The Game Players of Meridien

by Robert I. Katz

  Chapter 23

  “You can only get so much information from ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions,” I said.

  Guild Master Anderson peered down at the printout. “You’ve done well. This is helpful,” he said. “Very helpful, indeed.”

  Robeson suspected that Gath had allies but he didn’t know who they might be. Gath had placed sleeper cells all over the continent. Meridien, probably because of our wealth, had captured more of their interest than most. This was at least mildly reassuring, since, in the end, Gath and their putative allies had failed to destroy us or significantly subvert our government. They had caused us damage but we would recover.

  Gath believed in manifest destiny. Gath was destined to rule because their society and their people were superior, in mind, in body and in philosophy, and mostly, just because they liked telling other people how they should live and what they should do.

  “I want you to go to Gath,” Guild Master Anderson said.

  “What?” I said.

  He smiled.

  “Say that again?”

  “Gath believes that their methods and their culture breed superior individuals. Status in their society is achieved in a number of ways, all of them centered on demonstrating this superiority. Every five years, they hold a series of organized games.”

  “I know. They’re televised.”

  “Yes. They like the world to know of their success. Champions at every level are given prizes and the Grand Champion wins unlimited breeding rights and a position on their governing council.

  “Gath is offering the world what they seem to think of as a new idea. In reality, it is a very old, very dangerous idea, an idea that has caused endless suffering and has been discredited time after time after time. It is said that those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it. It is a sad tragedy that so many generations must learn these lessons for themselves.

  “We need to discredit Gath. We need to demonstrate to the world that they are a gang of violent hooligans who offer nothing but suffering, desolation and pain. The next games start in only a few weeks. We need to demonstrate to all the World that they are not superior in any way.”

  “And you’re proposing to send me?”

  He smiled. “Your grandfather was a friend of mine. Did you know that?”

  I looked at him. I barely remembered my grandfather. He had died when I was seven years old. “No,” I said.

  “He emigrated to Meridien from Cornwall. There are a lot of Olivers in Cornwall.”

  I shrugged. “Distant cousins. We visited the place once when I was a child but I barely know them.”

  “As I said, we were friends. I also knew your father when he was a boy, and I know something of your family history. You’re not the only one who possesses abilities beyond the norm.

  “If you agree to this scheme, you won’t be going alone. We’re sending an entire delegation. Gath is putting on a show. We’ll put one on, too. The more public this all is, the harder it will be for them to quietly assassinate you.”

  “Good to know. I appreciate that you’re thinking of my welfare.”

  “They probably will, though. Try to assassinate you, I mean.” He gave me a sly look. “Gath likes to play games. Well, so do we. You’re good at playing games. How would you like to teach them a lesson that they will never forget?”

  “But what if I lose?”

  He chuckled. “Frankly? You probably will, but since nobody will expect anything different, your loss will not be considered remarkable. Meanwhile, the delegation will be gathering information.”

  “Oh. So, I’m a front for a spy ring?”

  “In essence…yes.”

  “Sure,” I said. A chance to strike back. I considered the idea and realized with no surprise whatsoever that I liked it. I liked it a lot. I could feel a slow smile spreading across my face. “Sure,” I said. “I’d love to.”

  —The End—

  Information about the Chronicles of the Second Interstellar Empire of Mankind

  I hope you enjoyed The Game Players of Meridien.

  The series continues with The City of Ashes, in which Douglas Oliver and Jennifer Mallett journey to the nation of Gath and attempt to unravel a conspiracy intended to plunge the world of Illyria into internecine war. Book Three will be entitled The Empire of Dust. Please read on for a preview of The City of Ashes: Book Two of the Chronicles of the Second Interstellar Empire of Mankind.

  For more information, please visit my website, http://www.robertikatz.com or my Facebook page, https://www.facebook.com/Robertikatzofficial/. For continuing updates regarding new releases, author appearances and general information about my books and stories, sign up for my newsletter/email list at http://www.robertikatz.com/join and you will also receive two free short stories. The first is a science fiction story, entitled “Adam,” about a scientist who uses a tailored retrovirus to implant the Fox P2 gene (sometimes called the language gene) into a cage full of rats and a mouse named Adam, and the unexpected consequences that result. The second is a prequel to the Kurtz and Barent mysteries, entitled “Something in the Blood,” featuring Richard Kurtz as a young surgical resident on an elective rotation in the Arkansas mountains, solving a medical mystery that spans two tragic generations.

  Preview: The City of Ashes: Book Two of the Chronicles of the Second Interstellar Empire of Mankind

  Chapter 1

  Two weeks after the siege of Aphelion ended, we finally set out for Gath. It was a boring two weeks. The streets were cleaned, the power grid fixed and reinforced. The city’s infrastructure was inspected, repaired and made sound. Our allies’ troops were wined and dined and given the keys to the city, which they richly deserved. As for myself, I had little to do, except tend to my business interests and think about the future. I was eager to get started.

