Play or Die

by Jen Cole

  She checked her watch. Seven minutes until her coordinates were broadcast. Should she use it to rinse out some things? No. Silly to carry damp clothes around. She’d stick with cheap and disposable while on the run. But it would be smart not to leave evidence she’d changed her outfit.

  Jo gathered up the discarded clothing and carried it to the wardrobe. The warped plywood door was stuck. A yank set the four wire hangers inside clinking forlornly. The rod they hung from was fixed beneath a high shelf that housed a couple of folded blankets and pillows. Jo grabbed a chair and climbed up with the bundle. She thrust the clothes to the back of the shelf and arranged the blankets and pillows in front to hide them.

  Mid-step down from the chair she heard the cough. Terror loosened her joints and she ended in a heap on the floor.

  “Not to worry,” the oily tones of a hatefully familiar voice assured her. “Only me.”

  Shaking with relief and anger, Jo scrambled to her feet. Fitani was leaning casually against a wall. He was now wearing a bright purple blazer, eye-searingly paired with a green shirt and orange trousers. With the wide smile splitting his narrow face, and his slick ginger hair, he looked ready for a visit to grandma’s house.

  “Knocking would be nice.” Jo got out between clenched teeth.

  “Oh, Jo,” exclaimed Fitani. “Hologram remember? I can’t knock. I can however congratulate you on a marvelously entertaining chase so far.”

  “Since you’re able to project your voice, you can surely project a knocking sound,” said Jo. Then Fitani’s words sank in, and she added with a huff, “I hardly see how it could have been that entertaining.”

  “Are you kidding? From the moment of your brilliant escape at the cafe, you’ve had us all on the edges of our seats!”

  “Really? Apart from the cafe I would have thought it had all been pretty boring for your viewers.”

  “Au contraire – nothing boring about your being nearly apprehended on at least three different occasions.”

  Jo sat heavily on the bed, the blood draining from her face.

  “The first was at the bank,” said Fitani gleefully. “Your big mistake as you later realized, was leaving your mobile phone turned on, continually broadcasting your position. Fortunately for you, your Hunter made mistakes also. It was so confident about its ability to catch you without help, it failed to mobilize its agents early enough. Had it done so, you’d certainly have been apprehended in the department store.

  “By the time your Hunter gave up trying to find you by itself, and contacted its agents, you were on your way to the bank where you had another lucky break. Because you were out of sight in the manager’s office when an agent entered, he homed in on a woman who looked like you. What a comedy that was! The agent ended up being carted off by the police. The woman he’d accosted turned out to be a respectable boutique owner, known and vouched for by the banking staff, instead of being the fugitive he claimed.”

  Although Jo continued to sit silently, the last snippet of the host’s commentary had not been lost on her.

  So, she thought, the Hunter has made me out to be a fugitive of some kind. Well that makes sense. He’d need to provide a reason that would seem credible to a detective agency.

  Fitani was enjoying himself. “When you headed back to the department store, we all thought the Hunter had you for sure. Its assistants were closing in on your GPS signal but your disguise prevented them from easily picking you out in the crowd. They needed to get near enough to look carefully. Buying those flowers was a smart move. They not only helped to hide your face, but made you look so much like an ordinary shopper that you actually walked right past one of the agents searching for you.”

  Jo gulped.

  “The next nail-biter you gave us was on the street corner. Two agents in the crowd were just ten meters from your coordinates when you crossed the road and jumped onto a tram.” Fitani chuckled. “The consternation on their faces when the operations’ agent guiding them by phone, informed them that your coordinates were now moving at speed down Swanston Street! They soon realized what you’d done and sent agents to chase the tram, but by then you’d debarked and your phone had been pocketed by one of the passengers – an opportunistic young thug who rode to the next stop, then jumped on a tram heading north. While you were calmly boarding your train, the Hunter and its assistants were engaged in a wild goose chase, which again ended up with hilarious results. Nicely done.”

  “Thank you.” Jo spoke coldly. “I take it I have now racked up enough points to ask three questions?”

  “You have,” declared the game show host. “And because I’m feeling generous I won’t even count that as one of them.”

  A loud beeping sound interrupted their conversation. Jo pressed a button on her watch to turn off the alarm. Three minutes till crunch time.

  “Question one then,” she said urgently. “What are all the ways in which you’re helping the Hunter?”

  “Excellent question,” said Fitani. “Firstly, at its briefing, we filled it in on you. The Hunter knows where you live and all about your current situation. Secondly, we made it our usual offer of an advance on its winnings as a float fund. It accepted and so has a million dollars to play with.”

  Jo gasped. If a million dollars was an advance, what was the prize?

  Fitani continued. “During the course of the game we will send the Hunter your coordinates every three hours, as I told you earlier. As well, it will also receive an updated photo of you. Our cameras will take a full body shot from a couple of meters, or an upper body shot from a closer distance if obstacles are in the way. Finally, Hunters are entitled to one request for technical assistance. Your Hunter’s request has already been made and fulfilled. It was to construct a false identity for you. On the police database you are now listed as Kylie Marshall, a drug addict with priors for theft and assault. Kylie is wanted for kidnapping her baby son after the court awarded custody to the father. Your photo and fingerprints match those on the database. Don’t worry though,” Fitani said reassuringly. “When Play or Die is over, we will expunge that record.”

