The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  He didn’t know how long he’d been out as he stirred awake, his head threatening to split asunder as he rolled over onto his back and tried to sit up. He ignored it as best he could and took in his surroundings. Not much to go on. Four walls. Grey. Metal. Bare floor. Sparse decoration. Just a cot in one corner and a closet. An empty closet. Not much indeed. The toilet and tiny sink just made the place look even more depressing. He glanced down at himself. Still wearing the same clothes, albeit a little dishevelled. Nick patted himself down, found his pockets still contained everything they had before. Credit chips, spare crystals, old water tablets and gum. He still had his calling crystals, yet they’d taken the summoner. Probably didn’t want him making an outbound contact. Or smashing his way out.

  Whatever else happened in the immediate future, he was suddenly glad that he’d left his badge, muffler and X7 far out of the way. He hadn’t had them on him when he’d been arrested, thankfully or things really would have gotten uncomfortable. Not just because of where he’d wound up. He’d been taken, he didn’t know where. Unless they had definitive proof, unlikely at best, his identity remained a clouded mystery. For now, he was just Nick Roper, Spirit Caller. Nothing more. That was the way it needed to be. He’d put his neck out and now he was on the block, there couldn’t be any regrets. He had enough of them without adding to them.

  Fair enough most of his regrets concerned what had happened to Sharon and the means that had had to be employed to get into this position. Sharon… Oh Gods, Sharon. He let his head dip back onto the bed, exhaling harshly as he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t want to think about her now. He needed to keep his head together, not let it all fall loose. This had been the very first thing he’d ever learned in the Unisco academy. Cool head under pressure, no matter the circumstances. Those who lost the plot invariably went on to lose their lives and he couldn’t afford to do that. Still he couldn’t deny the empty space in his being that had ripped its way into existence ever since he’d pushed that door open and woven his way into the chaos. She’d been there right at the eye of it, sprawled out and bloody… Her eyes… He gulped and tried to blank it out. He could do that. He didn’t have to dwell on it. Shouldn’t. But there it was.

  That was about the time he heard the door grinding open. He turned his head, watched as it swung slowly open. Heavy, it looked. Heavy enough to be automatic. Pushing it from either side would be a pretty futile exercise. Probably operated with a card reader. It opened all the way and he saw he was right; one of the two guards on the other side had a key card. The other held a big bag, plain black with no hint of a logo or anything fancy. He tossed it in. Both were Vazarans, he’d guess at them being the slow and simple type. Big but he’d seen bigger. The one holding the bag looked like he’d had his nose broken a bunch of times

  “The Mistress requests that you join her for dinner,” the first guard said. “Fresh clothes. We’ll collect you in twenty minutes.”

  “No shower?” Nick asked. “Could do with one.” He kicked the bag with the toe end of one of his shoes. It didn’t feel like there was much in there. The sound it made felt horribly hollow in the echoing room of the cell. Outside, the corridor didn’t look much better. Both had weapons but neither had them pointed, only holstered. UP40’s by the look of what little he could see. Interesting…

  Take them… Take them now before they can draw.

  He ignored the voice in his head begging him to act. It wasn’t an imperative at this moment. For the time being, it would appear he was being treated as an indentured guest rather than an outright prisoner. Go along with it for the moment. And if the Mistress… Several images rather a little more graphic than he wanted to think about at the current time bounced through his head… wanted to meet with him, then why not see what she wanted.

  The only answer to his question about the shower was the door swinging shut with a creak and a click.

  So… Twenty minutes then.

  He might not have been able to get a shower but he’d gotten the next best thing. The bag contained fresh clothes, shoes, towel, toiletries and right at the bottom, clealine tablets. He’d not seen some of these since his early days on the road. But very handy. Very handy indeed. He stripped off, broke two of the tablets against each other in his hands and felt the soapy lather start to form up almost immediately. They weren’t a particularly good option but it was better than nothing. And if nothing else, it took his mind off the other problems at hand as he scrubbed himself down.

