The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  “Good… morning, is it?” he asked. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m a little lost on when it actually is.”

  Neither of them paid any heed to him. Nor did they enter the cell. They were professional, considering they dressed like desert rats in their robes. One just gestured for him to follow them and the other moved off. Nick sighed, made to follow, his steps bordering on skittish as he walked past the gesturing guard, not entirely comfortable exposing his back to him. The knife he half-expected to come never did and still he followed the first Taxeen. He saw several other cells on the way past, just as he always did, never quite able to see inside them. Except this time, he saw a face up at the bars of one of them, a pretty Vazaran face with close cropped black hair wearing…

  Huh…

  Unless he was mistaken, that was a Unisco flight suit. He could see the edges of the sleeves and the tips of the shoulders but it looked sure like it. Weird that. If he was going to get out, he’d have to investigate this first. If there were Unisco people on board, he couldn’t leave them here. Not at least without trying. On the other hand, Arnholt had been very specific that he was supposed to make bringing back the information his top priority. But he couldn’t know about the woman… Maybe she wasn’t alone. Maybe there were more.

  Decisions. This had started off so simple, now it felt like it had taken on an ugly complexion. He swallowed hard and continued to walk, ferreting away at the problems at hand.

  They’d gone a different way this time, one he hadn’t experienced before. He’d have remembered this view. Nick found he needed to stop and look as he passed before the great window, saw the sky outside. Clear blue cloudless sky for as far as his eyes could see and his heart fell as beautiful as it might be. His chances of escape had just grown that little slimmer. They had to be miles and miles up in the air here, nobody knew this was here or there’d be investigations. Nobody liked to have strange unidentified ships hovering above them. Especially not ones armed like this.

  Shit! Nick thought as he glanced down at the semi-ring down below him, high powered lasers rimming the surfaces of it. In the distance, he could see a strange brand of aerofighter he hadn’t encountered before, six of them out on flight manoeuvres and flying like they had no small amount of experience. The thing was huge, easily bigger than some of the giant dreadnaughts the five kingdoms had ready to call on. He stumbled forward and had to rest his hands against the plastiglass to steady himself, the sudden enormity of his task at hand stunning him.

  This… This was so much bigger than he’d imagined. So much bigger than any of them could have known and yet here was the proof. They were in so much danger right now and nobody knew. One of the Taxeen pulled him away roughly, he fought the urge to strike out. It’d be a good time, he wouldn’t be expecting it, but there’d be another and there was no clear advantage to revealing the cards here.

  Always when not to act as much as when to act. He let out a sigh and shrugged the arm off him, giving the Taxeen a glare.

  “Okay, sorry,” he said grumpily. “It just took me by surprise though.” Out in the distance, the aerofighters were outlined against the setting sun, the light reflecting off their wings and he couldn’t help but be awed by the sight.

  They didn’t linger long after that, he had to move quickly to keep up, much to his chagrin. There was barely time to take in some of the more interesting details of their surroundings, it was about all he could do to keep track of their movements. He figured he could find his way back to the cells from here. Now he understood why they sent guards. It’d be easy to get lost if you didn’t know these corridors.

  The door they led him to was heavy and wooden, it looked expensive and he gulped as he took it in, not entirely sure why. He caught just a hint of foreboding from it and it unsettled him. Couldn’t explain why, wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. The faintest smell of scent lingered on the air, something he couldn’t place where he’d smelled it before. One of the Taxeen knocked brusquely and he heard a voice from the other side. Female. Familiar. He ground his teeth as the permission to enter came out and the door slid open.

  Claudia Coppinger wasn’t alone in the room, rather there was a scruffy looking Vazaran man in his fifties stood next to her, his face rough and wild. When he smiled, what few teeth he had were uneven and broken in his mouth. He looked like a campaign poster for battered wolverines. Claudia rose to her feet; he was sure she was wearing the same clothes she had been when he’d last seen her. She looked tired, weary by unseen weights and Nick wasn’t sure what to make of that. Dark bags rimmed her eyes, she looked haggard and weary. He chose not to mention it, just smiled politely.

