by Linden Storm
“No. I met with their leadership and found out differently,” Harold says. “They’re good people. Some of them are quite well connected. There’s even a federal judge and several former military personnel, besides the rocket scientists and hackers. And lately they’ve been showing up at various venues in person to protect people they think might be at risk.”
“Always thinking ahead—that’s you, Harold,” William says.
Nick sighs.
“Please tell me they don’t have weapons,” Paul says.
“Not unless you count those Styrofoam tubes,” Harold says. “You know, those colored noodle things the fans wave around? Back in the day we used them to keep us afloat in swimming pools. Oh, and their leader has two massive nephews who should be classified as human weapons.”
“I’m sorry, Harold, but I’m skeptical,” Paul says.
Harold shrugs. “You should know the main guy is the real thing, tough as nails as we used to say, former military.”
“Do we have any new intel about the kidnappers?” Paul says.
“They’re still in hiding, according to my security guys,” Rupert says. “I’m betting they’ll stay in their own corner of the country, though. Where they can hide out with their corrupt friends and feel safe.”
“You still have security guys?” Harold says. “I thought you got fired.”
“I quit,” Rupert says. “But I’m not without resources. I’m cash rich right now, even for a billionaire. I dumped all the Spigot stock I could. I’m using the money to start a new company. It’ll be called RJ Productions.”
“That’s good, boy,” Harold says. “Those Spigot guys didn’t appreciate you enough.”
“They really hate me now,” Rupert says, grinning. “Since I torpedoed the stock price.”
Paul raises his hand. “Sorry to interrupt this love fest, gentlemen, but we should keep our minds on the danger. We don’t know what the original motivation for the kidnapping was, but our enemies know or suspect we can identify them. They might risk everything to shut us up. Harold’s right to be cautious.”
“Don’t worry,” Harold says. “The Elven Knights have got us covered.”
“Right,” Paul says. “That makes me feel so much better.”
∆∆∆
Paul has time to get even more nervous as the group is driven across town to the back entrance of the arena in one of Rupert’s Humvee limos.
Paul is on high alert as they exit the limo for the hallway to the Green Room, a concrete, windowless bunker space with uncomfortable couches and a mediocre buffet.
Taking a few minutes to watch the feed from outside the arena as tens of thousands of fans crowd the entrances and surroundings, Paul then takes Marina aside and asks her if she’s heard anything from Jimmy.
“Certainly not,” Marina says.
“I thought he might try to track you down, even ask to meet up,” Paul says. “Which would be a trap.”
“I think he’s probably in hiding,” Marina says. “Although I have difficulty believing he was deeply involved in what happened to us. Jimmy was never a bad guy.”
Paul wags a finger at Marina. “I saw what he did to your neck.”
“I suppose one must keep that in mind at this point,” Marina says, rubbing her neck and grimacing.
“Besides which, he might not have much choice anymore,” Paul says. “His friend the sheriff might have forced him to help them.”
Marina shrugs. “Regardless, I would not talk to him. Especially not now, before the match.”
“No, I understand,” Paul says. “I just wish we had a fix on his location.”
“Me too,” Marina says, staring at her new phone.
They’d all replaced their devices so they couldn’t be traced that way, at least.
Paul hugs her briefly, then wanders over into a corner and sits alone for a time, trying to calm down. He’s worried, but he’s not sure how much of his anxiety is a holdover from the action he’d had to take against the crooked sheriff and his crew. He hadn’t fired a real weapon in more than a year, and it had brought back some awful memories.
Watching the Elven Knights of Zobilla on a video feed, he shakes his head and wishes Harold hadn’t gotten these vigilantes involved. He worries that they’ll only get in the way of real help if something goes down. Obvious nerds who lean into their clownish reputation, they are wearing nose glasses, red stocking caps, and pointy ears. And every one of them seems to carry at least one of those noodles. At predictable intervals they break into song and dance routines. It’s always an old dance craze—mostly “Gangnam Style” or “Shoot,” but sometimes whole chunks of “Thriller” or “Space Cat.”
“So this is your army of protection?” Paul says to Harold as Harold joins him watching the feed.
Harold nods. “They’re loitering all over the arena lobby.”
“But that place is huge,” Belle says, drifting over. “There are at least sixteen doors.”
“There are a lot of Elven Knights of Zobilla,” Harold says. “And they’ve each been promised a personally autographed copy of Chagrin’s iconic poster.”
It’s at this moment that Gemma makes her entrance. She’s wearing bright blue lipstick and a filmy blue jumpsuit with thigh-high, royal blue boots. Her right arm hangs in a sequined sling.
Everyone applauds. Gemma bows stiffly.
“How did you get here so fast?” Belle says.
“A certain person’s private jet and limo,” she says, smiling radiantly at Rupert.
“It’s a great surprise,” William says, smiling. “You’re going to bring us good luck.”
“I hope so,” Paul says. “We’re going to need it.” He goes over and holds Gemma’s hand.
“Thank you,” she says. “For saving my life.”
“Thank you for saving mine,” Paul says.