  Finally, he rinsed himself off at the sink and towelled himself clean. He felt human again, refreshed. It would appear for the time being they were interested in his well-being. A chance to ensure that things stayed that way would surely follow. If he was going to be trapped here for a while, better to do it in comfort. His allegiance would always be to Unisco. Nothing they could do would change that willingly. But what lay ahead, he couldn’t say and it worried at him as he started to dress.

  Okay, these were nice. The shirt was a cream coloured silk, the trousers and jacket an almost leather texture of black. He ran a hand over it, found himself wondering if it cost more credits than he’d ever seen at any one time. It was expensive, any fool could tell that. And he looked good in it. The shoes fit okay, a little tight on the left foot but he could live with it.

  He’d just finished shaving when the two guards returned for him, the door giving that same creak as it swung open. He turned, gave them a grin. “Almost done, guys. I’d hate to keep your boss waiting, so…” Nick finished rubbing in the cologne and tossed the empty bottle back into the bag. “Shall we?”

  “Step outside, please,” one of them said. “And don’t try to run.”

  “Why would I run?” he asked, letting a note of puzzlement slip into his voice. “You’ve got me interested now. Besides I assume I’m meant to be here, right?”

  No reply to that. As he stepped out, he saw only the quickest glimpse of them but he immediately blessed his decision not to try and flee earlier. Both guards were missing their ring fingers on each hand. Some might have dismissed that as an unlikely coincidence. Nick wasn’t going to do that. He knew what it meant. He’d seen it before.

  Taxeens!

  He hated fighting guys with knives. Even with an opponent right in front of you, there was a chance that they could still miss with a blaster. It wasn’t in human nature to kill. Those who did had to overcome that block. Knives would still cut you though. And Taxeens were excellent knife fighters, especially when one considered the poisons that coated their blades…

  That was why they’d kept their blasters away. They didn’t need them. Not against an unarmed man distracted by grief. Not with two of them. One, he might be able to take by surprise. To face two at the same time was an act of suicide. They cut away their ring fingers to let the weapons spring into their hands from special spring gauntlets strapped to their wrists. There’d been one or two in Unisco over the years that he knew of, and he’d seen how impressive they could be. Not just with knives but in unarmed combat as well.

  He’d followed them through the maze of sterile corridors, trying to memorise the torturous route until finally he’d given up. The laws of physics didn’t seem to make any sense here, unless they’d purposely been disorientating him. It felt like they’d been past the same fire extinguisher three or four times before finally they’d arrived at a room and the door opened to allow him access.

  Dressed in the unfamiliar black suit, he adjusted his tie and stepped into the room, stopping a little short from entering it as he took it all in.

  Oh my…

  To say it was a far-flung shot from his cell was an understatement. A very drastic understatement. This was… This was gorgeous. He’d been in classy hotels that paled in comparison to this place. The carpet was a lush crimson that felt like walking across spongy moss, the support beams of the walls lined with gold trim. Diamonds hung from the chandelier, a dozen twinkling lines reflecting around a hundredfold. And the table could have seated fifty eas
ily. Who had a place like this?

  He thought he knew the answer. Something had been going on around the Quin-C. They’d been following the patterns and that was indisputable. Someone was pulling some strings, there’d been too many seemingly isolated incidents to not be worried. Someone had arranged the natives to be wiped out. Someone had sent that mercenary team the night of the storm. Someone had attacked Wade. Someone had arranged for the hospital to be attacked. Someone had killed…

  Sharon…

  For a moment he’d thought it was her. He’d been wrong. The woman across the other side of the room looked nothing like her. Wrong age, wrong build, wrong colouring. Maybe she was about fifty, tall but just about starting a losing battle with age, brunette and pale. Too pale. Maybe she was sick. She looked tired. If she had enough money to afford a dining room like this, a terminal illness would just be ironic. A tasteless thought, he knew that. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  And then she spoke and despite her outward appearance, he found himself surprised by the strength in her voice. The resolution rode through strong.

  “Mr Roper,” she said. “My apologies and my condolences.” She didn’t look particularly apologetic; he had to admit as she approached him. Her mouth thinned as if trying to look sorrowful but it wasn’t a particularly effective effort.

