The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  As she coughed up salt water and gasped for her first breath, Nick found himself thinking that maybe this day wouldn’t be a total write-off after all. One small glimmer of hope out of a huge shit storm.

  Everyone saw it, the hoverjet circling the stadium. Whether they paid any attention to it or not was up for debate, it circled three times, streams of fire coming up to greet it every time it strayed too close to one of the pillars. The fourth time, it went in close and didn’t pull out, the fires burning through the shields and the structure of the metal as it struck one of the pillars and exploded in a giant fireball, the superheated gas and flame taking away most of the pillar immediately. It wiped away the projector housed inside, immediately the doom dogs started to fizzle out and vanish, the debris falling into the stadium struck Cacaxis on the head, tonnes and tonnes of bricks, mortar and metal smashing down in great chunks, too many for the beast to ignore easily.

  That might have turned out to be the breaking point for it apparently decided enough was enough. Trapped between tonnes of falling rubble, it started to shrink down again, digging down into the dirt. Retreating away, out of sight and back to where it had come from. Soon the only remnants of it were the great gaping hole left amidst what had once been a pristine battlefield.

  Around the stadium, those that were still inside stood silent for a moment, not entirely sure what had just happened. Those Coppinger gunmen who hadn’t been killed made a run for it, many of them were killed in short order. In a matter of moments, the battle was as over as rapidly as it had begun. It didn’t take long for the comprehension to dawn and even amidst the sobering thoughts of what had just had happened, a few cheers broke out…

  Epilogue. The Prospects for Blood.

  “Carcaradis Chaos Once Again…”

  “Dozens Dead in Stadium Massacre…”

  “Ritellia Murdered in Ritual Sacrifice…”

  “Unisco Promise Full Investigation…”

  “Final Bout Declared Official Draw…”

  “Coppinger Claims Island Attack Retaliation…”

  “ICCC to Face Possible Suspension Due to Tournament Horrors…”

  Media headlines following the Battle of Carcaradis.

  The twelfth day of Summerfall.

  Trying to avoid scratching at the bandage on his side, Nick stepped out into the afternoon sun, wearing his best black suit and did his utmost to try and fit in with the pervading aura of misery that had blanketed Carcaradis Island in the last days. It wasn’t hard. The day of mourning for all those that had perished during the attack was well underway. The island had been silent, grave-like even. There had been some joyous days here over the last six or so weeks but they seemed so very far away today.

  They’d been burying the deceased all throughout, everyone knew somebody who had fallen because of what Claudia Coppinger had taken upon herself to do. He’d noticed the sense of disbelief that had been permeating the entire place many times now. Maybe it hadn’t affected him as much because he’d known about her before. He was noticing it in some of his co-workers. Some really were struggling with the depths of what it had become apparent she was willing to stoop to. Madness was always difficult to comprehend at first, he’d found.

  Derenko hadn’t been the same since what was now being dubbed the Battle of Carcaradis by the media. The first shots fired in a war that was now holding a lot of speculation as to the causes and possible effects with nobody having any sort of clear answer as to why. Political, social and religious commentators were suddenly finding themselves in high demand, speculating as to the ends, means and outcomes of what was now going to happen in the next few months, maybe even the next several years.

  Nick supposed it was true really, wherever there was to be war and strife, then there would be someone making a quick credit off the back of it. Word had it, every major arms company across the five kingdoms was predicting major profits for the next several years at the prospects for blood. He knew a guy who worked for BRO, he’d told him that they were already commissioning a new assault rifle for the hard times to come.

  Still, it wasn’t a time to think about that. Not on a day like this. It felt like the rest of the world could wait until tomorrow. Today was a day to remember the past. He moved through the deserted streets, noted how different it was from the day that they’d buried Sharon. Then, there had been people everywhere out to pay their respects. Today, people had left the island as fast as possible, people were staying in their rooms in shock at what had happened, people wanted to be in their own little bubbles, suffer in their own solitary company. He couldn’t blame them but he didn’t have that luxury.

  Honestly, he was amazed that more Unisco agents hadn’t been killed in the fray. Arnholt and Leclerc were still in the hospital, the former not even having regained consciousness yet, Prideaux Khan had taken a flesh wound but been later discharged after some brief treatment. Fank Aldiss and Alvin Noorland were perhaps the two biggest losses, Tod Brumley had been treated for superficial burns but they reckoned he’d recover the use of his arm in time. Beyond that, wounds had been superficial like his own. Nothing that wouldn’t heal with time.

  Truth be told, he was still pissed at what had happened. He’d had Rocastle dead to rights, he’d blown it spectacularly it. Someday soon, that was going to reflect badly on him. He somehow got the impression the director wouldn’t be too pissed at him for making the choice he had, but maybe he should be. If he told Nick that he’d made the right decision, wouldn’t that be him letting his personal judgement cloud the situation? Praise in circumstances like these felt hollow, pointless even. He didn’t need it. He didn’t want it.