As they settle in to watch the feeds from various spots inside and outside the arena, Paul marvels at the dedication and enthusiasm of the fans. Most wear some costume or piece of swag—at least a puffy hat made of stuffing and fleece, a foam staff or sword, or a cape. Others wear a pair of pointed ears, spiked gauntlets, belts encrusted with fake gems, pauldrons on their shoulders, fantastical shin guards, purple or orange wigs. And then there are the full-on cosplayers—people who look like Battlecraft avatars come alive, strolling, galloping, or hopping around in the real world. There are also a lot of people wearing red ties, in homage to their favorite team, the come-from-nowhere Untouchables, or green clothing in honor of the defending champions, the Lords of the Imperium Continuum, the Lords for short.
Scraps of gameplay from other tourneys flash periodically on the big screen.
And when nearly 40,000 people are assembled for the opening ceremonies, banks of colored lights strobe in time to deafening symphonic music blasts—epic strings and horns and pounding drums like bombs exploding all around.
The laser lightshow plays over the screaming crowd. It seems as if they’re all wielding foam swords or noodles.
On one section of the screen, a montage of last-year’s championship win is playing, accompanied by epic, thunderous music.
On another part of the screen, there’s a pan of the huge, excited, packed audience as they wait for this year’s event to start. Paul spots the Elven Knights of Zobilla section, which is slowly filling up as the Knights gather for the start of the game. He hopes again that all will be well.
But he has a feeling that something terrible is going to happen. He looks across the room at Belle and Marina and considers asking them to reconsider playing after all, but he knows they won’t back down. Not those two.
∆∆∆
Led by Belle, the Untouchables leave their Green Room and approach an eerily empty tunnel. They are stiff with anxiety. Silent, grim, and determined. Nick tries to sing to lighten the mood, but his voice cracks and the others don’t join in.
Belle watches Marina’s back as she walks briskly through the tunnel. Suddenly Marina turns aroun
d and addresses the team.
“It’s going to work,” Marina says. “I have faith in every one of you.”
Belle wonders if, as co-captain, she should give a motivational speech too, but she can’t imagine what she’d say.
Standing backstage, she hears the roar and feels the foot-stomping crowd as they watch last year’s match wrapping up on the five-sided Jumbotron. The losing Russian team collapses, burying their heads in their hands or staring ahead blankly. And the Korean players—the Lords of the Imperium Continuum—rip their headsets off and dance around, hold one another, pump their fists.
There’s a final shot of an enormous trophy held by the jubilant Lords of the Imperium Continuum captain, Ryu, and the music crashes to a close.
The fans in the arena, who have been screaming all along, erupt anew.
Belle thinks about how the beauties and mysteries of the game are all on display in the finals, which are much more intense and tightly regulated than the semifinals.
The finals are set up as a battle royale comprising five teams of five from each of the five world regions. The last player left standing wins the whole thing for his or her team.
The 25 players are all assembled backstage. They are serious and grave. Each wears a tight haptic suit and gloves. Each carries a headset. Besides the Untouchables and the Lords of the Imperium Continuum, there are teams from Russia, Europe, and Australia.
Belle and Marina are the only two women on the stage.
They file onto the stage and position themselves in their rigs, set equidistantly around the central hub under the five-sided Jumbotrons. The noise is deafening, and Belle dons her headset immediately to block out the noise and enable last-minute communication with the team.
The rest of the team follows suit.
“Okay,” Belle says. “I know we haven’t had that much time to practice, but the finals aren’t so much about practice as about experience and grit. In this format, the map is completely new. It’s impossible to study terrain ahead of time. So, what it comes down to is teamwork, strategy, training, and knowledge.”
“And trust,” Marina says.
Belle nods. For the first time, Belle has some trust in her team and her own leadership. Her usual pessimism about her team has been blasted away.
“Whatever happens today,” she says, “we will put in a good showing. We’re as good as or better than any team here, even The L.I.C. After what we’ve been through the past week, you’d think we’d be tired, but I’m not tired. I believe we can do this. We can be the last team standing.”
“I’m not tired,” Nick says. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“That’s normal,” William says drily. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”
They all laugh, and just like that, much of the tension, fear, and dread dissipates.
As they begin the test sequence on their equipment, Belle checks in briefly with the commentator channel. Once the match starts, they won’t be able to hear the commentators at all. They’ll be entirely in the world of the game. That’s the way the finals work. The players must use only what they can see, hear, and make inside the game. Nothing else.
One important difference in the finals is that crafting possibilities are expanded. Materials that can be used to make weapons, shields, tools, and armor are much more plentiful. Crafters are limited only by time constraints, energy, and ideas. This rewards creativity, a strength Marina and Belle share.
The Untouchables are already known for their crafting skills. And crafting will be a bigger factor in this match, Belle thinks, than anyone expects.
“Where have they been, Lane? That’s the question on everyone’s mind right now,” J.T. says. His voice is even louder than usual, and Belle turns down the volume.
“That’s right, J.T.,” Lane says. “Some say they were hiding out on purpose, because they are scared.”
J.T. laughs, an annoying noise that sounds like a donkey’s bray. “Yet you have to admit, Lane, no one gets to this place if they don’t earn it.”