  Guild Master Anderson had meant it when he said that we would be putting on a show. We travelled in one of the largest airships in the fleet, named the Endeavor, re-painted for our trip in all the colors of the Meridien flag, festooned with rippling pennants and banners that flapped in the breeze. The personnel, however, were intended to put on a very different sort of show. They were all either elite military or secret service, about a third female. All of them moved with quiet confidence. All of them looked like they could punch through walls and probably most of them could.

  “Bring somebody with you,” the Guild Master had said. “Gath is a chauvinist culture. They will expect a young, virile man like yourself to have a sexual outlet.”

  “Why should we care what they expect?” I said, though I had no objection in principle to a sexual outlet.

  “Think of it as an insurance card. If you bring a woman along, it will make it harder for their spies to seduce you.” He shrugged. “They’ll still try, but why make it easy for them? If you don’t have anybody in mind, we’ll assign a member of the military.” He got a far-away look on his face. “That might be best, actually, a combination mistress and bodyguard.”

  I looked at him, not quite scandalized. “That seems above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “We wouldn’t insist that she have sex with you. She could pretend.”

  I declined his offer of military assistance for my libido but did ask Jennifer to come along, though I felt it wiser to not mention the Guild Master’s comments regarding our hosts’ expectations in the bedroom. “Sounds interesting,” she said. “Sure.” She grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  So, we drifted over Imperion, Cuomo, Valspur, Neece and the desert kingdom of Kush, which, like Gath, preferred to maintain the old ways. Kush rejected most modern technology outside of health care and genetically engineered crops. And air conditioning, pretty much a necessity when the average daily temperature during most of the year hovers over forty degrees Celsius. The Kushians trailed below our ship on horseback, carrying long rifles to protect themselves against sand-tigers and the lizard-like morions, drawing pictures with wax stylets on sheaves of paper and tal
king among themselves. They had one unusual but obviously useful modification: like chameleons, they could change color to blend into their surroundings, which varied from tan sandstone to red, iron rich rock. They seemed interested in our passage and thankfully didn’t try to shoot us down. I wondered if they had holo connections and were fans of the upcoming games.

  We took our time. We wanted to be seen. The ship stopped twice, both times to pick up passengers. Denali was a small mountainous nation in the center of the continent, lumber, harvested from enormous hardwood trees, being the principal product. McClain was the only city, neatly laid out in a grid around the government center. The Endeavor floated to a mooring atop the Parliament building. We exited the ship, met the Prime Minister and his cabinet, had lunch at a restaurant that specialized in wild game, and trooped back into the ship before nightfall.

  John Mead was the passenger. He was a big man with a perpetual smile and he moved slowly, as if being careful not to damage other, more delicate human beings. I knew of John Mead. He had trained at the same dojo as Master Chen and owned a chain of martial arts academies that spread across the continent.

  Denali, like so many nations in the wake of Gath’s challenge, had suddenly awakened to their own danger. Alliances were being made. Denali had entered into negotiations with the Guild Council and it had been decided that I would not be alone in entering the Grand Tournament.

  Fine with me, not that I had anything to say about it.

  John Mead looked at me with mild interest when we first met, as if wondering what made me think that I might have a chance at winning against the best fighters in Gath. I smiled back and let him wonder. At least, he was polite.

  The mountains turned into foothills, then a high plain and a day later, we came to Hayden, a town on the edges of Lake Sierra, the third largest body of fresh water on the continent. Hayden was the home town of Alessandro Abruzzi. I had heard of him, as well. Five years before, he had entered the Grand Tournament of Gath, the only foreigner to have done so that year. He had done better than anybody had expected, ranking forty-fifth out of the nearly five thousand who had entered. Apparently, he had decided to try again, and we were elected to help him do it.

  Alessandro Abruzzi was not quite so pleasant as John Mead. Along with the Captain, a hard-eyed navy man named Reece Jones, his first mate, Commander Boyd and John Mead, I was part of the greeting party as Abruzzi entered the ship. Abruzzi gave Mead a little bow, which Mead returned. He glared at me, his lips wrinkling. We shook hands and he squeezed. I smiled and squeezed back. Abruzzi’s hand was not quite as hard as granite and just a bit smaller than a boulder but his hand was no stronger than mine. After a moment, he loosened his fingers. I was tempted not to loosen mine, but we weren’t there to make enemies. I let go. He clenched and unclenched his fist, the knuckles audibly cracking, nodded abruptly, turned to the Captain and was perfectly polite for the rest of the evening.

  Both Abruzzi and Mead traveled alone. Apparently, neither of them worried at the prospect of being seduced by the sinister agents of Gath, but then, perhaps neither of them were spies.

  As the putative guests of honor, Jennifer and I ate at the Captain’s table every night, along with the other officers, and now, John Mead and Allesandro Abruzzi. Like Abruzzi, I don’t think most of the crew took me seriously, not at first. One junior lieutenant named Jeffrey Grant seemed particularly contemptuous. He looked at Jennifer at my side, grimaced, turned to an ensign and made a little comment about delusional rich men and their mistresses. I don’t think that he intended me to hear him but he obviously didn’t care much if I did.

