The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  It was those words that he sang to himself as he left the field to a standing ovation from the crowd. “Oh, I’m halfway there!”

  The three identical men stood stock still in front of them, not moving, only breathing as much as they had to. It was, Fuller had to admit, surprisingly eerie. She knew the truth about them but it didn’t make them any less odd. It was like looking at a three-way mirror of the same man. They all held their weight the same, had their faces set identically and even held the same poise. Their blinks didn’t quite match up but surely there was only so much of them that synced up. They might look like triplets but they didn’t share a brain. Synchronised blinking would be pushing it for eeriness.

  She studied them, not for the first time and tried to find something. And not for the first time, she came up with nothing. They’d been with her ever since their arrival; the boss had sent them over for her to ‘make use of’. So far, she’d been using them as bodyguards, having them follow her everywhere for her protection. Not that she needed it but it was as good an occupation as any to stop them getting bored. Maybe they couldn’t get bored. She didn’t know. Didn’t care really.

  When she’d met with Ritellia for dinner at the ICCC headquarters a few days earlier, they’d waited outside for her without complaint. Yet at the same time, she guessed they had some other task to complete while here, she’d tried to ferret it out of them but they’d not given it up. Another way in which they made her uncomfortable. They didn’t respond to anything she’d tried. She’d tried politeness, they’d remained unmoved. She’d even flirted with one of them. Nothing. The blank way in which the one she’d tried it on with had casually brushed her off still sent shudders up her spine. What were they?

  Still, they were a lot better company than Rocastle, she’d testify to that. The five of them had gathered together in his room to await further orders, the holoprojector already set up. Rocastle himself lounged lazily on the bed, humming to himself as he did. If the trio found it irritating, they didn’t say anything. They were plenty big enough, Fuller noticed, each of them larger than Rocastle. It’d just be too sweet if one of them strode over and punched him until he shut up. If all three of them did that, it’d be just a bonus. Maybe she should tell them to do it.

  It was an idea not without its appeal but at the same time one she had no choice but to reject for the time being.

  The holoprojector flickered to life, the first sound in the room since Rocastle had last cleared his throat and Fuller felt a rush of relief charge through her. Soon it’d be over and she could get back to her own business. Not that waiting for the Mistress to speak was a bore, but putting up with these four people was marginally more irritating than her time was worth. As the image of her flickered into view, Fuller kept her face respectful. Rocastle had scrambled up to his feet and done the same.

  “Alana. Harvey,” the Mistress said. She was sat in a comfortable looking leather seat; Fuller guessed she was broadcasting from her office out in Haxfold. That’s where the main offices were after all. The Mistress had a luxury apartment there as well. And in a month or so, her daughter was marrying someone there. If the Mistress saw the triplets, she didn’t acknowledge them. They were beneath her acknowledgement.

  “Mistress,” Rocastle simpered. “How may we be of service to you?”

  It sounded false, Fuller knew it and she’d have bet all the credits she had that the Mistress knew it as well. Again, she didn’t acknowledge it.

  “How goes our operation on Carcaradis Island? Does everything run to plan? Ms Fuller?”

  “I’m staying close to Ritellia and his staff,” Fuller started, ignoring the cough from Rocastle. “I think the old man’s falling in love. We had dinner yesterday; he had his hand on my leg for some of it.”

  She paused, reconsidered her answer. “Okay, most of it.”

  “Ooh wedding bells will be in the air again soon,” Rocastle laughed. The Mistress glared at him, an action that sent him silent. Silent cheers, Fuller thought, hiding her smirk. He didn’t open his mouth again.

  “Do nothing to dissuade him,” the Mistress said, choosing to otherwise ignore the interruption. “I need you close to Mr Ritellia. There may become a day sometime soon when his usefulness comes to an end and someone is needed to apply the final cut.”

  “I understand, Mistress,” Fuller said, suppressing a shudder. “What manner of finality should his end take? Disgrace or death?”

  “Do you care?” The Mistress smirked coldly. “Should I ask you to arrange for either, would you have a problem?” It was a tone filled with challenge, one which hinted at menace. She did not want to be on the end of said menace.