  Still he’d managed to defuse the situation okay. It had been a risk, getting that troll’s survival instinct to kick in by slowly choking its caller until it needed to intervene but it had worked. By the time Empson had defeated the troll, Claudia Coppinger had showed up, defeated Empson and survived being shot. He knew he’d hit her at least once, knew that she’d shrugged it off. All in all, not the best things to report back to his superiors. Although, but for her intervention, he would have succeeded. The whole thing had been a mess from start to finish.

  With Brendan King being nominally in charge of operations here for the time being, it was an uncomfortable situation. He was loving his new circumstances; Nick could already see that part of the Field Chief was hoping Arnholt couldn’t continue with his duties. There were already whispers that the Senate were considering Unisco reforms to deal with the time of crisis. It looked likely he’d pull through; the train of thought was that he likely wouldn’t be the same man. The injuries had been bad but considering what had happened to many others, he could be grateful to be alive.

  He could see most of his fellow agents already in the cemetery as he entered, Brendan, Lysa, Brumley, Okocha, David Wilsin was finally out of the hospital, Wade and a tearful Derenko. He’d taken it hard, the loss of Aldiss. The two had been close for as long as Nick could remember knowing them. He’d never seen as close a friendship between two agents, always a dangerous situation given the volatile nature of the job. Good on them, he was sure it was good while it lasted. He’d never liked funerals and lately it felt like there’d been too many of them.

  When Sharon had died… He remembered how that had gone. He’d thrown the punch at Ritellia, it felt like just yesterday that had happened. Ritellia’s body had already gone, paid for by the ICCC to be shipped back to his home and buried there. A great homage for a great leader, they’d said. It might be the last time they were able to indulge themselves like this. He’d seen the headlines. Kate Kinsella had gone for them again, spreading her venom across the rest of them now that Ritellia was no longer a viable target. Even those softer targets like Adam Evans and Linda Alizaire, who she normally was marginally less unpleasant to, had taken the flak. In her writing, he got the impression that in a strange sort of way, she was quite sad about the death of the man she’d criticised so frequently.

  They were doing Ald
iss first, laying him to rest in one of the newly dug holes in the ground. He ran a quick count, winced at the sheer number of ones still to be filled. Credit to the ICCC, they had stepped in to pay for it all. Probably trying to curry public favour while they still could. In the same way that offering to buy someone a new coffee maker after you’ve burned down their house feels like a hollow gesture. The zent looked tired, Nick supposed working non-stop the last few days would do that to you. But when he spoke, his voice was full of vigour and authority, above all else, comfort. Exactly what you wanted in a holy man.

  He spoke of how Fank Aldiss gave his life so that others may live. As was protocol when a Unisco agent died like this, the organisation had granted full disclosure of their status, the zent never mentioned it though. Too professional. Brendan King spoke a few words, talking about how it was a pleasure to have met him, to have known him, stopping just short of saying that they’d worked together. Wade stepped up and spoke briefly, said that he’d always have good memories of the times when they’d battled each other. He’d been quite a popular city champion in Serran, had Aldiss. That many of his fans had tried to get out to pay their respects was testament to the man and the way he’d done things.

  Then Derenko took to the podium, gripped the sides of it with gloved hands and despite looking shaky, when he spoke his voice was calm.

  “Yeah, I knew Fank,” he said. “Bit of an understatement really. The man was probably my greatest friend in all the kingdoms. Someone who I could talk to, someone who got me when nobody else did. Someone who… Sometimes you feel like you’re two parts of a whole. You know what? I loved him. He was one of a kind, someone special. You want to know what sort of man he was? He was the sort of man who knew how I felt, or at least I think he guessed but…”

  He let out a big sigh, almost a sob. Nick felt more than a bit sorry for him really. “He never felt the same way, but never let it come between us. When we were together, we were an army. And now that army has been broken. There’ll never be a more beautiful soul to graze these five kingdoms. We’ve lost one of our best. Forever.” He lowered his head, looked down at the coffin.

  “I’ll miss you, buddy. I’ll always think what could have been, what should and what might but there’s no changing that now. Farewell and rest peacefully.”

  He stepped down and in that moment, Nick had never seen a man who looked more lost or broken.

  Wade strode into the hospital, cloak billowing around him and the first sight he caught was the building was a lot quieter than it had been the last time he’d been here. Not when he’d been a patient but rather following the aftermath of the attack. Organised chaos might have been putting it lightly. Now, it was calmer. He knew there likely wouldn’t be any sort of change in the director’s condition, but with little else to do, he thought he’d come visit.

  Something was tugging at the back of his consciousness, telling him that it’d be the best thing for him to do. He checked in at reception, took the stairs up to the third floor. The atmosphere was electric, it made his hair stand up on the back of his neck. Something about it didn’t feel right, there was no possible rhyme or reason for him to have that feeling. The source behind it didn’t become clear until he stepped out onto the third floor, glanced to his right and saw Clara stood catching her breath, washing her hands in disinfectant. Her hair was a mess and her black ringed eyes were half closed with fatigue. At the same time, he could have sworn she looked about ten years older. Parts of her hair had faded, from blond almost to grey and he blanched a little at that. A faint patch of dried blood lay on her cheek.

  “Cousin,” he said, catching her unawares. He saw her jump, hid his smirk. “Sorry.”