  Shit! As Jo digested this, her gaze wandered across the mirror. The sight of her pale image, sitting frozen on the bed, reminded her that Fitani’s cameras were about to snap her new disguise. She sprang up, jerked back the bedspread and dived under the blankets, pulling them up around her neck and closing her eyes.

  Now the only clue the Hunter will get, she thought, is a false one of me asleep in bed. And that, along with my coordinates at this motel will hopefully make him think he can take me at his leisure. I just have to stay here until I’m certain they’ve taken the photo.

  In her mind she counted slowly to sixty, and was repeating the count when Fitani called out. “Rise and shine. It’s all been sent, and you’ll be pleased to know your quick thinking has again raised your point tally.”

  Jo leapt out of the bed. “You said this game was sporting!”

  Fitani adopted an innocent air. “What’s not sporting?”

  “For a start you’re lending the Hunter a million dollars. I should get a million too.”

  Fitani laughed. “And how would you repay us? We take the Hunter’s million off its prize. In any case Hunters must be equipped. This is our way of equipping them.”

  “Well there’s the technical assistance,” said Jo. “If a Hunter receives technical assistance, so should the Prey.”

  The host stifled a yawn. “You get three questions every thousand points. It evens out.”

  “What? That barely “evens out” the Hunter getting my photo and coordinates every three hours. I appeal for a ruling on this.”

  Fitani sighed. “Complain, complain, that’s all you Prey do, and all you can do,” he added with a grin. “Prey can’t alter the rules.”

  “But the viewers should be able to,” cried Jo in sudden inspiration. “You have to keep them happy or it will be your show that dies.”

  Quickly she spread her arms in appeal to the unseen a
udience, and addressed the walls. “Danny says you people of the future believe in fair play. If that’s true, shouldn’t the Prey, like the Hunter, be allowed a technical request?” She paused, then added, “And wouldn’t you like to see how I’d use it? If this is an audience participation show, let the producers know how you feel!”

  Fitani, she observed, seemed momentarily frozen with his mouth hanging open, but he quickly regained his wits and gave her a wink.

  “Good ploy,” he admitted. “No one’s tried a direct appeal to the audience before. The Emoto Board’s gone wild. It may take a minute to calculate what our viewers have decided. Wait here.”

  He disappeared and Jo hurried to the bench and swept all her bits and pieces into the backpack. She looked at the black coat draped over the chair. She’d planned to take it, but there was no point now. The Hunter would have received a photo of her wearing it at 11.00 a.m. Instead she grabbed the empty shoulder bag, and was heading for the door when Danny reappeared, adopting a pompous stance for his pronouncement.

  “The people have spoken and we have listened. The rules have now officially been altered as follows: On a single occasion, Prey may elect to substitute their three questions for a request for technical assistance so long as this request is possible for us to grant and does not counteract their Hunter’s request.”

  Jo felt a thrill of hope, not at having gained a questionable advantage in the game, but at having successfully communicated with a vast number of people in a future world. They had listened to her and been persuaded. She wondered if it would be possible to bring them onto her side.

  Danny continued to speak. “You’ve already used up one of your questions on this round, so you won’t be able to make a technical request until you’ve gained your next thousand points. Therefore, you might as well ask your remaining two questions.”

  Jo fidgeted, her hand on the doorknob. “I need to get out of here. Can I ask my questions on the move?”

  “Absolutely,” replied the host. “You’ve earned your questions and it’s my job to stick with you until you’ve asked them. You have one left.”

  “Wha… Now you decide to be literal!”

  “You asked a fair question and got a fair answer.” The insouciant reply hung in the air as she strode to the waiting cab. Jo climbed into the back and saw Hassan’s welcoming smile freeze as he looked at Fitani seated beside her. Oh no, she thought. He probably thinks I’m a prostitute.

  “My brother caught up with me,” Jo said lightheartedly as though this had been the plan all along. The driver removed his glare from the game show host and shrugged.

  “Where you go now?” he said gruffly, starting the ignition.

  She hadn’t convinced him and realizing she’d lost an ally, Jo sighed. She’d planned on going straight back to Chadstone, but now she couldn’t trust Hassan not to give her away, if the Hunter’s assistants tracked him down. Would they do that? Of course they would. The motel clerk would tell the assistants she’d arrived by taxi, and they wouldn’t be worth their salt if they couldn’t locate the driver of the only taxi parked in the motel at two in the afternoon.

  “To the nearest station, please,” she told Hassan.

  “Dandenong station closest,” he said, and without further talk, pulled into the traffic.

  Fitani cleared his throat. “You have a question for me?”

  She spoke softly, indicating the driver with her eyes. “Not yet.”

  He squirmed. “Don’t think I can stick around all day.”

  “Now Danny,” her tone was musical. “You’ve just finished telling me that’s exactly what you have to do until you’ve answered all my questions. I guess I did get my money’s worth from that second question after all.” She gave him a wink and settled back into the seat, closing her eyes.