  Fuller shook her head. “No Mistress. I only ask so I can prepare. To disgrace such a man would require more preparation than arranging his death. He’s an old man and not in good shape. I think it’d take very little to push him over the edge.”

  “Time will tell. Prepare for disgrace, expect death. I think the five kingdoms will shed few tears for Ronald Ritellia. He’s an embarrassment and a buffoon and his removal has long been overdue.”

  “But what if they replace him with someone worse?” Rocastle asked, finally overcoming his silence. “Better the enemy you know?”

  The Mistress stared at him. “This does not concern you, Mr Rocastle. I have already considered this. Ms Fuller. This task might not be the best use for your talents but regardless I need you to put aside any discomfort you might feel and do your utmost. Not for the company but for me. The rewards are infinite, remember that come what may.”

  Fuller nodded, still uneasy but those last words had settled her stomach somewhat. She hoped it hadn’t been easy for the Mistress to ask her to do this. It probably had, she knew what her boss was, but still she hoped... Even if it was a lie, it was a comforting lie. The sort one told as someone was sent to die. “It will be done. I am proud to serve, Mistress. My body is yours to do what you will with.”

  “Good,” the Mistress smiled, turning her attentions to Rocastle. “Mr Rocastle, since you felt the need to interrupt my orders to Ms Fuller, it’s time for you to talk unequivocally. Let us hear what you have to say.”

  She saw the flush in Rocastle’s cheeks and did her best to hide a smirk of her own. Seeing the smug bastard get some back of what he liked so much to give was just fantastic. He swallowed, folded his arms and then spoke in a lot more subservient tone than she’d heard him use normally.

  “I’ve been searching out those to join the swelling ranks of our cause, Mistress,” he said, uttering the last word as if it was poison. “Just as you asked. The angry and the afraid, the alone and the outcasts, the disenfranchised…”

  The people like you then, in other words, Fuller thought. This was the first she was hearing of this and it really didn’t sit right with her. A whole group of people like Rocastle… No, scratch that. There were no other people like Rocastle. Thankfully. That wasn’t a world where she wanted to live.

  “And have you had any success?” The last word held a hint of menace about it, a touch of scorn as if the Mistress doubted Rocastle’s ability to succeed at this task. Fuller had to admit, if it had been up to her, it wouldn’t have been Rocastle she’d have selected for a task like this. Sure, he could be charming. He COULD be charming when it suited. Most of the time he was a petty, mean spirited, cruel hearted misogynist with no concern for human life. Not the sort of person you wanted empathising with potential recruits. Even if those recruits might be like minded individuals.

  Rocastle smiled at the holographic image in front of him. “Well I thought of a potential name. The Angels! Of Death!” He started cackling at that before seeing he was alone in the mirth, clamming up quickly after that. Alana had to try not to smile. That name was so theatrically cheesy, he had to be tweaking the Mistress’ nose. A dangerous game and Harvey looked to realise what sort of ice he was floundering on.

  He swallowed briefly and gathered what little composure he might have had left under the wilting st
are of the Mistress. “But yes. I’ve made some inroads. I’ve sounded out several individuals about a potential new future. I have a way with people, you might have noticed.” He buffed the lapels of his jacket proudly. “What you have asked for, you will get. I’ve never let you down before now, have I?”

  It was Fuller’s turn to chuckle. Even if she utterly despised the simpering bastard, it was hard to deny he had balls of steel when faced with a look that would have cowed an angry dragon. Either he didn’t notice or truly didn’t care. She didn’t know which worried her more, that he was blessed with ignorance or recklessness. Either of them could easily bring it all down on him and more importantly, the fallout could affect her.

  “There is always a first time, Mr Rocastle,” the Mistress said simply. “Nobody is irreplaceable in this organisation; might I remind you both that. And as for you three…” She turned to the triplets, still stood waiting at attention. If anything, each of them stood a little straighter as she faced them. “You know what you must do. Do not fail me. You have the most important task of all. Should you fail to complete it, you are to terminate yourselves. I’ll have no further need of you.” There was no emotion in her voice as she said it, no tinge of regret or hint of joy but just a simple statement of fact. The fact that all three of them all looked ready to oblige her sent a shudder down Fuller’s spine. Once more, the Mistress turned back to her and Rocastle.

