The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  And as for getting a word of praise from Brendan King… That was something rare enough in itself if the rumours were true.

  More and more agents were starting to arrive in the camp; following the trail Derenko and Brendan had beaten out the first time. Along came Alvin Noorland and Tod Brumley first, carrying a rack of Featherstone blaster rifles, a bandolier of energy packs for the weapons hung across each of them. Brumley was a guy who looked like he enjoyed working out, Derenko knew he was an expert in unarmed combat and had trained most of the Unisco agents to come out of Premesoir in the art. He wore a cut off vest over a bare chest already going red in the heat and three-quarter length shorts showing off his muscles.

  “Put them in the shed for now,” Derenko said, pointing at it. “Al. Tod.”

  “Vas,” Brumley said, nodding in greeting. “Want to open up for us?”

  Next came Annie Sullivan, a slender young woman with silvery hair and large pixie eyes, a rifle case in one hand, a power pack in another. Why Arnholt and Brendan had felt the need to bring a sniper with them here, Derenko didn’t know. Not that he had a problem with her. Far from it. And if he did, she’d soon know about it. Rumours went around that Sullivan was an empath, able to sense the emotions and feelings of those around her. They’d never been proven one way or another. Only she knew.

  Will Okocha followed shortly after her, his spindly frame clumsily lugging two more power packs. It looked like a strain for him, Derenko noticed. Still he wasn’t complaining and that said something. After all, plenty of agents wanted to get posted to this mission. That Okocha had been chosen meant he wasn’t about to risk any chance of being sent home. The power packs were a vital component for the mission. Out here, there wasn’t a viable power source to connect their equipment up to. Derenko had considered somewhere in the resort area but scenes like this would have caused some interest. Out here, they’d be alone and hence the need for the power packs. Each of them would power their equipment for three days. It’d keep them alert, informed and on guard of what was going on in the world around them.

  Fank Aldiss and Pree Khan came along next, Fank a man with rusty red hair and a beard to match half carrying, half dragging a monitor tower for the systems Okocha and Noorland were going to install. Prideaux, not that anyone ever called her that, had a couple of kinetic dispersal weapons, one in each hand as she moved with an easy feline grace. Derenko knew the weapons well; they were usually tactically employed against foes employing heavy personal shields. Although the blasts wouldn’t penetrate said shielding, they were intended to apply a great deal of force to them to the point that it would hurl the target back several paces at a great speed. And since shielding didn’t prevent physical damage, hitting anything solid in that range would incapacitate. He had to hand it to Noorland for coming up with the idea.

  Fank finished dragging the large monitor tower to the entrance to the shed and wiped a hand across his face, muscles covered in sweat from the effort. Derenko blinked, mopped his own face, tried not to look too long at the sight. “Yeesh,” he said in that thick Serranian accent, grinning at Derenko. “Bit of a change from home, huh? Bet you miss the Fangs.”

  Derenko grinned. “Glad to be here. Already seen it all. Got used to it. Come on, Fank, not tiring, are you?”

  A snort was his reply. “You wish, Vas.” The two of them had been partners for two years before this; they’d been friends for longer. Way back when, they’d started their careers together both as Unisco agents and spirit callers. They were both town champions now in their home of Serran, Derenko in the north and Aldiss in the south, both with convenient excuses to be away from there during this period. Their friendship was something that had endured, longer than any relationship either of them had gone through. Sometimes Derenko felt closer to him than he had to any other human in his life.

  The last few agents soon made their way to the camp, each with equipment from their hovership they’d need over the next few weeks of the tournament, Melanie Harper with a huge crate of rations, just in case, Christian Fagan and Jacques Leclerc, both toting more energy packs for the weapons as well as a storage crate holding enough X7’s for each agent who’d arrived.