  “Miss Coppinger,” he said, strolling into the room. He didn’t give the Taxeen a second glance, just kept his eyes on the woman and her associate. The man wasn’t the biggest, he looked thin but dressed casual, his clothes almost exercise-like underneath a heavy poncho that split aside a little at the front to reveal the utility belt wrapped around his waist. Twin silver cylinders glistened from hooks on the strap of leather. He fought the urge to look closer. There was something about one of them, the very presence of it stirred up something in his memory, something that chimed like a klaxon bell. Something he was sure he’d seen before but where. It was starting to grate now, clamouring through the recesses of his mind as he sought out to recall where it had come from.

  “Mr Roper,” she said. “Good morning. I have good news for you. President Ritellia no longer wishes to press charges against you. Full retraction of any attempts to press charges, he even apologised to you for intruding in your time of distress.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something he’d do,” Nick said breezily. He lazily brushed a speck of dust from his shirt. “Who twisted his kidneys up into his lungs for him to accede to that demand.” Her face threatened to break into a smile but she held herself.

  “I like your metaphor. Ritellia is an overgrown slug made fat by those who he should serve. Stand up to him and he slithers away to find someone else to bully, someone less… disagreeable”

  “But a powerful slug regardless,” Nick said, glancing sideways at the impassive face of the Vazaran. There was something off about him he couldn’t place.

  “A potent slug is still easy to squish,” she replied nonchalantly. “It’s just about finding the right place to apply pressure.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  He left an edge to his words, gave her a smile.

  “You won’t have met my associate, Wim Carson,” she said, jerking her head towards the man. “The one who has made all this possible in a way. He has been my guiding light since he entered the picture.” Carson nodded his head at Nick, Nick returned the gesture, his mind still musing over where he’d seen that metal cylinder before.

  “Sounds like you’ve made a big impact then,” Nick remarked. “I didn’t know we were on a ship.”

  She laughed. “This is more than a ship. This is a life raft, if you want to look at it in practical terms. Everyone here has been selected for a pure purpose. There is a war about to come, I don’t want it to be prolonged but it may be so. Plenty will be killed. Knowledge and skills will be lost, if they need replacing with my own people then it shall be so. When all is said and done, this will be the capital beacon of the five kingdoms. People will come from miles around for my favour.”

  Cuh-razy! Nick kept his face blank, saw Carson’s eyes narrow curiously at him. They were beady and small, one of them bloodshot but still they gave the impression they went straight through you. It was very much in keeping with what some people had said about Anne Sullivan, the thought occurred to him with a jolt. They all knew what that meant. Everyone who’d worked for Unisco past a certain amount of time had heard the stories about some of the stuff she could do. He straightened himself up, gave Carson a sardonic smile and fixed on Claudia.

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said. “I want to be a part of this, I’ve given it some considerable thought. And I ask what you would have me
do, ma’am.” Idly he wondered if he should bow.

  “You can start by calling me Mistress,” she said primly. “That is my chosen mark of respect and you will adhere to it.”

  “Of course,” Nick said. He wanted to roll his eyes but fought the urge. “You’ve got a lot of guns on this life raft, uh Mistress.” The word felt unfamiliar in his mouth but he put his all into it. It wasn’t at all arrogant to call yourself that.

  “There’s a lot of people out there who might fail to acknowledge my new world order,” she said. “I’ve always believed that the best form of defence is a good offence. Our guns are powerful, our shields are strong and the best thing of all is that nobody will ever know we are here until it’s too late.”

  Huh… This already was starting to look like it might be a problem for anyone on the ground. They could easily repel an attacking fleet with the armaments he’d seen lining the body of this ship. Maybe if they didn’t have the advantage of surprise, it’d be different.