  “I recommend you both batten yourselves down for the next few days or so. Be careful. There is a storm coming and you need to weather it. I won’t have you putting yourselves at needless risk for the greater good. Remember that. The rewards are great but the path is hard. Should you survive, you will go onto thrive. We all will.”

  As the projector died in front of them and the image of the Mistress vanished, Fuller swallowed. It sounded almost caring, it truly did. Yet at the same time, the words had betrayed her. If they died, they wouldn’t be able to put their parts of the plan into fruition. She knew that was all the Mistress cared about. It should have hurt. It didn’t. She’d long since come to realise that was the way of the world. And apparently her way was whoring herself out to Ronald Ritellia now. Strangely enough, that didn’t bother her as much as she’d thought it might.

  The three had started their exodus almost to the second that the call had ended; already they were out the door leaving her alone with Rocastle. She sighed, finally exhaling out the breath she’d been holding in for the last few seconds. “Well that could have gone worse.”

  Rocastle didn’t acknowledge her, instead crossing over to the window to look out, creasing his brow as he stared across the island into the distant horizon. “I wonder what she meant,” he mused. “A storm is coming? I know the Mistress has talents, but meteorology is one I’d never have guessed at.”

  “Guess we’ll find out in the fullness of time,” Fuller said. “Do you really want to doubt her?”

  Rocastle scoffed angrily. “We’re in the hottest kingdom of the lot in the hottest time of year. We’re not going to get bad weather.” He pointed out the window. “Not a damn cloud in the sky.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “That our boss isn’t infallible,” he said simply. “And that nobody is right all the

  time.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen… I give you Peter Jacobs!”

  Whatever else the announcer might have to say, it was quickly drowned out by the sounds of the crowd as he jogged out onto the field. Plenty of them were all around him, more people than he could count. Not all of them would be cheering for him, but hopefully the main ones he cared about, Scott and Sharon would be. Despite what she’d said, he hoped Sharon would want him to win here. After all, he was her brother.

  Okay, she might not want me to win when I fight her. But here, there’s no reason she couldn’t lend me some support. I’d have done it for her if I hadn’t been prepping. Sharon had won her earlier bout; he’d have gone if it hadn’t been on just a fraction earlier and across the other side of the island.

  She’ll be here, he told himself quietly as he saw Reda Ulikku striding purposefully out onto the opposite side of the stone field. He thought back about what he knew of the other caller, laid it up against what he saw in front of him. The files he’d looked at after Sharon’s nudging had given Ulikku’s gender as male despite what Sharon had said. Maybe she didn’t know. You wouldn’t be able to tell. Every defining trait looked to have been deliberately distorted and altered beyond recognition. It wasn’t feminine but neither was it entirely masculine.

  Androgyny. Just what you’d expect from a damn spirit dancer. All of them were nuttier than squirrel shit and not half as much use when it came down to it. By the looks of it, Ulikku was a Varykian. Half Vazaran, half Burykian, his skin a strange shaded mix of the traditional dark of Vazara and the murky white-almost dull yellow of Burykia. His hair was teased long back into a ponytail and Pete was certain he was wearing makeup.

  He assumed that was what Sharon had been teasing him with. Ulikku was skilled in both disciplines, an adept at both calling and dancing. Fighting and titillating. That was what he had to overcome. If he could, it’d be a big step onto the next round. Besides, he wanted to win it. There was nothing in his mind that told him he couldn’t win it. Win it and immortality would beckon. If he couldn’t beat some freak like this, he didn’t deserve to win the whole thing. Before Sharon had brought it up, he’d never heard of Ulikku. While there were probably better callers he hadn’t heard of, he was sure if someone was that good then their reputation would precede them.

