The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  Silas was the one who had been selected to coordinate the attack on the Carcaradis Island hospital. If Cyris looked delighted, the Fratelli family looked furious with the way things had turned out, Giovanni and his older brother Giacomo sat across from the Montella family. Giovanni was balding, his head partly covered in dark fuzz while his most distinguishing feature was a scar across one eye that bordered on menacing. Giacomo was the head of the family, she’d met him earlier and found him to be a dapper gentleman in his middle years with a polished bald head and a sorrowful demeanour which he’d assured her was only temporary after his grandson had been defeated in the Quin-C. She didn’t mistake that claim for anything less than cold blooded ruthlessness.

  Privately she was glad Cyris had not heard about his sorrow at what had transpired in that ridiculous tournament for it was not a secret his son was still going strong in the competition. And he doubtless wouldn’t have hesitated to say so. That his son hated him, and hadn’t spoken to him since he was legally old enough to leave home and had foresworn the Cyris name, would likely not have been mentioned.

  Offspring!

  It almost came out as a snarl in her head, she was starting to think they were all ungrateful unappreciative little bastards who’d been better off not being born. Let humanity thin its ranks. Something to consider for the future. Still she didn’t let her mask of impassiveness slip as Silas continued to regale them with his tale, how accurate it was she would soon see when the Unisco operating file found its way to her desk.

  “I left via the sewer hatches in the basement,” Silas finished. “The hostages had been secured and although the secondary task was a failure, my assessment is that when organised sufficiently, the groups led by these individuals present here can function together in tandem. I left barely seconds before Unisco arrived on the scene, entering through my exit point. It was my mission to deliver this report and here I am.”

  She was glad that too many questions hadn’t been asked about the secondary task, the death of Wade Wallerington. It had been her primary reason for the attack, despite what she’d told those in front of her. Wallerington could potentially identify her. Despite her precautions, he might have seen her face. Silencing him was something that needed to unfortunately be done and they’d failed in that respect. If he was killed in a terrorist attack, it would look less suspicious than if he was killed by an assassin. They’d accepted that he was to be an opportunity target in a training exercise. Undoubtedly, Silas loved being the sole survivor of the mission, she could see the smug look of glee in his eyes. Thankfully few else could or there might have been trouble. Both Fratelli’s had already complained about the high number of their people who had been killed in the attack, some of their most loyal figures who, as Giovanni had already pointed out, it felt like they’d been strung out to dry.

  This partnership would not survive long term. Someone would leave. Or someone would die. She couldn’t do anything about that. But those that stuck it out long term would find the rewards great.

  “Thank you, Silas,” she said. “You did well.”

  A smattering of applause accompanied him as he sat down, louder in some quarters than in others. Cyris was particularly rapturous, both Fratelli’s looked ready to kill. She ignored their looks. Maybe she should start to favour the Montella family, the Fratelli brothers’ traditional rivals for supremacy. Let them know where they stood and that their petulance would not be tolerated on any level.

  Words. For now, they would have to do.

  “And with that announcement that together we can function as a unit, I hope that relaxes any further worries that might be held in this room,” she said. “In-fighting does not do any good. What do individual loyalties matter when all are united under the great banner Coppinger. Gentlemen and lady…”

  That sole lady was Ahana Kirozama, representative of Kenzo Fojila, the infamous Burykian assassins. She’d decided that they should be involved. Nobody better to have on your side on a venture like this than highly trained professional killers. “We are about to take the future from the masses and put it in our own hands. That is worth whatever cost we might be individually required to pay; would you not say? We will mourn our dead but know that their sacrifice has been one of value. With their death, they will accomplish far more than they ever did in life.”

  Are you scared yet?

  Those words echoed through her mind and something snapped inside her. He thrives on fear? Thrives? Who the fuck does he think he is? I am something so much greater than fear, I am anger and passion unrestrained. I do not fear. I inspire fear in others.

