by O. J. Lowe
He wouldn’t have liked the job. Not a chance. His interview with the combat specialist had been enlightening, it looked like that was the direction in which any future Unisco career was going to be driven. Not that he was especially unhappy about it. Like Mara had said, it was a fine position, if one where the life-expectancy was a lot shorter than expected. He didn’t care about that. You could have ten good years, even that might be a generous estimate he’d been warned, or you could have fifty dull ones.
“You shall all be split into two teams and placed in an urban environment. One team shall be the hunted, it is your job to work together to evade the other team for as long as possible who are tracking you. The other team are to take the job of the hunters, you are required to find them and catch them as quickly as you can. The test is over when all the hunted have been found or the hunters are no longer able to complete their mission.”
Well, this had the potential to be interesting, Theo thought. The idea of teamwork sat sour with him but that was something he’d have to suffer through. If you couldn’t work as a team, you died very quickly in the field. Just one of the lessons they’d forced into them and it had stuck, as much as he didn’t want to have to admit it.
“To make the challenge fair, neither team is permitted to leave the boundaries of the city, meaning instant failure for any cadet who sets both feet outside of the lines. We will know, we will watch you. Just keep that in mind. Graduating the class is not dependent on winning or losing, rather your general approach to the task. You will be graded accordingly to how you go about your mission, your sense of teamwork, any skills you show. In short, you get to put on an audition for how you would perform in the field. I advise you not to blow it.”
This really had the potential to get interesting. His curiosity had been raised, Hans looked around to Konda and Takamishi. Konda stepped forward, craned onto his toes and whispered something in Hans’ ear.
Curious. Now what were they saying? He tilted his head forward, some part of him knew there was little chance of hearing it, even so. Still he had to try. Curiosity was a dangerous thing. Cyris had discouraged it. The sort of thing he liked to punish with a clip around the ear.
Konda stepped back, Hans didn’t look happy, but he swallowed the look down and cleared his throat, the attention back to the crowd.
“Inquisitor Konda,” he said. “Has just proffered an unusual suggestion to me, one highly unorthodox but in these dangerous times, I feel they may be more of use. In past trials, we have preferred to have even teams to make the contest a fairer one.” He looked like he wanted to swallow the words down, never have them see the light of day. “However, it is prudent for me to remind you all that life is never fair. Sometimes it works for you, sometimes it works against you. Inquisitor Konda’s decision is that only two will run, the rest will hunt.”
He must have been imagining things. He was sure Konda was looking at him as Hans spoke out, the inquisitor’s eyes burning into him. In that moment, Theobald Jameson had a horrible feeling rush through him, the knowledge of certainty that this wasn’t going to go well for him.
“Cadet Jacobs. Cadet Jameson,” Hans said. “I’m afraid to tell you that by the choice of Inquisitor Konda, you will be the two running. The trial begins tomorrow morning at dawn, we are to meet outside for transport two hours before. Anyone who is late will automatically fail and face expulsion. This test is the most important of your meagre lives so far, treat it as such.”
Konda had collared the two of them, given them both a big smile. “Looking forward to your challenge, boys?”
“Why?” Jacobs had asked the question, Theo found himself in agreement with him for what had to be a first time. It was the fifty thousand credit question. Why? Why? Why?
That smile had only grown. “I think you’re both capable. I think you’re both holding yourselves back in so many ways. Cadet Jameson, you’re a ruthless son of a bitch, you lack control and composure without a voice to guide you. Cadet Jacobs, you’re arguably not ruthless enough. You need a nastier streak if you’ll hope to survive. I think Cadet Jameson can bring that out in you. That’s what this test is truly about. Smoothing over rough edges before the next stage.”
“Does it help that I’d quite like to strangle him?” Jacobs asked. Theo gave him a dirty look, clenched his fists, felt the muscles in his hands tense up. Just in case. Punching him would be a stupid thing to do now. Not when he’d gotten away with the last blow he’d thrown.
