The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

“What’s it going to take for your help?” voice number one asked. There was just the right note of defeat in his voice to satisfy Cyris.

  “Well I’m glad we might be able to do business,” Cyris said gleefully. “Since you do… How about you make sure you put the bitch down!” He almost spat the words out, he saw them recoil in surprise. “Nobody tries to put me on a leash and I don’t bloody follow! You understand me?! You kill her, you forget anything you have on me and I’ll give her to you. It’s a good deal boys and girls. They’ll give you all medals for a job well done.”

  He smiled at them and felt the glee rush through him. If they went for this, it’d be a good day. It’d be a good day indeed.

  Chapter Fourteen. The Silence Before the Fireworks.

  “It’s when it’s calm that you need to worry. While there’s the potential for improvement, there’s an equal or greater chance things can grow worse with the passing of time.”

  Wim Carson to Claudia Coppinger in a private moment.

  The third day of Summerfall.

  Boredom was slowly working its way into every fibre of Nick’s being, the irony not lost on him how he’d gone from one cell to another. If it wasn’t for being released to take meals with the staff here, he’d have probably gone crazy staring at the four walls. A gilded cage, he reminded himself, was still a cage. And though the bed might be comfortable and the reading supplies more substantial than on the island and fresh water on demand, he still felt like he was waiting for the other foot to fall. Something had to give sooner or later. He hadn’t seen Claudia Coppinger since those first nights, hadn’t had the chance to subtly probe her for more information or even go deeper. More than once he’d proclaimed out through his cell door that he wanted to speak to her, but they’d fallen on either deaf ears. If he squinted through the bars on the peephole on his door, he was sure he could see one of the Taxeen strolling around outside, keeping a tight guard.

  Still he’d tried to occupy mind and body, a few hundred push ups every morning, alternating with sit-ups, he’d found himself running through a dozen possible scenarios for escape or attack in his head. He had to do something soon, the inaction probably the worst experience, even if there wasn’t much he could do about it. It all boiled down to the Taxeen outside as his first great obstacle. He remembered what Tod Brumley had said in unarmed combat practice about facing an opponent both armed and skilled with a knife. His first words?

  ‘Try to avoid a fight with someone with a knife. If they’re any good,’ and the Taxeen undoubtedly were, ‘they’ll cut you into shreds before you can take it off them. If it’s a fight you can’t avoid, hit them hard and early. You’ll usually get one free shot, depending how fast they are. You hit them right, you can gain an upper hand.’

  It was one thing to think about it, it was one thing to practice it, it was entirely another thing to go out and do it against a knifeman whose reflexes had been honed throughout the years, whose bodies had become part of their armoury. They’d adapted themselves to suit the weapon, not the other way around. They were serious, dedicated individuals. It might not come to it. Nick liked a fight as much as anyone, but he’d prefer to walk away from it at the end.

  The rattle in the door told him the bolt was being pulled back. In this era of high tech security, a simple bolt might have felt out of place, yet all it meant was they had faith in the guards. To withdraw it by hand and let him out, they had to get past the Taxeen. A security lock could, admittedly a pretty big could, be hacked. As the door swung back with a scrape, Nick saw two of the Taxeen staring unblinking at him with those large eyes set against dark skin. He smiled at them.

  “Good… morning, is it?” he asked. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m a little lost on when it actually is.”

  Neither of them paid any heed to him. Nor did they enter the cell. They were professional, considering they dressed like desert rats in their robes. One gestured for him to follow them and the other moved off. Nick sighed, made to follow, his steps bordering on skittish as he walked past the gesturing guard, not entirely comfortable exposing his back to him. The knife he half-expected to come never did and still he followed the first Taxeen. He saw several other cells on the way past, just as he always did, never quite able to see inside them. Except this time, he saw a face up at the bars of one of them, a pretty Vazaran face with close cropped black hair wearing…

  Huh…

  Unless he was mistaken, that was a Unisco flight suit. He could only see the edges of the sleeves and the tips of the shoulders, but it sure looked like one. Weird that. If he was going to get out, he’d have to investigate this first. If there were Unisco people aboard, he couldn’t leave them here without at least trying. On the other hand, Arnholt had been very specific he was supposed to make bringing back the information his top priority. But he couldn’t have known about the woman. Maybe she wasn’t alone. Maybe there were more. Decisions. This had started off so simple, now it felt like it had taken an ugly complexion. He swallowed hard and continued to walk, ferreting away at the problems at hand.