  How to play it? The question rushed through his mind in that moment and he found himself momentarily perplexed. There was something about this whole thing that stank and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Grieving. Grieving and hurting. If he could pull those off, he could take it from there.

  “Who are you?” he asked quietly. Privately he was quite pleased with the note of self-pity in his voice. He’d buy it. “What is this place and why have you kidnapped me?”

  “Again, I apologise,” she said, coming to a halt in front of him. “But you’ve seen this place, I think it’s better that you don’t know where we are. That way it can’t be taken from you by force and there are those out there who would. Besides, I think you’re being rather ungrateful considering the efforts we went to in securing your release.”

  She let it hang and Nick shrugged. “Just nervous I guess. Been a rough few days. But grateful, I am. Thank you.” He looked her up and down. The hurt in his eyes wasn’t false at all. Thoughts of what he’d lost kept battering away at the back of his mind, demanding his attention. He tried to ignore them. It was a losing battle. “Why collect me in the first place.”

  She sighed. “I wanted to offer you my condolences in person. It’s partly my fault that your fiancé died, you see.”

  It took considerable restraint honed over years of working for Unisco that stopped him from grabbing her by the neck and demanding answers. Restraint that he’d made a big show of shattering when he’d smacked Ritellia in the nose at that funeral. He took a deep breath. Another. And another. Anything to remain calm and composed. “Your fault?”

  A nod answered his question. “Partly. You see, I’m the one who arranged for this tournament to be here on Carcaradis Island. In a way, that makes it as much my responsibility as anyone else’s. Mr Roper, my name is Claudia Coppinger.”

  Ah… He owed Will Okocha credits, it would appear.

  “I’ve heard of you,” he said. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.” He closed his eyes and focused on her face. “… Just there. You weren’t at the opening ceremony or something were you. Sorry, if you weren’t, I guess I got you confused for someone else.”

  She raised an eyebrow, a sudden flash in her eyes just a little too quick for him to be sure he’d seen it. “There’s just one of me, I think you’ll find,” she said, suddenly haughty. “I am unique.”

  “Just like everyone else?” Nick quipped. That brought a small smile for her. It probably warranted the reaction. It was an old joke.

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re wrong though,” he said softly. “I can’t blame you for Sharon’s… I can’t blame you for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.” He gulped. Felt sick suddenly. Talking about it hurt like the hells and especially to a stranger. Double especially one whose motives weren’t quite clear yet.

  They’d sat down and made small talk over dinner. The main had been a roasted leg of lamb seasoned in mint and nuts, served with honey glazed parsnips, fluffy potatoes cooked in rich goose fat and drenched in meaty gravy so brown it was almost black. It had been outstanding; he’d openly admitted he’d never eaten such fine food before. Claudia Coppinger had smiled and winked at him.

  “My own personal chef, Alphonse, came aboard,” she said, almost conspiratorially. “The best. I’ll be sure to see that he hears your compliments.”

  “He’s not for hire, is he?” Nick asked. “I mean… He doesn’t own a restaurant, does he?”

  She laughed. “I doubt you could afford him. And no, not yet. One day I mean to set him up with an exclusive establishment in one of the biggest cities in the kingdoms. For the time being, I enjoy him too much. Wine?”

  “Maybe one,” he said. He didn’t want to refuse. If the wine was as good as the food… He needed to keep a clear head. Something was up here, he couldn’t place what it was, but to say he didn’t trust her was an understatement. She’d given nothing away in her small talk, refusing absolutely to talk about business amidst the food. It would sully the food, she’d said, and he could agree. What sort of business she wanted with him though, he couldn’t guess at.

  The plates had been cleared away and the wine had been served. He swirled it about in his glass before taking a sip.

  Wow… To say it was good wine was doing it a disservice entirely. It was fantastic. Normally he wasn’t a big wine drinker but this was something he could enjoy. He didn’t know much about the stuff but he knew what he liked. This, he could cheerfully drink every day for the rest of his life.

