen the weapon himself, had explained it as the best choice for the task. He didn’t know what sort of reaction he’d be greeted with; it was harder to defend against the wide spread hammer-like blasts than against a single narrow laser blast. When you didn’t quite know what to expect, it was better to be prepared. Even the few scant meditations he’d employed to scan out his path ahead had been clouded, too many variables to read what the future might hold to the outcome of this meeting. One could only plan so far ahead.

  As Rocastle sighed aggressively, Wim started to move across the room, running his fingers across the walls in deep sweeping motions, careful to not overextend himself. His connection with the Kjarn was still new, still fresh and while it was growing stronger every day, it still would have been all too easy to exhaust himself.

  “I had a room like this,” Rocastle continued wistfully. “Bet they gave it to someone else. I miss that room, even after it flooded. Best gig I ever had doing the scouting here. What the hells are you doing, anyway?”

  “Soundproofing,” Wim grunted. “It’s a big job, I need to concentrate.”

  “Why the hells you soundproofing? That really the best use of your time?” Rocastle sounded petulant like a spoilt child and Wim wanted so very much to ignore him. Instead he sighed and turned to face him, eyes narrowed. The fat man wilted under the glance and privately he was pleased with the reaction. The fear amused him.

  “Are you really as ignorant as you appear? If this turns out badly, do you want every person on the island to know? With your record, they’ll probably shoot you on sight.”

  He clapped a hand on Rocastle’s shoulder and squeezed, lett
ing just a little bit of Kjarn slip into his fingers to prove a point, saw the fat man’s eyes widen as his grip bit down on the muscles. “Me, I’ll be fine. Might have to make a swift getaway but I will survive. No, this requires a delicate touch and that is something I do not think you possess.”

  “I’ll show you delicate,” Rocastle muttered. Wim increased the pressure; a yelp escaped his lips. Idly he thought about breaking his shoulder or at least dislocating it, a tempting thought but he chose to refrain. He might still need this noxious little weed yet. Still…

  “Can you repeat that?” he asked mildly, applying more pressure and the yelp turned into a low howl, a moan of desperation. Rocastle tried to shake him off to no avail. “I thought I heard you say something.”

  “I didn’t!” Rocastle almost screamed it out. “I didn’t say anything.”

  Finally, Wim let him go and settled on the floor across the room from him. “I thought so,” he said as he closed his eyes. “She’ll be here. Soon. Stay patient. Don’t alert her or your life won’t be worth living.”

  Threats? From him? That was interesting. And worrying. What was he becoming? And more to the point, why did a tiny part of him enjoy it?

  Slipping into meditation was easier than ever, a nice drift into another state of mind, one of hyperawareness and sensitivity. Yet at the same time, he felt so much more alive than he ever had before. He could feel them all, connected to everyone on the island, a collective mass too densely packed together to make out as individuals. Searching for one specific person however would prove to be more challenging, he found himself grasping several times to no avail before finally locking down her position. This used to be so easy… He tried to quash the resentment down inside him. It wouldn’t help.