  “What’s that mean?” he asked curiously. His note of confusion in his voice wasn’t entirely faked. Wim Carson hadn’t taken his eyes off him. “You got one of those cloaking device things on here?”

  “God class,” she said proudly. “You know what that means?”

  Truthfully, he didn’t. He’d never heard of it. The top bracket of cloaking device in his previous experience had been labelled at kingdom class. That meant that there was no chance of spotting them on any sort of scan, no radar would pick them up, no satellite could track their path, computerised targeting systems would be useless.

  “No.” Not a lie.

  “It means nobody’s finding us. We’re all alone up here and it’s going to stay that way. Some of my top people managed to perfect on the cloaking device. Previous iterations were flawed in that some of the air disturbances around it could be tracked to a fashion, if you knew where to look… Not this. The cloak extends out and…” She paused. “I’m boring you, I know. Don’t want to drown you with technological jargon. We’re invisible. And unlike some inferior models, we can see and hear outside our shields as well. I love technology. Isn’t it marvellous sometimes?”

  His heart fell, he tried to recover from it almost immediately and only partially succeeded. She seemed well protected up here, if what he’d seen and heard up to right now was anything to go by. And the sinking feeling wasn’t helped by the knowledge of what he might have to do.

  “I’m sure you’ll be a just and fair ruler,” he said thoughtfully. She narrowed a brow at him, apparently not happy with his choice of words.

  “Ruler?” she asked. “I’m not satisfied with that. I want to be adored. I want to be feared. Mister Roper, I want to be worshipped. Godhood beckons. And when that happens, the only option is to accept it with open arms. Few are chosen but all must accept.” She sighed wistfully. “And it is a burden that I am willing to accept. When you have gone so far, turning back is not an option. The only choice is to follow it all the way. I have moved so much to get this far; the last ten years have been the groundwork to arrive at this moment and it is coming.”

  There had been more of what she’d had to say, mainly her outlining what his roles were to be in the world she was building. She’d mentioned that he’d have to undergo training and orientation, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to go that far but he’d enthusiastically agreed to it. All to keep up appearances. She’d told him how she thought he was leadership material and she wanted him for a prominent role given she’d gone to great effort to recruit him. She’d mentioned some spirits whom she wanted him to look at, some very special ones indeed and she’d laughed as she’d brought them up. Nick wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that but it couldn’t mean anything good for the five kingdoms below. The Ista Neroux, she’d called them, an ominous title if ever one had been heard.

  At the end, she’d offered a hand and swallowing down disgruntlement, he’d bent and kissed it. It seemed like the sort of thing she’d have expected, the sort of thing she’d have swallowed and he applauded himself for his method of genius. Her cheeks flared a little with red and she smiled. For a moment he half expected her to giggle.

  “You know, I might have to make that protocol, Mister Roper,” she mused. “You’re a charming man.”

  “I do my best,” Nick said gruffly. “Mister Carson.”

  “Master,” the dark man corrected almost instinctively. The muscles in his face tightened as he looked Nick up and down. “Master Carson.”

  “Master of what?” Nick wondered aloud. The broad mouth split into a toothy grin and he knew for sure that he didn’t like that smile. There was something shifty about it that hinted at so much potential for death and destruction. The only sort of Master he looked like was a Master of Nothing.

  “This and that. Some of the other.”

  Evasive answer, he noted. That didn’t fill him with confidence.

  “I’ll remember that then,” Nick remarked. “Nice trinkets by the way.” He inclined his head down towards the metal cylinders at the man’s waist. “Been to Serran recently?”

  The expression that came back at him was one of bemusement. “Serran? Not for a good few years. Why?”

  He wasn’t pure Vazaran, there was plenty in his accent that gave that away. There was some southern Serran in there. It wasn’t an uncommon mix, south Serran wasn’t very far away by boat from northern Vazara. Children of inter-marriages kept on appearing and Carson was one of them by the looks of things. That name Wim hinted at that. He’d known a few across his life.