  “Not even in the slightest,” she smiled. “Not of you. I’ve seen things that’d make you piss yourself. A lot. I’ve done things that’d make you weep. I do not fear. Certainly not the likes of you!”

  The temptation was too great as she almost screamed the last word and she sprang to her feet at the next series of taps on the bar, the hatred for this fat fuck rushing through her and Kyra didn’t pull in with the Kjarn to call her blade towards her, but rather pushed outwards. All her efforts spent weakening the bars suddenly came to fruition as they couldn’t hold against her assault as she pushed out with telekinetic force sending them rushing out in all directions with a terrific sound of screeching metal. The fat man suddenly looked worried as two of them clonked him in the face, her blade falling from his grasp. Already it was in motion towards her hand as those guards that hadn’t been staggered by the flailing bars aimed their weapons.

  She ignited it, her blade springing to life and she deflected the first two blasts. Unlike their co-workers in that cave, they were aiming to kill and the blasts were easy to turn aside, back in the direction from whence they’d come. She saw them fall, felt the shadow that made them so hard to detect in the Kjarn fade a little. More came her way, she moved forward, her blade little more than a blur of pink and silver, deflecting with ease.

  Six might have been hard. Four was tricky and suddenly it was three. And two. She cut the last two down with ease, running her blade through their flesh with no resistance. They winked out of existence and only in death did she feel them individually. A shot rang over her shoulder, high and wide, she turned and saw the fat bastard with a weapon in hand, a snub-nosed blaster that he’d yanked from somewhere. She grinned at him and took a deliberate step forward. He fired again from one knee, this time with more accuracy and she deflected it down into the ground.

  “Come on, I’ll give you a free shot!” Kyra smiled. “Come on, you can do it!” He emptied his power pack at her, eleven shots that never even came close to troubling her. She was playing with him, she could see that he suddenly knew that and the look of worry on his face was delicious. She could sense his fear. “I’d like to kill you. But…”

  She sprang forward, letting the Kjarn move her legs and suddenly she was in front of him, her kjarnblade at his throat. “I don’t think I will.” His eyes widened and she saw another blaster in his hand suddenly, a second one and she didn’t think, just acted. Her blade swept around and he suddenly screamed like a stuck pig and the weapon clattered to the ground along with four cauterised fingers.

  She drew back her fist and thrust forwards, smashing it square into his breastbone, the power of the Kjarn behind her and she saw him crash backwards into the wall, his body going limb as he landed in an untidy heap. She spared his fingers a quick glance. They weren’t getting reattached any time soon.

  “Enjoy the rest of your days, half-hand,” she said before turning to the door. “Time to leave. I’m checking out. Giving you four and a half stars in the book. Hospitality good, food, okay. Ease of escape, fantastic.”

  She didn’t look back as she stepped out.

  Silas was waiting for her as she exited the room, last one to leave bar Domis at her shoulder, a capricious grin on his face as she passed by. “Madam Coppinger,” he said with a tidy little bow she saw was more for effect than respect. Still she acknowledged him.

  “Silas,” she said.
Or should I call you Mr Simon Lassiter? She decided against it, she didn’t want him knowing that she knew his true name just quite yet. “What do you want?”

  His grin grew. “I just wanted to inform you that I know.”

  If he was expecting some great reaction from her, it was something to disappoint him. Her face remained impassive. “You know? Good for you. What do you know exactly?”

  “What you didn’t want anyone else to,” he smiled. “About the mission.”

  “Congratulations on getting out alive by the way,” she said. “It’s exactly what I’d expect from one of John Cyris’ rats.”

  “I think survivability is a skill,” he said listlessly. “And I was just following out my orders. Well some of them anyway. I don’t think Cyris would like it if he knew you were playing him. Just like you’re playing the rest of the people in that room.”

  “Want me to break him in two?” Domis rumbled.

  She shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. You see, Silas, I think you’re obviously an intelligent man. You wouldn’t be making these statements to me unless you had an ulterior motive. Now what do you want?”