“I don’t have to admit that, J.T.,” Lane says. “The Untouchables don’t really belong here, and everyone knows it.”
Stung, Belle shuts off the channel. Is that really what everyone thinks of them? Is it true? Her heart is banging through her chest. With a jolt, she remembers the foster parents who told her she would never succeed in life if she didn’t change her priorities and her personality.
“Belle?” Marina says. “I hope you are not listening to those idiots.”
Belle takes a deep breath. “Of course not.”
∆∆∆
The Untouchables jump onto the back of a giant delivery griffon. Marina is in front, followed by William, Gabe, Paul, and finally Belle.
The five of them sail over a surprisingly small map. Surprisingly small, because it will shrink progressively over the course of the game, and with five teams of five, the combatants will encounter each other fairly early on.
Marina recognizes the landscape as a version of the classic Oerix Island map. There are mountains arranged in a semicircle in the south. The two towns, good places to find equipment and supplies, are situated slightly northwest and northeast of the center. Ruins dot the countryside, along with a variety of vegetation. There are dense forests, deserts, and plains. Marina studies the terrain and suggests bailing out in the outer regions to the southwest. If they bail out over the mountains, they’ll have a better chance of finding a dragon cave, so they can capture an air mount to carry them at speed over much of the map toward the center. This will allow them to get to a town early without any risk of losing people.
Once they’re in a town or fortress ruin, they’ll be able to find the best caches of weapons and supplies and take advantage of good cover. The tricks they employed to win the semifinal aren’t going to work in this format. They’ll have to kill everyone the old-fashioned way, one by one.
Marina uses her telescope to spot the Australian team far below, the Wizards of Perth, approaching a blue mammoth on a plateau. They’ll be planning to use that to make good time toward the center of the map or head for one of the towns. If they snag a lot of equipment and weapons early on, they could end up being a force in the match.
“If we go now,” Marina says. “We can wipe them out at once, then hunt for dragon caves in that canyon.”
“Let’s do it,” Belle says.
“Except we have no weapons,” Nick says.
“I see a cache of level 2 bows and arrows and a spear or two nearby,” Marina says. “Highlighting their locations now…I don’t think the Wizards have had a chance to pick anything up yet. But we have to go now.”
“Go!” Belle says.
The Untouchables parachute off their griffon and into the fight.
∆∆∆
In the broadcast booth, Lane throws his arms into the air. “There the Untouchables go, J.T., bailing out already. They’re going to end up out toward the southwest edge, likely vulnerable to the first shrinkage. It’s a move destined for failure, don’t you think, J.T.?”
“Absolutely, Lane,” J.T. says. “Even if the Untouchables land in the mountains and eliminate the Australians, who have also chosen to land in the periphery of the map, they’ll still have to find an air mount immediately. The European team, the Fans of Nuclear Destruction—the Nukes—are already in the center, positioned to avoid the first few map shrinkages. And needless to say, The Lords are there as well.
“That’s why they call them the Lords, huh, J.T?”
“That’s right, Lane. The Lords are the team to beat. I just hope this match doesn’t turn out to be such a rout that it’s boring for the fans.”
∆∆∆
Harold watches the match from Rupert’s box.
He can see the overall map and markers for each player, color coded by team, on the giant screen. On smaller screens, he can view the action from any player’s point of view, or he can look at the highlighted view—wherever the producers think the important
action is. Most of the time, the producers are correct. It takes a great deal of game knowledge to be a producer at this level.
He moves to the windows that look down into the arena. He can see the Untouchables in their suits and headsets. They’re in a curved formation, facing outward toward the crowd. Belle and Marina are in the middle, small doppelgangers in their suits and face-covering headsets, their dark hair tied back, their strong, compact bodies moving in synch as they point the griffon into the mountainous area in the southwest part of the map. Their oversize avatars fill the space above their heads, adding motion and color to the vast spectacle.
Harold suspects that they are going to land nearly on top of the Australian team, but he’s confident they can win that encounter and perhaps even wipe the Aussies out without losing any of their own.
But the Korean team—the Lords—and the EU team—the Nukes—are formidable. They’ve already reached the largest of the two towns, and once they’re inside they’ll have height, cover, and their pick of weapons and supplies. The Lords will have to contend with the Europeans in the early going, but they’ll probably make short work of them.
Harold puts his hands together in a semiconscious praying gesture. He tells himself getting this far is enough—they’re already in the money, as they say—but God, he wants the Untouchables to win. For one thing, Rupert is guaranteed ninety percent of the money unless the team wins first place, when his percentage goes down to fifty percent. But fifty percent of four million is a lot, even split five ways.
If Nick wins, he’ll be able to finish his PhD debt-free, write his book about the team, and make a name for himself in the arcane world of online cultural anthropologists.
If Marina wins, she’ll be able to stay in the U.S., without a doubt—and without that jerk of a husband. She’ll be too famous to deport, and too rich, and too connected. It’s unfortunate, and it’s not right, but these days wealth and fame are by far the best tools for getting a permanent visa approved.
If Belle, Paul, and William win, they’ll be secure in professional careers in a game they love.