“Well, it’s a start.” Konda smiled as he said it. “And all great achievements must begin somewhere. Remember, you both must succeed together to avoid failure. You’re responsible for each other when this test starts. Treat each other like it.”
Son of a bitch!
“I think this experience will be good for the pair of you. After tomorrow, you may never see each other again, should you pass. You will go on to be parts of the whole, a sum greater than its parts. Unisco needs people like you and I suggest you don’t disappoint.” He clapped them both on their shoulders. “Right, I think Hans mentioned it, but the rest of the day is yours to prepare however you wish. I advise you not to worry too much, not to try and prepare for it beyond the rudimentary. Just relax. You’ve had your basic training, there is nothing in this test that shouldn’t be beyond you. And remember, those hunting you have had the same training.”
He smiled at them, the expression grandfatherly. The pride was there in his face, emblazoned for all to see. “That’s why the inquisitors exist, I feel the need to tell you. Different training, different approach to the rest of Unisco. When we want someone, we find them. It’s not even a contest. Not like this. This is going to be an entertaining challenge, I feel, and I am looking forward to watching what happens.”
Chapter Eighteen. The River Runs Deep.
“Three dead men and a jungle beat.
Three dead men rose to their feet
Skin as white as a sheet
Soon burned brown from the sunny heat
Sizzle, sizzle, cook that meat.
Three dead men and a jungle beat.”
Song sung by Vazaran children in the days following the emergence of the Green.
They’d been in the Green for days now, hadn’t seen another living soul for miles. Not a man, nor animal. Even the beasts were avoiding the accursed place, the ground even picked clean of any sort of remains. Wilsin didn’t like it, couldn’t shake the bad feeling stagnating in the pit of his stomach, aware it had started to slowly snake its way through the rest of his body until unease weighed heavily on every limb. He’d tried to ignore it, tried to offer another explanation to himself.
None had come, not easily and not feasibly. The point had come where he had to maybe admit this trip had been a bad idea. In the days that had passed, he’d come to realise that he wasn’t the only one with those feelings. The others on the trip looked as bad as he felt, Brendan’s moods growing almost as dark as the tan across his weathered features. The heat was unbearable, the humidity stifling and the water they managed to salvage from the river felt painfully meagre. They’d brought enough purity tablets, for cleansing the water, to last a year yet he hoped it didn’t come to that. A year here would probably feel like ten elsewhere. A year with no communication with the outside world. They’d already tried. Summoners still worked here, though access to the CallerNet didn’t exist. Maybe they’d leave, and the war would’ve concluded in their absence. That would be nice, even if he knew he was deluding himself. What could happen wasn’t worth contemplating. All they could do was focus on their own situation and hope they made it through unscathed.
He was getting sick of the boat. The few hours a day they spent on solid land were starting to become welcome distractions. Every day brought its own trip to the shoreline, either because Brendan wanted some information from their position. Or Bryce did. Or Fazarn did. Always someone needed something. He couldn’t complain at the chance to stretch his legs. The boat wasn’t uncomfortable but being trapped abo
ard it with seven other people for long stretches was becoming unbearable. Their number had started with nine. Already the chemist from Premesoir, Ballard Brown had failed to make it to the end.
Their first night, they’d slept on the shore and he’d woken up screaming, covered in large red-and-silver ants, all biting away at exposed skin. Wilsin and Reeves had tried to get them off him, Wilsin had snatched one away, felt its jaws snap into his finger and he’d sworn as his entire hand had gone numb. For each one they ripped away, a dozen more swarmed over the bleeding man, snapping and biting away. Finally, Reeves had acted decisively, smacked his palms together with a thunderclap and the resulting shockwave had thrown dozens of the biting little bastards off. Wilsin had felt the hairs on the back of his arm and his chest stand up at the proximity to the blast. Too little too late for the bleeding Ballard, they’d buried him an hour later. He hadn’t so much resembled a human being come the end of it, more a giant bloody bruise, swollen and misshapen by thousands of bites, mangled his flesh. Fazarn had said a few words, Bryce had passed around alcohol and Reeves had offered a few words of his own. It had taken a day or two for the numbness to recede in his hand. He’d been worried about poison, he’d taken Nordin Nmecha’s advice as best he could, had done the best with their meagre supply of drugs. They’d slept on the boat every night since then. Maybe the ants only came out at night, discomfort was certainly to be favoured over death. None of them were going to forget Ballard’s screams as the ants had devoured his flesh.