  “Fuck,” she said, glaring at him. “Can you not sneak up on me like that?”

  “Shouldn’t you have sensed me?” Wade asked. “Baxter always could. Guy’s like a motion detector.” He grinned as he said it, especially at the way she broke into a deep glare pointed at him.

  “Master Baxter is a talented individual,” she said. “He’s had a lot more experience and training than what he has given us yet. Furthermore, he probably hadn’t spent the last day and a half in this place trying to heal the wounded.”

  Wade raised an eyebrow. “That what you’re doing?” He pointed to the corresponding point on his own cheek. “By the way, you missed a bit.”

  Clara cursed, rubbed at her face. “How long’s that been there then? Someone else could have told me!”

  “Probably upset about you crashing their workplace and using your fancy sorcery to do their jobs,” Wade said. “I know I’d be annoyed if it happened to me in my workplace.”

  “You’re a spirit caller,” she said. “As well as that other thing… Master Baxter told me. Ha, you might not have a choice in that soon.”

  “What?!”

  She grinned. “Sorry, not saying. Said as much as I know. Because you’re my cousin and all that.” Her grin faded. “But seriously, he volunteered us for this. Some of us have a knack for healing with the Kjarn and the hospital is seriously understaffed considering the circumstances… Nobody expected this. So, we’re happy to help where we can. Besides he thought we could use the practice. Two bottles with one rock and all that.”

  “Yep, sounds like the Baxter I know,” Wade said. “Practical if nothing else. Where is he anyway? Is he here?”

  “He’s with Terrence Arnholt,” Clara said. “He came around earlier.”

  “What?!”

  “Yeah, I think the two of them are in there discussing something right now. Looked important when I walked past earlier. They were plotting like mad.”

  “I’ll catch you in a bit, Clara,” Wade said, patting her on the arm. “Keep up the good work.”

  “Later, cousin. I’ll get right back to it. Oh, and Wade…”

  He craned his head back, curious as to what she might have to bring up.

  “It’s not fancy sorcery, you know!”

  “I know.”

  “It’s a gift. It’s part of being one with something so much greater.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard the mantra.”

  “You know, that power runs in our family, I’ve heard.”

  “Apparently.” He shrugged. “What of it.”

  “Master Baxter says you have the gift too. It’s how he helped you heal your eyes, he said.”

  “And he asked you to give me the pep talk? Not interested! I told him that before, I’ll tell you that as well,” Wade said quietly but firmly. He meant it as well. That discussion wasn’t one he wanted to repeat. “My life’s complicated enough as it is.”

  Of course, it was a touch hypocritical. If it hadn’t been for what Ruud Baxter had taught him, he might well still be having trouble seeing. He knew that. He was aware of how easy it had been to heal himself. It made for troubling thoughts about his future.

  He quickened his pace, left her right behind as he crossed the short distance to Arnholt’s room. Already he was surveying the surroundings, he knew what to look for. It was guarded, someone he didn’t recognise stood outside the door to prevent intruders from entering accidentally. Made sense. Arnholt had already nearly been killed once, until he was back on his feet, it wouldn’t do to give them a second easy shot at him. It didn’t deter him one bit, the guy waved him through and he knocked on the door, waiting only for the permission to enter before going inside.

  Neither of them looked particularly good, Arnholt for obvious reasons, Baxter looked tired but his eyes remained full of fire as he turned to greet him.

  “I knew you were coming,” he said. “Wade.”

  “Ruud. Director. Good to see you up and well again.”

  Arnholt grinned weakly. “Yes well, don’t advertise it just yet. There are some benefits to people not knowing that you’ve woken up. At least not for a few more hours yet.” He coughed, made a face of discomfort, lay his head back down. “Although I wouldn’t say completely better.”

  “I did the best I could under the circumsta
nces,” Ruud said. “Healing never was my strong point.”

  “You’ve got other people doing it, I see,” Wade remarked. Ruud stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

  “What of it? They need the practice. No time like the present. It is the duty of the Vedo to give something back wherever they can. Speaking of which, Director…”

  “Ah yes,” Arnholt groaned. “Go on…”

  “Well of course I’d love for us to come to some sort of arrangement,” Ruud said. “A mutually beneficial one, of course. We have similar goals. You want to stop that psycho woman; I want Wim Carson. Preferably alive but if needs be, I can negotiate that to deceased. You won’t be able to take him on your own. One of my people can.” He paused to consider it for a moment. “Probably better than yours will. Less chance of one of mine dying.”

  “It’s good that you showed up here like that,” Wade remarked. “I dread to think how many people might have been hurt if you hadn’t.”

  “What did I say?” Ruud said. “Always giving something back. This time it might have been our lives.”

  “You all come through unscathed?” Wade wondered.

  Ruud nodded. “More or less. Nothing a few hours healing won’t cure. I trained them well. The only thing we lack is numbers. I have fourteen full Vedo, about half a dozen trainees. I had to leave two of them behind with the apprentices, otherwise I came full strength.”

  Just before he could ask why he needed to come full strength, Wade was cut off by Arnholt who cleared his throat noisily and painfully by the sounds of it.