  They’d gone a different way this time, one he hadn’t experienced before. He’d have remembered this view, found he needed to stop and look as they passed the great window, saw the sky outside. Clear blue cloudless sky for as far as his eyes could see and his heart fell, as beautiful as it might be to experience. His chances of escape had just grown slimmer. They had to be miles in the sky nobody knew this was here or there’d be investigations. Nobody liked to have strange unidentified ships hovering above them. Especially not ones armed like this.

  Shit, Nick thought as he glanced at the semi-ring down below him, high powered lasers rimming the surfaces. In the distance, he could see a strange brand of aerofighter he hadn’t encountered before, six out on flight manoeuvres and flying like they had no small amount of experience. The thing was huge, easily bigger than some of the dreadnoughts the five kingdoms could call on. He stumbled forward, had to rest his hands against the plastiglass to steady himself, the sudden enormity of his task at hand stunning him. This… This was so much bigger than he’d imagined, than any of them could have, and yet here was the proof in front of him. They were in so much danger right now and nobody knew. One of the Taxeen pulled him away roughly, he fought the urge to strike back. It’d be a good time, he wouldn’t expect it, but there’d be another chance, no clear advantage to revealing his cards here.

  Always when not to act as much as when to act. He let out a sigh and shrugged the arm off him, giving the Taxeen a glare. “Okay, sorry,” he said grumpily. “It just took me by surprise though.” Out in the distance, the aerofighters swept past the setting sun, light reflecting off their wings and he couldn’t help but be awed by the sight.

  They didn’t linger long after, he had to move quickly to keep up, much to his chagrin. There was barely time to take in some of the more interesting details of their surroundings, about all he could do to keep track of their movements. He figured he could find his way back to the cells from here. Now he understood why they sent guards every time. It’d be easy to get lost if you didn’t know these corridors.

  The door they led him to was heavy and wooden, it looked expensive and he gulped as he took it in, not entirely sure why. He caught just a hint of foreboding from it and it unsettled him. Couldn’t explain why, wasn’t sure he wanted to. The faintest smell of scent lingered, something he couldn’t place from somewhere else. One of the Taxeen knocked brusquely and he heard a voice from the other side. Female. Familiar. He ground his teeth as the permission to enter came and the door slid open.

  Claudia Coppinger wasn’t alone in the room, rather there was a scruffy looking Vazaran man who looked in his fifties stood next to her, his face rough and wild. When he smiled, what few teeth he had were uneven and broken in his mouth. He looked like a campaign poster for battered wolverines. Claudia rose to her feet; he was sure she was wearing the same clothes as when he’d last seen her. She looked tired, worn down by unseen weights and Nick wasn�
�t sure what to make of it. Dark bags rimmed her eyes, she looked haggard and weary. He chose not to mention it, just smiled politely. “Miss Coppinger,” he said, strolling into the room. He didn’t give the Taxeen a second glance, just kept his eyes on the woman and her associate. The man wasn’t the biggest, he looked thin but dressed casually, his clothes almost exercise-like underneath a heavy poncho that split aside at the front to reveal the utility belt wrapped around his waist. Twin silver cylinders glistened, hooked to the belt. He fought the urge to look closer. There was something about one of them, the very presence of it stirred something in his memory, chiming like a klaxon bell. Something he was sure he’d seen before, but where. It was starting to annoy him now, scoured through the recesses of his mind as he sought to recall its origin.

  “Mr Roper,” she said. “Good morning. I have good news for you. President Ritellia no longer wishes to press charges against you. Full retraction of any attempts to press charges, he even apologised for intruding in your time of distress.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something he’d do,” Nick said breezily. He lazily brushed a speck of dust from his shirt. “Who twisted his kidneys up into his lungs for him to accede to that demand.” Her face threatened to break into a smile, but she held herself.