  Finally, Arnholt himself strode in, a multitude of data pads clutched in one hand, a viewing screen monitor in one. Something about that made Derenko a little proud. It was only a small thing but that the boss was mixing in with them, helping set everything up. It made him proud to work for him. Terence Arnholt was a pretty popular guy amongst those who worked for Unisco, it was rare anyone had a bad word about him. They might not always agree with his decisions but he had enough respect amidst the organisation to ensure that no grudges were kept forever.

  These were not the only agents on the island but they were the only ones who weren’t competing in the tournament itself. Derenko had seen the list of competitors, he’d been impressed. At least four of them worked for Unisco that he knew of. With them all together on the island, they’d be a formidable force… For what?

  He didn’t know what. They might not even be needed here. The whole thing might go off without any hint of a hitch. If they were lucky, it would. But if something did go wrong? They’d be here.

  Better to be prepared to fail than fail to prepare. If nothing happened, it’d doubtless raise some eyebrows about the need for this large a team out here. But if something did happen and there wasn’t this presence here…

  As he looked at Arnholt, Derenko didn’t envy him having to make the decisions like this. Because it was very unlikely that there’d be one right option he could go with. Every decision had repercussions that you could sometimes never quite see until it was just too late. And when you had the lives of not just dozens but potentially millions in your hands, he could imagine the potential stresses of a burden like that on your shoulders. The weight of the kingdoms and their security bore heavy. It took a special sort of person to bear that load.

  Chapter Twelve. The Opening Ceremony.

  “It’s a tradition for an opening ceremony. Every tournament has them. It’s more than just decoration. Some think that they’re a waste of time. I don’t think that personally. I think of it as a chance for the new host to one up the previous ones. A way to say look at us, we’re going to do it better than the last lot. And because this is the first time that Vazara has hosted it, I think we’re going to see something truly special.”

  ICCC Master of Ceremonies, Raul de Blanco on the upcoming Quin-C event on Carcaradis Island.

  The seventeenth day of Summerdawn.

  The morning had come and Scott hadn’t known what to feel. Excited? Yes. Happy? Again, yes. Nervous? Definitely. Terrified? Absolutely. All the above. Completely.

  He sat up in bed, took a deep breath and sighed. What was there to worry about? Today wasn’t even the tournament. It was only the start. The proper stuff didn’t even start until tomorrow. He might not even be fighting for another few days yet. If he was feeling wrecked now, how would he be come his first match?

  He needed to pull himself together. This wasn’t him. All that was happening was the opening ceremony. The bit of the tournament that probably would be watched unanimously on viewing screens all around the five kingdoms… Why was he even thinking this? It wouldn’t be focusing specifically on him. It wouldn’t be doing that at all. He’d be lucky if he even got a close-up shot of him. Likely as not he’d be completely anonymous amidst a crowd.

  Sighing, he dropped back down to the mattress and pulled the cover over his legs as he lay thinking. Maybe it was natural to have doubts like this. It was the biggest tournament he’d likely ever compete in. It was unlikely to be topped for drama and suspense and heart-stopping stress. Even if he came here again, it would probably only match it for intensity and prestige. What made the whole feeling worse was, he wanted to talk to someone about it. Someone who’d understand it, someone who could give him advice that he could use without having to second guess it. He could have talked to Pete. Except he wouldn’t. It was a
sad day when you couldn’t trust one of your best friends because you didn’t know what they’d come out with.

  Pete was competing too. Probably the biggest mark against the whole idea. If he let him in, there’d always be doubt. He might even end up fighting him come one point and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to beat him. Maybe it was possible even in the opening round. Last time they’d clashed for serious, they’d been evenly matched. Something here, something there, nothing between them.

  He missed Jess. The bed was cold where she would have been. They slept together on the road but he hadn’t seen her since the other night. Not since…

  Mia…

  Damn her. He barely knew the girl; he’d known the brother more, if he was honest. They’d fought at a tournament in Serran a year or two ago when he’d been just starting out. Scott hadn’t truly had much more experience himself. He’d not even known Matt had an older sister at that time. Not that Jess had believed that. Was it so hard to accept? He supposed he should be grateful she was so jealous but at the same time it really didn’t feel like a blessing. Not for the first time, he’d realised truly how hard it was to understand women. Preach one thing, act in an entirely different way.