  “Saw a few just like them when I was there not too long ago,” Nick said loftily. “Hand warming devices, right?” It was bullshit, he knew that and he had a feeling Carson might as well. There was just something too spooky about him to avoid playing games. And at the same time, he needed to know. He had the horrible suspicion and letting it go just didn’t feel like an option.

  “Something like that.” Carson’s face remained inscrutable. “I picked one up in tragic circumstances. It belonged to someone who met an unfortunate end.” His voice cracked a little as he said it.

  “Yeah?”

  “Someone who didn’t deserve to die. I wish it could have been avoided.” It sounded like there might have been regret in his voice.

  “We all know someone like that,” Nick said, his thoughts drifting towards Sharon once again. Wasn’t the first time since he’d seen that cylinder on Carson’s belt “World’s a bitch, right?”

  “It is,” Carson said. “She was one of a kind all right.” Nick didn’t hear the words as he glanced down at it again, taking in the silver sheen, the heavy rubberised grip, the pearl-like growth towards the tip of it. He could picture it now, the memories of it resting against so many various clothes. He’d never known what it was for, Sharon had always told him it was a memento from the past. She’d said it apologetically, as if daring him to inquire for more information and at the same time firmly as if to say he wasn’t going to get an answer if he did.

  “Where you get it?” he asked, powerful hot rage boiling up inside him. If he’d had a weapon, Carson would be dead in a heartbeat. As it was, it was taking all his control to avoid jumping over the table and strangling him. Any hint of downplaying his feelings was lost as he leaned back and swallowed. The mission. The mission. There’s a mission and he needed to follow it through.

  “Picked it up on Carcaradis Island,” Carson said thoughtfully. “You seem distressed, Mister Roper. Are you perhaps having second thoughts about what the Mistress is attempting to do.”

  Nick smiled painfully at him, the simple act of curving his lips an effort. It was a false one, it lacked any sort of warmth or passion.

  “No,” he said. “My heart is as clear as ever been. I know the path I must take and I intend to follow it to the end. I know that more than ever now.”

  “A troubled man,” Wim Carson said after Roper had been escorted away to his new quarters by the Taxeen. He’d been less than impressed with the choice o
f guards, informing Madam Coppinger on more than one occasion that the Taxeen were vastly inferior to the Vedo that their subculture had loosely been inspired by.

  It wasn’t a lie either. He’d always been a student of history; he probably knew more than the two silent men did themselves. The Taxeen had been created some hundred years earlier by a crippled Vedo and although many weren’t Kjarn-sensitive, they could still fight. The kjarnblades had been cast aside in favour of the poisoned knives made from sharpened versions of their own removed finger bones. How fucking primitive had been his reaction at the time and he hadn’t seen anything since then that had made him retract it. They were thugs rather than noble warriors. Scum. Expendable. A blight.

  Jerl Taxa, their founder had lost most of his fingers in a duel, he’d fashioned their method of killing by himself. For a time, he had served as the Vedo executioner until his mind had finally gone. Wim shuddered at that thought. It happened with all executioners. Every generation needed one, to cut down the Cavanda should they raise their heads out of the sand, and ultimately the stress got to them and they were removed by their successor.

  In the case of Jerl Taxa, the successor had failed badly and Taxa had fled into the night, forsaking the Kjarn forever or so the legend went. It was one he’d heard many times before, one that troubled him. To forsake the Kjarn disgusted him. Anyone who willingly did that was nothing in his eyes. They were worse than cowards, they were traitors.

  Madam Coppinger had smiled at his assertions of inferiority and pointed out that she didn’t have Vedo, she had Taxeen and she intended to use them. “Troubled?”

  “Oh yes,” he said. “I sense much anger and sorrow in him.”

  “What about duplicity?”

  Wim hesitated. He couldn’t say for sure. His use of the Kjarn was still tenuous at best, still a fragile thing for him to grasp and while the raging emotions he’d heard were impossible to fake, he couldn’t say for sure.