  “You wanted Wade Wallerington dead,” Silas said, as if he’d not heard her. “You could have picked anyone in the hospital, you didn’t even have to pick a hospital when there’s hotels aplenty on that island, but you picked him. Now I can’t help but wonder why. And at the same time, I can’t help but wonder why you wanted so badly to get rid of some of the Fratelli guys to the point you’d slip them defective weapons.”

  He was good, she had to admit that. The weapons had been defective. They’d been tampered with, the shot counters fudged to make them look like they were loaded. The power packs in them had read as full when really, they had been mostly depleted. Killing hostages was not the priority of the mission. And she had known Unisco would come. They would kill the hostage takers. Their lives would be enough. Maybe those who didn’t have defective weapons would take some of them with them.

  But she didn’t like the idea of needlessly throwing away the lives of those hostages to be used as shields. It wasn’t their fault they’d been there. Sure, they might still be harmed. But it was eliminating some of the risk to them. Why, she couldn’t say. It wasn’t in her character. She didn’t care about them either way. But she’d gone with her gut and made the decision to give them a little more of a chance.

  And he was right. It had been most of Fratelli’s people who had been given those weapons. They were the ones she didn’t trust. It had been a precaution she wasn’t unhappy to have made. Nor would she shed any tears for them.

  “Those are some serious accusations,” she said. “I hope you’re prepared to back them up with something rather than just making them for the sake of batting your lips about.”

  “You know, John Cyris and I are cut from the same cloth,” he said. “Once there were three of us and now there is just I. Mara was arrested and turned traitor. Jenghis was killed by Unisco. He’s devoted a lot of time to me. He can read me just as well as I can read him. Maybe. See I know how this will go. He’ll use you and then stick you in the back the first chance he can get.”

  “Really?!” She sounded surprised. She wasn’t really. Whether her lack of bemusement was at the apparent betrayal Cyris wished to inflict upon her or that Silas was actively perpetrating it in her direction, she couldn’t say.

  “He has a habit for it,” Silas said. “He’s a snake. He’ll work you, you won’t even see it coming. Just when you think you’re safe…” He drew a finger across his throat theatrically.

  “She’ll have me,” Domis growled. “And no harm will come to her while I draw breath.”

  Silas regarded Domis with the sort of withering glance one normally reserved for something squelchy. “That’s adorable but what part of not seeing it coming do neither of you understand? Madam Coppinger, I like what you’re doing here. I can see it benefitting us all down the line. If you promise me one thing, I will deal with Cyris. Cyria has floundered for too long and I say time for a change. And in exchange, you will have my loyalty until the day I cease to draw breath.”

  She considered his words for a moment. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Nothing.” Silas grinned at her. “Absolutely nothing. Just let it be and I’ll arrange for Cyris to meet an unfortunate accident. I’ll inherit the organisation. His son wants nothing to do with him. Nobody will miss him. I always dreamed of working for someone like you.”

  She raised a manicured eyebrow. “Someone like me?”

  “Powerful, ruthless, someone worth killing for…” He paused. “Someone beautiful. Face it, you’re like the ideal superior.”

  If it was meant to flatter, she was ashamed to admit it was working. Just a little. “I will consider what you have said,” she said. “For the time being, do what you do best.”

  He bowed again, this time a lot lower and a lot more respectful. “Thank you for hearing me out, Madam Coppinger. I look forward to our next conversation.”

  “You know that one can’t be trusted,” Domis said as the two of them watched Silas stride away purposefully. Like he owned the place. She didn’t like that, there was something in his walk that clashed with her sense of trust.

  “I don’t trust anyone here,” she said. “Except you. You’ll never let me down, Domis. Will you?”

  He looked at her and his face shifted into an uncomfortable expression approximating what she guessed to be a smile. “Never. Never Mistress.”