  “Life has clearly been good to you, Ms Coppinger,” he said politely. One sip turned into another. She waved a hand dismissively. “You’ve been an excellent host here. Other than the whole kidnapping thing. And I can’t help but wonder why.”

  “Why?” she asked coyly. “Well, why wouldn’t I want an interesting dinner guest up here? That whole thing with Ritellia, just marvellous. I truly despise that man, even if he does have his uses from time to time. Everyone does, you know? You’ll probably be remembered longer for taking that swing at him than you would have done if you’d won the tournament.”

  “It’s not really the sort of thing I’d like to be remembered for,” Nick said. “It was a dumb thing to do and well, I suppose I’m going to have to live with the consequences of it.”

  “Not necessarily,” Claudia said. “You see I happen to know President Ritellia quite well and after a quiet word, he’s dropped all the charges.”

  Interesting, very interesting. Nick let a relieved look flit across his face, even if inside he was maintaining a sense of icy calm.

  “You see he’s come to accept that everyone makes mistakes and you were grief-stricken…”

  “I’d prefer not to use that as an excuse. A lot of people were. Her brother was. He didn’t act like that.” Here, Nick had to admit that he wasn’t entirely acting. He’d genuinely considered all of this before putting this little charade into play.

  “Could you not say that was down to your passion? Would you say you’re a passionate man? I’ve seen it in the way you fight.”

  “Passion unrestrained is like fire. Tough to control, harder to contain, difficult to stop,” Nick said. “I’m not proud of it. It’s going to be hard but I’d like to move past this.”

  “Exactly. Life is tough, wouldn’t you say? There are no prizes but living is its own reward,” she said.

  “All this is just a check-up on my well-being? You’re not worried I’m going to sue you, are you?” he chuckled. Apparently, she didn’t find it funny, her face didn’t change even for a second as she leaned on the table and made a pyramid out of her fingers. He genuinely couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
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br />   Somehow, he felt he didn’t want to either.

  “Talk to me of faith,” she then said suddenly. “Are you devout? Do you feel that the divines benefit from your supplication?”

  “Honestly, I think my supple has been vacated long since,” Nick replied. “I’m all out of it. If I wasn’t before, then I’m hardly likely to suddenly start believing because they took the one thing I loved beyond all other away from me.”

  “Or maybe they did that to punish you,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. But I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  “It seems kinda petty to be honest.”

  “Pettiness is a human emotion; wouldn’t you say? You’d expect something so divine to be above it.”

  “If you’re wanting a debate on the nature of theology, I’m afraid you’ve probably picked the wrong dinner guest for it,” Nick said apologetically. “I don’t think I’m being punished.”

  “Just for the record,” Claudia said. “I don’t either. I think it’d be a cruel being that would punish someone for not seeing things their way by taking a life that wasn’t theirs to take. All life is precious is what they teach us. Not to be taken in anger or revenge, not even in justification.”

  That’s me fucked then, Nick thought dryly to himself.

  She paused, truly thoughtful for a moment. He could see it in her eyes. There was something there. Maybe not madness but not sanity either. “You know,” she said softly. “Once I met a holy man on a trip when I was a little girl. And I spoke with him about faith. The nature of it and the reality. How we take so much of it on little more than a whim. I believe in gods. I truly do. Yet at the time I found myself wondering why the secrecy. Why not reveal themselves, why not rule? All that power and yet they limit themselves to little more than the imagination. What was the point?”

  Nick said nothing.

  “He wasn’t your usual holy man. Had a decent church, nice office. And in the corner of the room, there was this old chair. He got up and pointed to it, told me with a smile on his face that what sort of proof would suffice. If he prayed to Gilgarus or Melarius and asked them to lift the chair up and down as a sign of their existence, some would regard it as a miracle. Some would see it as a trick. And some would be scared. Because power scares people. Especially when it’s used so brazenly. But with some subtlety, you can never know. Do just the right thing and people won’t be sure if you’ve done anything at all. So, what if everyone loved each other like family, there were no more wars or sickness? Wouldn’t that be greater proof of a higher plan than this chair rising up and down?”