An increasingly grumpy-looking Alex Fazarn had explained later to them that the ants looked like a much larger cousin of the Vazaran Fire-Eater, one of the largest species of ant in the kingdom. The damn things had been the size of one of Wilsin’s fingers, he wondered if that was as big as they got. Fazarn had christened them the Vazaran Warrior-Eater Ant. A little strange, Wilsin thought, given Ballard hadn’t been a warrior. He supposed it sounded better than calling them the Doctor-Eater. He’d let it go. Moral was already low in the camp without adding excess fuel to a simmering fire. Fazarn gave the impression he was regretting the whole damn thing. Bryce had spent more time with his hip-flask than he had with most other members of the expedition. Reeves had retreated within himself, spending the days sat atop the bow of the boat, eyes closed, deep in silent meditation. Suniro Suchiga was notable by his silence, Tiana Aubemaya did her best to keep up with Fazarn’s every whim and mood swing, but Wilsin could see she was losing patience He’d seen that look before, usually before a spouse flipped out and started whaling on their partner. As much as he might support that decision if she suddenly shoved Fazarn overboard, he couldn’t see it doing the expedition any good.
The doctor was the only one unfazed by the circumstances they found themselves in, Nmecha in consistent good spirits so far. Maybe he anticipated a lot of business shortly. The way things had gone so far, Wilsin wouldn’t be surprised. Nordin Nmecha sang through the days, he had quite a good voice for someone who looked like they’d been a bandit in a previous life. He wasn’t exactly sure where he’d gotten his medical qualifications, but he knew what he was doing. In previous days, he might have thought singing would have gotten tiresome but Nmecha had worked his way through the catalogue of songs he knew, just enough of a variety to keep them all entertained.
Maybe he’d been sneaking some of Bryce’s special brew. It hadn’t taken Wilsin long to work out exactly how the botanist was pickling himself, he’d seen him adding powder to his water rations. Funny, they spent the time cleaning the water of poisons and parasites, only for Bryce to add his own poison back to it.
He’d tried to bring it up to Brendan about why Fazarn had brought Bryce along, surely having a rampant alcoholic on the expedition would end badly for them all. His queries had fallen on deaf ears, Brendan still pissed with him over the way he’d put that blast through the endroid’s head. Subtlety had apparently gone out of the window when he’d done that, listening to the way his boss had gone on about it. He’d been given the mother of all dressing downs over it, had been annoyed by it but ultimately gotten on with everything. Bearing a grudge out here was pointless. It might just be the sort of childish act that got them all killed.
The sun was lowering in the distance, crawling towards the horizon and he found himself sat next to Nmecha at the back of the boat, watching the doctor go through his medical pack. For once, he wasn’t singing, his concentration focused on the drugs in front of him.
“Doc,” he said. He didn’t get an immediate reply, Nmecha still focused on his wares. He’d only offered the greeting to be polite. He didn’t think he was being ignorant, far from it. Despite the fearsome appearance, he’d found the company doctor to be the most pleasant member of the expedition, maybe barring Aubemaya but even her patience appeared to be reaching its limits. He wondered how she’d wound up working for a dick like Fazarn, no doubt there’d be a story of how he was one of the greats in his field and she wanted to learn from the best. If he had to work for Fazarn, he’d probably have bought a blaster and shot him long ago.