  Five minutes later a loud tooting from an annoyed driver, accompanied by a swerve and sudden stop, indicated they’d reached their destination. Hassan had kept the meter running at the motel and the total now read eighty-six dollars and fifty cents. Jo drew a hundred dollar note from her wallet and passed it over, smiling warmly.

  “Thanks Hassan, you’ve been a great driver. Please keep the change.”

  Hassan nodded, looking somewhat mollified but ventured no comment. Jo grabbed her backpack and shoulder bag and exited the cab, her companion having already slipped out unnoticed.

  Without a backward glance, she strode into the station, thrusting the empty shoulder bag into a nearby rubbish bin and freeing both arms by slipping the backpack on properly. Ignoring the automatic machines, Jo stood in a short line at a station window. She pulled another hundred-dollar bill from her wallet, hoping it would provide enough of an inconvenience to make the clerk remember her. When her turn came she pushed the note with her travel card under the grill.

  “I’d like a ten dollar top-up on my card please.”

  The ticket clerk, a surly heavyset woman, scowled at the bill. “Don’t you have anything smaller?”

  “Sorry, that’s all I have.”

  Pursing her lips, the woman swept up the note and card and went out a door at the back. Jo waited calmly. She had plenty of time. It was unlikely any of the Hunter’s agents would have been closer than fifteen minutes to the motel when her coordinates were sent, and it was only now 2.15 p.m. by the station clocks. Even if agents were pulling into the motel at this very moment, they’d need time to question the desk clerk and check her room. Then they’d have to contact the taxi company to get the name of her driver, and track him down and question him. By the time they learnt he’d dropped her here, she’d be long gone. With luck they’d question the surly clerk, who would send them on a false trail back to the city.

  Jo’s thoughts were interrupted by the return of the clerk, who was moving slowly, clutching a mountain of change in coins and small notes – her petty revenge. Jo took the money and shoved it into her jacket pocket. Then picking up her card she asked, “Which platform do I need for the next train to the city?”

  “Number eight,” said the woman shortly. She looked around Jo and called out, “Next!”

  Jo made her way to the sparsely populated platform eight. A lit board indicated the next train was due to arrive in seven minutes. She sat on an empty seat and Fitani appeared beside her.

  “Ready to ask that question now?”

  “I am.” Jo took her notebook and pen from the backpack. “I would like to know who the Hunter has hired to help him.”

  Danny flashed his smile. “It has hired,” he corrected, “not one, but two of the foremost detective agencies in your country. They are Eagle Investigations and SIS – Secure Investigative Services.

  Jo wrote down the names with a wrinkled brow. “These must be competing organizations. Why would they both agree to work for the Hunter?”

  “Though I’d love to answer that, you’re out of questions. However I look forward to speaking with you again on the accumulation of your next thousand points.”

  At the last word, he vanished, momentarily replaced by letters hanging in the air, which spelt out SHOULD YOU BE SO LUCKY before these too disappeared.

  A biting blast of wind lifted dust and litter on the exposed platform and cut through Jo’s lightweight clothing. Above, rain clouds were gathering, causing the winter afternoon to grow prematurely dark. Much as she loathed Fitani, Jo felt strangely abandoned.

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 10

  Danny Fitani sent his avatar straight to the studio Playroom and was greeted by a spattering of applause from the twenty or so people in the room.

  “You’ve got your hands full with this one,” said Angela, weaving through the equipment to greet him. “I liked that you changed the rules to give Prey technical assistance. Can’t wait to see how she uses it.”

  Fitani grinned. “The viewers decided.” He turned to Mani. “Great job collating their responses so quickly.”

  “Thanks Danny. The ratings have soared since the audience got its way… oh, and I’ve arrange
d for you to interview a couple of viewers with opposing bio-feedback.”

  “Excellent.” Fitani surveyed the Playroom. A halo appeared around a camera technician’s head at eye-level. On it, a time display began counting down from eight minutes. “Sven, you need to get out of here.”

  “Under control, Danny. I’m just finishing off now. This new camera software is brilliant. I can record and select from multiple angle shots twice as fast.”

  An attractive dark-skinned woman entered the room. “Hope I’m not too late for some action. Where do you want me, Danny?”

  “Hi Sima, good to see you. Could you help the crew covering the Hunter’s agents? And you’re not too late. I’m betting there’ll be plenty of action coming up.”

  “Sven,” Angela called. “Your countdown’s at six minutes!”

  “I’m going, I’m going.” Sven was rapidly tapping one screen on his left, while his right hand made gestures at another.

  “Garal.” Fitani spoke to the man beside Sven. “Take over from him, will you.”

  Garal reached for Sven’s controls. “I’ve got it. You just go.”

  “Yeah yeah,” said Sven. “I just need to…” His halo transformed into a black cloud that completely enveloped his head. Its display continued counting down from five minutes.

  “Flaming Ancestors!” Sven dropped his hands and two people nearby rushed over, taking an arm each.

  “Come on Sven, walk fast,” said one of them. “We’ll get you to work on time.”