  Resistance wasn’t quite as much as she’d anticipated but that was good as she hacked through the lock to her cell and pushed it open with the flat of her hand, rushing through into the corridor. Nobody. Left or right? She glanced back and forth, not sure where she was or how to leave but she couldn’t stay here.

  She went left, ran at full pace without calling on the Kjarn to augment her speed. She might need it down the line, frequent exaggerated use left the body exhausted and the mind slow to react. She’d need to be sharp. Kyra rounded a corner, caught sight of two more of the black-clad figures, these with auras in the Kjarn and she reacted before they could, cutting into one through the stomach, almost hewing him in two before she swung onto the second one. They put an arm up to block and leaned back away from her in one desperate motion, her blade hacked through that and permanently ruined his looks as she drove it through his face. He was dead before he hit the ground and she didn’t spare them a look back as she moved on, no regrets about what had to be done. This was survival and they’d picked the wrong bitch to mess with here.

  She continued to move deeper and deeper through the corridors, not sure where she was going but confident that if she kept going, a way out would present itself. This place was huge, she didn’t encounter more than token resistance, some of them not even threats but still they needed to be eliminated. She couldn’t leave any witnesses. She just had to keep going.

  She turned another corner, hurdled a pipe and buried her blade between the shoulder blades of someone who hadn’t seen her coming, felt him fall before feeling something tugging at her presence. She followed it, down a slightly nicer corridor than what she’d met before. They’d all been uniform grey so far, very sterile but this had a nice bit of carpet beneath her feet. It felt spongy to run on, with a door up ahead. She had a good feeling about this as she ran towards it, slashing down and the lock fell apart in two pieces, she carried on through it, straight into the largest room she’d ever seen.

  It was huge. Although Kyra only took in her surroundings for a moment before focusing on the people inside, she couldn’t help but catch the depths of design that had gone into it. Three people turned, their attention on her. A middle-aged woman, a hulking man in a fedora hat and a dapper dark-skinned man with a neat beard and dreadlocks. She could feel them, the surprise from the woman tinging above the sense of superiority, the devotion from the big man…

  From the Vazaran, she sensed nothing, but she saw the window towards the back of them and
knew it’d be her way out. If she had to jump, so be it. The Kjarn would slow her fall. She couldn’t stay here; she was outmatched as it was. She charged, weapon still lit in front of her, she’d kill anyone who stepped in her way. The big man stepped in her path, straight in front of the woman but it was the Vazaran who reacted, rising to his feet and hurling out a fist at her.

  Too late she sensed the surge in the Kjarn and the rush of power caught her by surprise, hurling her back the way she had come, almost through the door and out into the corridor. Pain shot through her but not quite as much as the way it had caught her unexpected. Her heart caught in her mouth with shock, Kyra looked at him more closely as she jumped to her feet, her entire body aching. He didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon. But he could wield the Kjarn…!

  This wasn’t good! She remembered the presence she thought she’d felt through her time in captivity and realised she might have found the source. He was old, a lot older than her but perhaps younger than her master, it was hard to tell. Raw power had hammered her, not a lot of finesse. She could work with that. Unfortunately, from what she’d felt so far, he was stronger than her. A lot stronger.

  “That’s an interesting weapon,” the Vazaran said, some of his teeth missing. He wasn’t as dapper and clean-cut up close as she’d first guessed. He looked… soiled somehow. “Haven’t seen one for a while.”

  “Allow me to give it to you,” she replied. “Straight through the heart.”

  He wagged his finger. “Hardly a fair fight now, is it?” For a moment, she hesitated to ponder his meaning, unsure what he had meant and it nearly proved to be a fatal one as she felt the Kjarn tugging at her, warning her something was coming. She barely got the weapon up in time to block, his fingers arching out and dozens of little streams of electricity twisting out from them, crimson lightning fizzling out on her blade. Dispelling it wasn’t easy, but she managed it, the blade of her weapon flickering for a moment before humming on as strong as ever.