Different strokes for different people, he thought. Couldn’t change the kingdoms, no matter how much you might want to. Sometimes you just had to take people as what they were, not what you wanted them to be.
“Wilsin,” Nmecha finally said. “Thank you for allowing me those moments to check our supplies.”
“Be honest,” Wilsin said. “How bad is it?” He felt partially responsible for it, given the mostly-healed bite on his hand. “Are we going to run out of medicine before the end of the trip?”
“Depends,” the doctor said. “There are always situations out there we can never foresee. If we avoid any stupidity, then perhaps we will be okay. A few random accidents, we might muddle through. A catastrophe though, that is something we will not survive. I would have liked to have brought a full medical suite but alas, they wouldn’t go for that.”
“How did you wind up on this trip?” Wilsin asked. He’d wondered for a while, Nmecha looked so out of kilter with the rest of the academics that Fazarn had plumped for, there was something about him that suggested he didn’t spend most of the time living in his own head. They all looked like they’d spent most of their time in the classroom, despite their actions on the trip suggesting they’d roughed it before. Nmecha gave the impression he’d lived an interesting life. Might have been the eyepatch.
“Credits,” Nmecha said. “They wanted a doctor, I needed to get out of town for a while and get some credits together. Felt like a good marriage.”
“Uh-huh?” Wilsin rubbed the back of his head. He didn’t like the sound of what he’d heard. People who needed to get out of town for a while and put together credits usually had some sort of skeleton in their cupboard and he didn’t know whether this was going to be a good thing for the expedition or not. It inferred problems and problems were not what this whole endeavour needed right now. They didn’t need Vazaran gangsters showing up demanding payment for gambling debts. He assumed it was gambling, as good a theory as any. “And how did you meet Fazarn?”
“Is this an interrogation, Mister Wilsin?”
“I’m curious as to how you met up with these guys. You seem a bit like the sort of company that they wouldn’t keep.”
Nmecha laughed. “I get that a lot. I’m an old friend of Bryce. We went to college together, took different paths through life.” Wilsin looked at Nmecha and then at Bryce. He wouldn’t have had them as the same age. Bryce looked to have had a lot harder life than Nmecha, remarkable when he considered that Bryce packed a full complement of eyes. “But there was supposed to be another doctor coming on the expedition, he had to pull out. Bryce recommended me to Fazarn. He has friends everywhere, does Shane Bryce.”
Wilsin glanced back towards Bryce. He had that glazed look he’d come to associate with him, staring unseeing towards the sun as he sat with his back to the mast of the boat, his flask in front of him, wobbling with every kiss of the water beneath.
“Is he okay?” Wilsin asked.
“Bryce, I mean. He often doesn’t look it.”
“He took a bad injury in his youth,” Nmecha said. “Never really recovered from it. Surgery was botched, I saw the x-rays of it. Lives in constant bloody pain. I’d drink too if I were in his position.” He laughed bitterly, zipped up his medical kit. “I’d drink more than he does, I think he does well in my professional opinion.”
“It’s not a criticism,” Wilsin said. “You just wonder about these things.”
Again, Nmecha laughed. “Don’t you worry about Shane. He’s a lot better at what he does while inebriated than most are while sober. He’ll get the job done, he’s a brilliant man. I think he’d have been wasted as a shadow fighter.”
He’s perennially wasted as a botanist, Wilsin wanted to say. He chose not to. “So, do you regret it yet? Coming out here?” He threw out an arm to the length of beyond around them, nothing but trees and water. Up ahead there was a clearing in between the trees. These trees that should have taken decades to grow but instead had reached maturity within months. More proof that everything wasn’t right within this place. He’d seen the initial aerial photos, it had started out as grass, a fine dusting of it from the centre of Vazara. That wouldn’t have been too bad. At least they could have walked it. The grass had been just the start. Nothing had been able to prepare him for the sight of the rainforest greeting their arrival. He got the impression Brendan had been surprised as well, even if he hadn’t outwardly shown it.