  Privately he wondered how long this relationship could keep going. He didn’t want to break up with her while this tournament was going on, but at the same time, any more nights like this and he might have to. He laughed bitterly. Any more nights like this in bed alone and he might be cuddling up with Palawi. Least that’d make the pooch happy… It would have done back in the old days anyway. Now, he didn’t know. Not since he’d claimed Palawi’s spirit into a crystal. He might lay there and he might be warm but there wouldn’t be any affection. Not like there had been. It’d all be synthetic. Just a reflection of what he’d felt.

  Scott sighed, threw back the covers and went looking for his clothes. Time to start having a wander down to the stadium for the opening ceremony. He had to admit that those things were always worth seeing, even if it didn’t interest him as much as it might have. What did interest him was that the draw for the qualifiers would be taking place immediately after, the first round of bouts to get the competition underway. He could find out who he was fighting. That interested him.

  Maxwell Brudel had found himself a spot near the viewing screen in one of the bars, a glass of ryk resting on the table in front of him, a spicy local liquor that burned his throat whenever he swallowed some. It might just have been the best thing he’d tasted in a long time. It was the taste of freedom. It was the taste of something that would have been deprived to him had fortune, or an effeminate weirdo, not smiled upon him and plucked him from the depths of obscurity to complete a task which he’d assured him was of the utmost importance.

  Mr R, as he’d insisted he called him, had had him out of there inside an hour and had even arranged for him to use his hotel room for the time being. Max had showered, felt the relief to get the grime of that prison cell away from him. If there’d ever been a better feeling in his life, it had been hard to place it right then. In the meantime, new clothes had been arranged for him to blend into the crowd. All while he’d been dressing, Mr R had been briefing him in a way that was starting to become slightly less uncomfortable than it had been.

  “Now then, sweetbuns,” he’d said. Remembering that, Max rolled his eyes. Slightly less uncomfortable. Not a whole lot less uncomfortable. “It’s about a girl.”

  He’d bitten down the urge to make some snippy comment about how he really doubted it was about a girl for a guy like that. Yet he’d desisted and his restraint had been rewarded. “It’s always about a girl, right?”

  “Maybe.” Mr R had looked thoughtful about that. “Yet this is a very special girl. One who I have a history with. You’re going to find her. You’re going to follow her and you’ll make notes on who she meets with, where she goes frequently and when. Scratch that, go further. What she wears, what she drinks and eats. Even who the little whore fucks if you can. The whole shebang. I want nothing but your best work. You best be good.”

  He’d glared at him in a way that silently said, ‘or else’. Max wasn’t keen to find out exactly what that threat entailed. Probably either waking up dead or ending up back in prison. Probably. And yet Mr R was a little more creative than that. Especially if that story about that charity worker who’d appealed to him was true. He’d inquired about it, immediately regretted it. What had freaked him out wasn’t so much what had happened, it had more been the way Mr R had told it, so nonchalant as if it wasn’t important.

  “Well, I couldn’t stand for it now, could I? See I wasn’t always such a busy man. I did my own research, watched her, tracked her, eventually cornered her in her home one day. And what a beautiful house it was, so pretty with all the little knick-knacks you’d never need. Now a woman that affluent asking me for MY credits? It didn’t save her.” He could still remember that cold smile that had flashed across Mr R’s face as he’d carried on, apparently unaware that Max had been there. “Drugged her. Kidnapped her. Sold off everything she owned and gave the proceeds to the earthquake victims. I could have probably left it there.”

  He’d adjusted his trousers and the smile had grown. Those pale sausage fingers had brushed against his crotch and he’d let out a little moan. “But I didn’t. I found myself with a question. How far did I want to take it? How far could I take it? Could I take her life? I didn’t want to kill her. Not yet. But then I started to think, my little sweetie. Take her life. Could I do that? I’d taken her possessions, what about everything that made her who she was?