  Already the announcer and the video referee were going through the outlines of the bout; Pete let himself phase it out as he made his choices. He’d heard it all before and he had more on his mind. Start the way he intended to finish. Go on strong and fast and hope it was enough.

  The flash of light erupted in front of him and he saw Ulikku’s first spirit, a Vazaran wild rabbit that quickly rose up onto its hind legs to reveal a belly spotted with white against the brown and black fur. It gave a little twirl, a motion that brought oohs and aahs out of some sections of the crowd and sent a stab of irritation into Pete’s mood. It just looked so false it was unreal. He glanced at it further, just to see if he could get any read on its abilities. Face looked normal for a rabbit, the ears were huge, easily three or four times normal size and hanging down its face like giant bangs of hair. He’d never quite seen claws the size of those on any domestic rabbit though, they looked more like eagle talons, hooked and wicked sharp.

  Hmmm, Pete pursed his lips thoughtfully before bringing out Mermari to start to the bout, the lake lynx letting out a little yawn as she stretched out her limbs in the glare of the sun. Unlike many callers he’d encountered, he thought of his spirits in terms of gender all the time. Some thought of them as its, a lot of them only called them he or she when they weren’t paying attention. Mermari had been female when he’d claimed her, therefore he still thought of her that way. It amused him no end when other people referred to their spirits as it even when there were unmistakeable gender differences between the male and the female in front of them. It was ignorant more than anything.

  Somewhere amidst the noise and the atmosphere of the stadium, he heard the video referee giving them the all clear and he made his choices.

  Some might have questioned the wisdom of unleashing ice based attacks in a hot environment but Pete hadn’t been born yesterday. He’d done his research, tried to work out how much the attacks would be diminished by the sun at various points of the day and he figured he had the numbers right. But nobody else knew that. Maybe it was why Ulikku looked so unconcerned as the first blast of ice spread towards his spirit. Or it might have been the way that the same spirit gracefully leaped up and over it on those well-developed hind legs, coming to a graceful landing just out the way. Pete rolled his eyes as he saw it strike another pose upon landing, appealing once more to the crowd. Its ears twitched, nose wrinkled back and forth. It looked almost as if it
were amused by the whole thing.

  He couldn’t lose his cool. Some part of him guessed Ulikku might be doing it to try and get under his guard. It was a typical bloody dancer trick when they were fighting callers. All that stuff had no place in battling, if they got away with it, it would infuriate any quick-tempered opponent.

  Pete was determined not to be that opponent. Agility and belligerence, those were the two traits that it had. He could see that now. So how next to play it? He glanced around, first to Mermari and then to the rabbit.

  Charge it!

  It took a fraction of a second for the order to be processed and Mermari charged off, claws outstretched as she lunged towards the opponent, ready to lunge in and land some raking cuts across the defenceless opponent. It was a good strategy, Pete thought, only to watch as the rabbit pirouetted out of the way, to keep watching as Mermari sailed past with her claws meeting empty air. And as a chant of “olé” echoed down from the crowd, one of the giant ears slammed down into Mermari’s back with a resounding slap, a screech of pain erupted from the ice cat’s mouth as she was sent skidding across the floor into an untidy heap.

  “Good, Paz,” Ulikku said, his voice low and quiet amidst the roars of the crowd. They’d seen first blood and they were working into a frenzied state. Pete winced as Mermari jumped to her feet, a little unsteady but still looking strong and ready to keep on fighting.

  Okay, so ranged and close attacks have been tried with little effect, so…

  That was when Paz took off at a run towards Mermari and Pete was jerked back into awareness, broken from his thoughts. Even as he gave the command to try and hit it as it closed in, Mermari’s ice blasts were evaded as the rabbit broke into zig-zags, every shot not even going close to landing.

  Crap!

  Pete clenched his fists together, nails digging into his palm as Mermari let loose one more stream of ice, this one at point blank range and with what should have been fatal intensity. Even then, Paz found something, some burst of speed to evade it and Pete fought the urge to swear loudly as it ducked down under the blast and struck upwards to send Mermari crashing up into the air.