by O. J. Lowe
Maybe Baxter had been the exception last time. He’d swept all before him and proved his dominance in as ruthless fashion ever seen, almost business-like as he’d broken all records with what looked like minimum exertion and effort. But he wasn’t entirely a good example for it. And maybe he was the exception that proved the rule. Wilsin was glad he hadn’t made a return to defend the title this year.
Up on the podium that remained left over from the opening ceremony, the officials delegating the draw were droning on. Adam Evans and Raul de Blanco the nominees to bear a presence here for it. At least he wasn’t stuck on the battlefield this time, rather in one of the seats up in the stands. He was finding it hard to listen to, but he wouldn’t need to. Everyone knew the general gist of it. Here’s your group, you’ll be informed of the time and the place, good luck, make sure you don’t let the viewing public down and cost us money when they switch off. Ritellia hadn’t shown up for this, neither had Nwakili. Probably just about summed it up, Wilsin noted with a grin. They had better things to do. They probably weren’t alone in that.
Down below, the two officials had four pots, each with a button in front of them. Each pot contained twenty-five names, pushing the button would reveal one of them at random. For each group, each pot would give up a competitor. It would be repeated until the process was completed. The top two from each group would go into the next round via the points system. Three points for a win, one for a draw, zip for a loss. For a stadium that could hold eighty thousand when full, it felt empty with several small pockets of people dotted about, a dozen here and there maybe. If there was more than a thousand who’d shown up, Wilsin would have been surprised.
And yet, the excitement was clearly about the get underway, if that was the right term for it. The pots were lighting up, the few who had come to see what the fuss was about were suddenly that little bit more interested and the giant screen high in the stands was ready to show the results…
Four quick hits for Group A. Teresa Senko, Theobald Jameson, Bradley Richards and Matthew Arnholt. Wilsin nodded thoughtfully. Supposedly the pots were stacked based on past performances, competitive seeding to ensure that each group had an assortment of talent in it. A favourite, two potential runners up and a wild card. If he was honest, he thought it was at random. Because there was no way of telling who was the favourite in that group. Maybe Senko if you went on stats while having never seen her fight. She was competent enough, sure. But if she won it, or even got to the latter stages, it’d be a massive shock. He didn’t know enough about the rest of them, except… He could see Arnholt’s kid several rows down; he’d shown up to it. As to his feelings regarding those he had to face, he couldn’t say.
“Good luck with that, kid,” Wilsin muttered as the pots lit up again, ready for the announcement concerning those to be contesting Group B. Katherine Sommer, Wim Antonio Caine, Ryan Babel and Talia Constance. Already he found himself wondering where he’d find himself and who with.
He was deep in thought as he wandered out, not even noticing as he felt himself hit something hard. Wilsin gasped, glanced up to see what he’d hit. Not a something. Someone.
“Sorry,” he said, rubbing his nose. He’d broken it more than once; it had a hint of fragility about it. And just because Unisco issue mufflers obscured your features from view didn’t mean that someone didn’t occasionally get lucky and land a blow right in a sore spot.
“It’s okay,” Roper said, glancing around. “David.”
“Nicholas,” Wilsin replied, nodding at him. He knew of him more than he really knew him but they’d both had the same idea of going to the draw. “Happy with your group?”
“Definitely,” Nick said. “Santo Bruzack, Leslie Graham and Scott Taylor. No problem. I’d have taken that before I went in there. You were in group J, right?”
“K,” Wilsin replied. “You seem confident.”
“You aren’t?”
“No easy bouts at this level,” he said. “Despite what the qualifiers might have us believe.”
Nick chuckled at that. “Yeah, they need to look at that. I thought they were supposed to be doing it this time. Guess they had more important things on their mind. Like lunch. You know how some of those big shots like their free food.”
Wilsin grinned more out of politeness than amusement. It felt like taking easy shots at the ICCC was the order of the day.
“Tell you what though.” Nick apparently wasn’t finished. “Good luck with your concentration though.”
“How you mean?”
“Well staring at Meadow Laine for the entirety of your bout. Wow. Think there’s plenty of guys jealous at you right there.”
This time Wilsin’s laugh was genuine. Meadow Laine was an exceptionally attractive woman; you’d have to be blind not to notice that. And she was aware of that, despite that rumour going around about how she preferred the company of other women. And of course, she’d been drawn in his group along with Akihiro Yong and Danielle Welback. It’d probably be between him and her to contest who finish the top two… Except he didn’t like that. He'd always said overconfidence was the biggest enemy you could face.
“Think there might be some jealous women too?” Wilsin asked, folding his arms as he and Nick wandered back into the resort area away from the stadium. Nick burst out laughing at that.
“More than likely. Oh well, can’t have everything now, can you? It’d be a dull life if you did, I suppose.”