  “I like your metaphor. Ritellia is an overgrown slug made fat by those he should serve. Stand up to him and he slithers away to find someone else to bully, someone less… disagreeable”

  “But a powerful slug regardless,” Nick said, glancing sideways at the impassive face of the Vazaran. There was something off about him he couldn’t place.

  “A potent slug is still easy to squish,” she replied nonchalantly. “It’s just about finding the right place to apply pressure.”

  “I’m sure it is.” He left an edge to his words, gave her a smile.

  “You won’t have met my associate, Wim Carson,” she said, jerking her head towards the man. “The one who has made all this possible. He has been my guiding light since he entered the picture.” Carson nodded his head at Nick, Nick returned the gesture, his mind still musing over where he’d seen that metal cylinder.

  “Sounds like you’ve made a big impact then,” Nick remarked. “I didn’t know we were on a ship.”

  She laughed. “This is more than a ship. This is a life raft, if you want to look at it in practical terms. Everyone here has been selected for a pure purpose. There is a war about to come, I don’t want it to be prolonged, but it may be so. Plenty will be killed. Knowledge and skills will be lost, if they need replacing with my own people then it shall be so. When all is said and done, this will be the capital beacon of the five kingdoms. People will come from miles around for my favour.”

  Cuh-razy! Nick kept his face blank, saw Carson’s eyes narrow curiously at him. They were beady and small, one of them bloodshot, the other an electric blue but still they gave the impression they could pass straight through you. It was very much in keeping with what some people had said about Anne Sullivan, the thought occurred to him with a jolt. They all knew what that meant. Everyone who’d worked for Unisco past a certain amount of time had heard the stories about some of the stuff she could do. He straightened himself up, gave Carson a sardonic smile and fixed on Claudia.

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said. “I want to be a part of this, I’ve given it some considerable thought. And I ask what you would have me do, ma’am.” Idly he wondered if he should bow, show the proper decorum.

  “You can start by calling me Mistress,” she said primly. “That is my chosen mark of respect and you will adhere to it.”

  “Of course,” Nick said. He wanted to roll his eyes but fought the urge. “You’ve got a lot of guns on this life raft, uh Mistress.” The word felt unfamiliar in his mouth, but he put his all into it. It wasn’t at all arrogant to call yourself that.

  “There’s a lot of people out there who will fail to acknowledge my new world order,” she said. “I’ve always believed that the best form of defence is a good offence. Our guns are powerful, our shields are strong and the best thing of all is that nobody will ever know we are here until it’s too late.”

  Huh… This already was starting to look like a problem for anyone on the ground. They could easily repel an attacking fleet with the armaments he’d seen lining the body of this ship. Maybe if they didn’t have the advantage of surprise, it’d be different, but the chances of a successful assault from the front reduced their chances. “What’s that mean?” he asked curiously. His note of confusion in his voice wasn’t entirely faked. Wim Carson hadn’t taken his eyes off him. “You got one of those cloaking device things on here?”

  “Divine-class,” she said proudly. “You know what that means?”

  Truthfully, he didn’t. He’d never heard of it. The top bracket of cloaking device in his previous experience had been labelled at kingdom class. That meant that there was no chance of spotting them on any sort of scan, no radar would pick them up, no satellite could track their path, computerised targeting systems would be useless. “No.”

  “It means nobody’s finding us. We’re all alone up here and it’s going to stay that way. Some of my top people managed to perfect on the cloaking device. Previous iterations were flawed in that some of the air disturbances around it could be tracked to a fashion, if you knew where to look… Not this. The cloak extends out and…” She paused. “I’m boring you, I know. Don’t want to drown you with technological jargon. We’re invisible. And unlike some inferior models, we can see and hear outside our shields as well. I love technology. Isn’t it marvellous sometimes?”

  His heart fell, he tried to recover from it almost immediately and only partially succeeded. She seemed well protected up here, if what he’d seen and heard was anything to go by. And the sinking feeling wasn’t helped by the knowledge of what he might have to do to leave.