  I know a great many people; some of them have some remarkable skills. She was delivered to one who was tasked with making some alterations to her. I know a guy. Don’t think my nose is this cute naturally, do you? Nothing like turning a leggy blond Premesoiran beauty into something so twisted you cross the street to avoid them. Her anguish was delightful when she awoke. The best feeling I’ve ever experienced, bar none. Believe me.

  She wept for days as she saw her new face, saw what had been done to her body. I heard she even wept as I arranged for her to be delivered to her new life, servant in her former home. They didn’t ask questions, I didn’t give any answers. That was the price she paid for presuming to cross me.”

  Max hadn’t been able to say anything; his mouth had hung open in shock and disgust, a little fear slowly replacing the latter emotion. Mr R had simply smiled and patted him on the shoulder. The amusement on his face had been plan for all to see. Maybe he’d assumed the silence was awe.

  “So, y’know, honey, no pressure to succeed.”

  He’d still been sweating after the meeting with Mr R, more from the discomfort of hearing that story than the heat. It was a pleasant night; he’d got the mental image of the girl in his head, the actual picture on a data pad. He wasn’t going to do something as blasé as actually show it around, that’d attract all sorts of the wrong attention. Last thing he wanted was someone with a badge poking around him again. His body still hurt from the last time that had happened. Some bruises took a long time to fade. In the night, the crowds had been growing around the resort and he’d took on the casual gait of someone who had all the time in the world and wasn’t shy in letting people know about it. How many dark-haired girls could there be on this island?

  Short answer, lots. Yet that wasn’t the only thing he sought out. Pale skin… Remain here for a while, it probably wouldn’t stay that way unless she was fussy about it. Nice boobs… Yeah, if he was lucky that was the way he’d be able to recognise her. Ears pierced twice in each lobe… Not uncommon but again, on this island how many were likely to have that? It all added up. This detecting lark wasn’t hard when you looked at it like that. Maybe he should have stayed in law enforcement. It wasn’t like his life of crime was so much more glamorous. Look at him now. Running errands for the world’s laziest potential psychopath. Because he hadn’t been told what he wanted with this girl, he noticed that. In a way, he was glad. It meant he didn’t
have to worry about the guilt. Whatever he was, he somehow doubted it was good for her. Not with that story to keep in mind…

  He’d wandered for about an hour when he’d seen someone who MIGHT be her. Still sauntering casually, he’d wandered over, keen to listen in on the conversation. He had the data pad in his pocket, especially supplied by Mr R for this purpose. Good of him. An expensive model, powerful but exceptionally portable. Something about her looked familiar. As did the boy with her. Where had he seen them before? It’d come to him. He paused, lingered, waited for something until he’d caught the conversation.

  “… Just so much bigger than I thought,” the boy was saying excitedly. “Is this the best or what, Sis?”

  Brother. Interesting. So, she has a brother.

  “Sure is, Matt.” She didn’t sound too interested. But her brother’s name was Matt. He made a note of that, still trying not to look too conspicuous. It was a hard job. Still that piece of information might be useful. But what was HER name? “You like your hotel?”

  “Awesome. It’s like the best room I’ve ever been in in my entire life. Almost as big as all our old house put together.”

  The girl’s attention was wandering as her brother continued beating his gums, the two of them wandering through the crowds with ice creams in hand. Max made a note. Likes what looks like strawberry ice cream. Probably useless.

  “… And some of these stadiums are just going to be sweet. They’re all brand new, built in the last three years. Not even sure some of them have seen bouts before now. How awesome would that be, being the first one ever to fight in a stadium.”

  “I’m sure someone has,” the girl said. “Just probably not competitively.” Her eyes caught something. “Hey, who’s that?” She sounded interested, Max had noted at the time. A possible opening?