  I pondered his smug, smiling face for a long moment. I hadn’t kept my abilities secret, not deliberately, but it had been a long time since I had fought competitively and back then, it had been entirely within the confines of the Guild Hall, and Guild members don’t talk to outsiders about what happens within the Guilds. In the Guild, and in the world of business and industry, I was a respected player, but this was a different world.

  There are two approaches to dealing with an opponent, any opponent: you can try to take them by surprise or you can try to intimidate. I didn’t like Allesandro Abruzzi’s attitude. John Mead was more polite about it but somehow, I suspected that he shared Abruzzi’s opinion. I didn’t like that attitude, and I didn’t like Junior Lieutenant Jeffrey Grant. Maybe it was time to show what I could do…we were supposed to be putting on a show, after all.

  “Captain?” I said.

  “Yes, Mr. Oliver?”

  “Would you mind very much if I demonstrated to Mr. Grant the error of his ways?”

  The Captain eyed Lieutenant Grant, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Certainly not,” he said. “It would be educational for him and entertaining for the rest of us.”

  “Excellent.” I raised my voice. “Lieutenant Grant,” I said. “I could use some exercise.” I smiled. “Perhaps you would like to spar with me later this evening?”

  A sudden silence fell over the table. I doubt that the rest of the officers were exactly on my side but none of them thought much of Grant. He found himself the sudden center of attention and obviously didn’t like it. His face turned red and he quickly swallowed the food in his mouth. “I’d love to,” he said.

  “Good.”

  I noted that John Mead kept his face impassive during this exchange. Abruzzi gave me a doubtful look, then shrugged his massive shoulders.

  The rest of the meal was subdued. Jennifer and I wandered back to our suite after dinner. “You sure about this?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “After the last few weeks? I’m in no mood to put up with any more bullshit.”

  She smiled. “Okay,” she said. That was just one of the things that I liked about Jennifer. She knew when to push and when to leave it alone and she always knew the score.

  An hour later, we walked into the gym to find it packed. Bleachers rose up along the walls, filled with what seemed to be the entire ship’s personnel. A nine-meter octagon style cage stood in the center. This surprised me a little, as the military generally preferred the smaller Sumo type circle for practice and training bouts, but then Gath used the cage and Gath was where we were going, so it made sense.

  Grant wore a black gi. I came in wearing a white robe and when I stripped it off the room fell silent for a moment, before the buzz of excited conversation came back a little louder. Under the robe, I had on only black trunks and black canvas shoes with rubber soles. Neither the shoes nor the trunks were new and my legs and torso were roped with muscle. I looked like I knew what I was doing, which I did. I smiled at Grant and he frowned, looking for the first time uncertain. We walked to the center of the cage. The referee gave his instructions, dropped his arm and I whirled, sweeping Grant’s legs out from beneath him. He fell heavily, jumped to his feet and glared. I smiled back at him.

  “Point,” the referee said.

  We walked again to the center of the ring and stood facing each other until the referee gave the signal. This time, I waited for Grant to demonstrate what he could do. He came in fast and threw a series of punches at my face. I shook them off with quick flicks of my wrists, stepped in and hit him with an uppercut to the abdomen. Hard. He dropped, wheezing.

  “Point,” the referee said.

  I shook my head. Grant wasn’t bad, exactly. Actually, he was pretty good. He had to be, to be a part of this crew. He just wasn’t nearly as good as he thought he was. Any pro would have torn him apart.

  Now he was seriously pissed off. He snarled at me while the referee raised his arm and dropped it, and then he charged. I jumped, grabbed his torso between my open legs, twisted and let the momentum carry us to the mat. I slithered around his back, got his wrist across my chest and hyperextended his elbow. An armbar. If I wanted to, from this position, I could snap his joint. The crowd grew silent. Grant groaned but didn’t tap out. I put a little pressure on the joint, which hurts. It hurts a lot. “Fuck!” he yelled and slapped the mat with
his opposite hand. I let him go and jumped to my feet. Grant took a few seconds longer to get up. His face was white and he rubbed his arm. I didn’t trust Grant. His aura flared, almost crackling. We were both supposed to exit at the same time from opposite sides of the cage but I could see him hesitate. “Don’t,” I whispered. “You’ll regret it.” He looked me in the eyes, his lips thin, his breath coming fast and then I could see him deflate. He put his head down, turned and walked out.

  Some of the crowd looked happy. A few seemed disappointed. John Mead gave me a speculative look. Allesandro Abruzzi frowned. The Captain said something that I couldn’t hear to Commander Boyd and chuckled. I could see money changing hands but on the whole, I could detect no animosity among the assembled audience. This was good. None of us knew what we would be getting into once we reached Gath but the crew was at least tentatively on my side. I was pleased. It was a good night’s work.