  “I’m sure you’ll be a just and fair ruler,” he said thoughtfully. She narrowed a brow at him, apparently not happy with his choice of words.

  “Ruler?” she asked. “I’m not satisfied with that. I want to be adored. I want to be feared. Mister Roper, I want to be worshipped. Godhood beckons. And when that happens, the only option is to accept it with open arms. Few are chosen but all must accept.” She sighed wistfully. “And it is a burden that I am willing to accept. When you have gone so far, turning back is not an option. The only choice is to follow it all the way. I have moved so much to get this far; the last ten years have been the groundwork to arrive at this moment and it is coming.”

  There had been more of what she’d had to say, mainly her outlining what his roles were to be in the world she was building. She’d mentioned he’d have to undergo training and orientation, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to go that far but he’d enthusiastically agreed, all to keep up appearances. She’d told him how she thought he was leadership material and she wanted him for a prominent role given she’d gone to great effort to recruit him. She’d mentioned some spirits she wanted him to look at, some very special ones indeed and she’d laughed as she’d brought them up. Nick wasn’t entirely sure what she meant, but it couldn’t mean anything good for the five kingdoms below. The Ista Neroux, she’d called them, an ominous title if ever one had been heard. At the end, she’d offered a hand and swallowing down disgruntlement, he’d bent and kissed it. It seemed like the sort of thing she’d have expected, the sort of thing she’d have swallowed, and he applauded his genius. Her cheeks flared with red and she smiled, he half expected her to giggle.

  “You know, I might have to make that protocol, Mister Roper,” she mused. “You’re a charming man.”

  “I do my best,” Nick said gruffly. “Mister Carson.”

  “Master,” the dark man corrected almost instinctively. The muscles in his face tightened as he looked Nick up and down. “Master Carson.”

  “Master of what?” Nick wondered aloud. The broad mouth split into a toothy grin and he knew for sure that he didn’t like that smile. There was something
shifty about it which hinted at so much potential for death and destruction. The only sort of Master he looked like was a Master of Nothing.

  “This and that. Some of the other.”

  Evasive answer, he noted. That didn’t fill him with confidence. “I’ll remember that then,” Nick remarked. “Nice trinkets by the way.” He inclined his head down towards the metal cylinders at the man’s waist. “Been to Serran recently?”

  The expression that came back at him was one of bemusement. “Serran? Not for a good few years. Why?”

  He wasn’t pure Vazaran, there was plenty in his accent that gave that away. There was some southern Serran in there. It wasn’t an uncommon mix, south Serran wasn’t very far away by boat from northern Vazara. Children of inter-marriages kept on appearing and Carson was one of them by the looks of things. The name Wim hinted at that. He’d known a few across his life.

  “Saw a few just like them when I was there not too long ago,” Nick said. “Hand warming devices, right?” It was bullshit, he knew that, he had a feeling Carson did as well. There was just something too spooky about him to avoid playing games, but at the same time, he needed to know. He had the horrible suspicion and letting it go didn’t feel like an option.

  “Something like that.” Carson’s face remained inscrutable. “I picked one up in tragic circumstances. It belonged to someone who met an unfortunate end.” His voice cracked a little as he said it.

  “Yeah?”

  “Someone who didn’t deserve to die. I wish it could have been avoided.” It sounded like there might have been regret in his voice.

  “We all know someone like that,” Nick said, his thoughts drifting towards Sharon once again. Wasn’t the first time since he’d seen that cylinder on Carson’s belt “World’s a bitch, right?”

  “It is,” Carson said. “She was one of a kind all right.” Nick didn’t hear the words as he glanced down at it again, taking in the silver sheen, the heavy rubberised grip, the pearl-like growth towards the tip of it. He could picture it now, the memories of it resting against so many clothes. He’d never known what it was for, Sharon had always told him it was a memento from the past. She’d said it apologetically, as if daring him to inquire for more information and at the same time firmly as if to say he wasn’t getting an answer if he did.