“Mmmm-hmm,” Wilsin murmured, casting his eyes around the area. He let Nick’s voice wash over him, filtering it out as he studied his surroundings. He couldn’t explain why he did it. Something gnawed at the back of his mind, just the smallest hint of something demanding his attention. What it was, he couldn’t say. He’d seen something that had twigged his sense of danger. But…
If there was anything there, Nick hadn’t seemed to notice it. Then again, he hadn’t had Wilsin’s training. He had to notice things out of the ordinary that the ordinary couldn’t hope to spot. His eyes darted back and forth across the street until finally they fell on the ICCC building and the three men stood outside it like doormen or security guards. Nothing unusual about that. Some very important people worked there and the last thing they’d want to do is let some nutter wander in off the street with a weapon. Especially how said nutters usually felt towards those in charge of the establishment. But he’d never seen doormen like that. Not at an official building. They tended to gravitate towards those who’d been unable to get into local law enforcement. These guys looked like they’d managed to retire comfortably from a life of crime.
Still all sorts to make a world. And good for them if they had stopped being criminals, it did make some aspect of his job that little bit easier over the long course. Except, he looked again, it wasn’t that which had caught him worried. Guard number one was hefty with muscle, had more hair on the back of his neck than his head, caveman brow and tattoos on his knuckles. Guard number two, hefty with muscle, hairy neck, protruding brow, tattooed knuckles… and a scar on his cheek. From what he could see that was the first real difference, so much so that he dragged his attention back to the first guard. Same scar, faint in the shadows cast by the ICCC building but there regardless.
It was enough to bring him up short, Nick’s surprise evident as he glanced around.
“Something wrong?”
Wilsin didn’t hear him, moved his glance to the third guy. Already he had a horrible feeling passing over him about what to expect.
No way… Impossible.
Except it wasn’t. Not really. Very few things were impossible. The fact he could see it right there in front of his eyes told him that it could happen. And maybe it was accidental. Coincidence? Could he believe that?
Somewhere along the line he’d stopped and started to stare. And of course, that had caught Nick’s interest. He paused himself, followed Wilsin’s line of sight over to the three men. With the two of them watching, it didn’t take long for them to be made. The second gu
ard nodded at the first, jerked his head towards the two of them. The third turned his head, allowing Nick to see the third identical scar. The three of them stood motionless for a few moments before as one, they got to their feet and moved into the building, out of sight.
“You see anything like that before?” Wilsin asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer either way. It was damned unprofessional staring like that. Identical triplets weren’t entirely unseen. But they’d been more than identical. They were exact in every single way. He’d even seen it as they walked, the way they dragged their feet had even been too similar for them to ignore.
“Must be clones,” Nick said, shrugging. “How about that?”
It sounded a flippant answer, Wilsin dismissed it at that. It would explain a lot. And yet, it was impossible. You couldn’t just… Not with people. Spirits, yes. People, no. It was absurd. Clones. He’d never heard anything like that before.
“It’d explain a lot,” Nick continued. “It’d explain the why. Not sure about the what and how though. It gives more questions than answers and that worries me.” He reached up to stroke his chin, his gaze focused on the door they’d vanished through.
“The what?” Wilsin asked, confused by the expression. “What do you mean you’re not sure about the what?”
“Well assuming they are or aren’t clones,” Nick said. “What the hells are three identical guys doing lurking outside ICCC headquarters? I know everyone’s got to be somewhere but something doesn’t seem right there.” He patted Wilsin on the arm before glancing about the area furtively. “Good luck in your matches, Dave. See you around. I got something to take care of.”
And with that, he was gone into a crowd of people. Wilsin rolled his eyes. Tournaments like this always attracted the eccentrics. Just because he’d been acting a bit funny about it didn’t make Nick’s question any less valid though. One more curiosity about this entire tournament and the way it had been organised.
Why did he get the feeling that this whole event was going to be memorable for all the wrong reasons?
Neither of them had spoken since they’d seen it. Neither of them had gone to the stadium, Pete had been in a café taking in a late breakfast; Sharon had been using the genisizer making some tweaks to her spirits. They’d found each other quickly enough, just silently staring at each other. They knew what it meant and neither of them could bring themselves to say it.
For a moment, it looked like Sharon was ready to break the silence, her lips twitched to speak and then she faltered. The look in her eyes said it all, she wasn’t happy. But he’d seen it before, he could see that although she was unhappy with the outcome, the way she held her head and nibbled at her lip told him she’d already come to accept it. And for that, he was glad. It made it easier.
“So,” he said. The word felt hollow in the void between them. “How about that then?”
It felt an age for the words to register and then she broke into a smile. “How about that then indeed. You going to go easy on your big sister?”
Pete snorted. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen. And I’d ask you the same thing but I have a feeling it’s not going to happen either.”
She smiled, placed a hand on his shoulder. “Brother, I have a feeling we’re both going to enjoy this. You and me, only one winner. But let’s not forget that there are two other people out to spoil the party. Reda Ulikku and Bella Carrezo. Ideally it will be the two of us in the next round. Yet that isn’t always the case. Never forget that! Win or lose, let’s see that it’s us, not them!” Her voice took on an almost excited tone to it as she said it and just for a moment, Pete was surprised by the passion there. She wanted them both to do it. She was his opponent, she was going to be anyway and yet she still wanted him to do well. Family before… Well everything.
“Yeah, I’ve never heard of either of them,” he said. “No problem. I’d rather be in that group than some of the others. Least I know what you’re capable of.”
“I’m surprised you’ve never heard of Ulikku,” Sharon said. “She’s fairly famous.”
Pete shrugged. “Not where I come from. Why, what makes her so special?”
Sharon glanced first to the left, then to the right as if debating if she was about to be overheard. She winked at him playfully. “Oh, just wondering whether to let you in on the secret or have you work it out for yourself.”
“Come on!” he protested. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is life,” she said. “Besides, what part of you being my opponent right now doesn’t compute with you? What sort of idiot would willingly give their opponent advice on winning?” That grin on her face spoke volumes and for a moment he felt a stab of anger at his sister.
“A loving perfect sister?” he instead asked hopefully. “Maybe one who’s blond, in the about-to-be-married-mood and named Sharon?” It was a gambit, he knew that and he really didn’t expect her to cough it up. In the same circumstances, he wouldn’t have done either.
Still the fact she’d given him a partial head’s up in the first place… That counted for something.
“Nice try, Peter. But you’re going to have to work that one out on your own.” She held up her hands in apology. “Sorry. But you’re getting nothing else from me. I hope you go through but it won’t do you any favours.”
He rolled his eyes. “You really do sound like mom, you know that? All that for the best stuff in your big speech. All you’re missing is your pedestal to shout the message from.”
“Our mother is a wise woman; you’d do well to remember that. If I’m parroting advice from her lips, it’s only because it’s worth repeating. Don’t forget that.”
Pete sighed. “Yeah, I know. Hey, you see who else is fighting who in one of the group? Nick’s fighting my best friend.” He perked up at that. “Reckon I might find one of the odds compilers before that bout. Could make some easy credits there.”
Sharon raised an eyebrow. “You think Scott can do it?”
“What, beat Nick? Hells no, just don’t tell him I want to make some easy credits off his misfortune. He’d probably take it the wrong way.”
“Judging by what I saw the other night between him and that redhead, I think he has more on his mind than what you might or might not do,” Sharon said dryly.
Pete winced. “Oh yeah, heard about that. Apparently, it was a big row. Sharon, why do people like that stay together? I mean they clearly aren’t right for each other. She’s an angry woman with a massive chip on her shoulder and Scott’s a big bloody doofus at heart…” He glanced behind him. “Just checking,” he added seeing the look of bemusement on Sharon’s face. “But I’m not wrong. I mean they argue so much…”
“And who’s to say who is or isn’t right for someone,” Sharon said. “Love is blind; you may or may not understand it until you’ve experienced it for yourself. You ever been in love, brother? It’s not always about holding hands or stealing kisses in the moonlight like some people seem to think it is. Sometimes you can’t let go for fear of what comes next. I think Scott’s afraid to let go and she’s too stubborn to. Some people are like that. Where the heart is concerned, everyone’s a potential idiot.”
“But… That’s just stupid. I mean, how thick can you get? Scott told me he was thinking of finishing with her…”
“And he might well think of doing it. They both probably will. But there’s a league of difference between thought and action.”
Pete nodded. “Yeah, I get that. And just for the record, I have been in love. I just don’t want to talk about it. Not now and not with you.”
Sharon nodded. “Bad memories?”
“Is there any other kind?” he asked. “Anyway, I don’t know why you’re so cynical about love suddenly. You might be about to get your happily ever after. Nick seems like a good guy.”
“Oh, he’s wonderful, but he isn’t perfect all the time. He has this horrible habit of taking setbacks as personal insult. Every relationship is about taking the rough with the smooth. If
the negatives outweigh the positives, then you have to ask yourself if it’s really worth it all?”
Anne Sullivan had ventured into the crowds in the resort area of Carcaradis Island for the first real time since her arrival with the rest of Unisco and so far, so good, she’d closed her eyes and let herself drift amidst the emotions of those around her. It was an unusual feeling, one she never tired experiencing. And it was always so different wherever she went. Of course, it was never always pleasant. Always there’d be the negative emotions; she couldn’t shut them out any more than she could the positive ones.
Here out on the streets, she couldn’t really feel anything too strong in either direction amidst those around her. In the past, her being around this many people would have overwhelmed her senses for sure, like being stuck amidst a riot of sound. Yet over time she’d refined her control to the point that she could fit into society relatively easily. No more traumatised collapses as had once been the case when with just one person.
Those emotions she’d never forget. Disbelief, distrust, scorn, all for one who claimed they could do something that didn’t fit all the frames of normality. She still felt them whenever her ability to empathically read people was brought up. The times when someone believed in her abilities immediately were becoming fewer and far between. There were even those on her team who didn’t believe. Not that it mattered. Terrence Arnholt did, he genuinely did believe her and that was all that mattered. If he had faith in her, what she could do wouldn’t be openly questioned. But that little hint of suspicion and disbelief would forever follow her whenever she was called into an interrogation to detect deceit.
Something tugged at the edges of her senses, her eyes snapped open as they suddenly yanked hard and for a moment she felt very real discomfort like a knife to her brain. It took a moment to regain her composure; she fought the urge to purge her guts. No mistaking that emotion, all of them had their own unique sensation.