Game, Set, Deathmatch

by Edwin H Rydberg

  “Incoming, right tunnel,” she relayed, switching the shield generator to melee as she turned to surprise attack the invader. No one in their right mind would launch a rocket at point-blank, it was the surest way to say hello to your next clone.

  “Jump, Daem!” came Defcon’s yell over her earpiece. Not waiting for an explanation, DaemonS aborted her plan and jumped for all she was worth. The rocket that sped beneath her into the tunnel impacted against the shadowy attacker and erupted in a ball of fire and sound. As the blast expanded, threatening to engulf her, she pointed the shield generator down, activating it. The blast impacted the protective energy hemisphere, propelling her off the force wave, high into the air.

  As the fireball dissipated and she landed, DaemonS turned to give Geneslicer a nasty look. It was impossible to tell if it had any effect. The drone was colder than a Gethen geyser. His biggest weakness was a lack of concern for his teammates, something that might be a serious failing in later stages of the tournament. Still, she found it difficult to leave him off the active squad since he was so damned accurate.

  “I’ve got the flag,” Bodybag yelled through the comm., bringing DaeomS back to the moment. Now it was time to do her job. As the large door at the end of the passageway eased open, she sped off through the tunnel on the left, confident in the defenders’ abilities.

  * * *

  “Wher’s yoos guys?” Bodybag yelled into her communicator while energy and kinetic projectiles flooded the air around her. She dodged left only to be rewarded with a machine gun burst into her arm. Shells ripped through her flak jacket tearing through the muscle below. The instant of pain was quickly masked by an endorphin boost from the cloned body.

  She had been alone until a few moments ago. The flag had only been guarded by two marks easily fragged with a pair of rockets to their chests. Then it had been clear sailing through the tunnel and ancillary rooms. To slow pursuers she had taken the higher side passage, forgoing the central rock bridge that traversed the abyssal cavern and served as the principal passageway between team zones.

  But now they had caught up to her, two behind and two pelting her from the bridge. She sped onward, jumping and dodging, trying to stay alive as long as possible — long enough, at least, to bring the flag within range of a teammate.

  One dropped behind her.

  “T’anks Vorpal.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She ran to the end of the passage, entering the Cowgirlz half of the arena as a pulse of energy sliced through her armor, searing her gut. Summoning her flak cannon, Bodybag unloaded a burst at the Spawn ahead of her, following it up with a grenade to his chest. She didn’t even slow as the bits of flesh fell around her like bloodied snow.

  Even as she entered the home zone, prismatic blurs of translocator-skipping Stellar Demon raced ahead of her across the central bridge.

  “Where’s yoos guys?” she repeated as the enemy closed in.

  * * *

  The room was a vast and towering stone chamber, its high roof supported by monstrous pillars throughout. On either side, dark passageways led to stairwells emptying onto the narrow overpasses, while the central arch opened onto a stone bridge that traversed the middle of the zone spanning the gaping chasm therein. DaemonS raced through the cavernous antechamber even as the thoughts raced through her mind.

  The message wouldn’t leave her head. “We’re watching you.” What could it mean? Should she tell the others? Perhaps Genilon was thinking of rescinding their sponsorship? After all, with two other more experienced teams, why would they need the Apocalypz Cowgirlz?

  “Incomin’ flag,” came the call over her earpiece. “High-right wit’ friends.”

  The dark alcoves on either side of her, and the twin towering stone pillars in the center of the cavern, sped by with hardly a glance. She veered right, following Bodybag’s call.

  If the Cowgirlz lost their sponsor, they would be finished, regardless of how well they did. No team could afford even the base rental fees without being backed by Big Money.

  She had to shake these thoughts, stay focused, or they’d risk losing sponsorship even faster.

  Bodybag should be reaching the bottom of the stairs any second and would either need covering fire or to hand-off the flag to a healthier teammate.

  The flash of a shadow in her peripheral vision heralded the rocket moments before DaemonS was blown off her feet, blasted into the air by the explosion. She crashed hard to the ground, the left side of her suit shredded, exposing the bloody, raw flesh beneath. There was a moment of sharp pain before a wave of euphoria as endorphins from the cloned body overwhelmed the pain pathways in her brain.

  DaemonS struggled to her feet, lunging to her right as a second rocket sped by. Spinning, she fired off a rocket of her own that raced wide of the mark as her target leapt out of the way. She twisted her body, pulling her rocket launcher around with her, leading the target. She squeezed off a second round aimed at her opponent’s feet — it was harder to dodge that way — and watched as it exploded, ripping into his legs. He was propelled into the air but otherwise his momentum was unchanged. Her own accelerated dermal-heal was just visible in the low light and she saw skin slide across her wounds to create a short-term patch against the bleeding. She readied her rocket launcher for another shot.

  A dozen rounds ripped through her chest in an instant, a lead-jacketed storm of death. DeamonS leapt to her side, and spun, firing off a rocket at the attacker behind as her vision clouded. Such dexterity was only possible after many tournaments and much practice at moving through the endorphine haze of near death.

  In the slowed time of adrenaline overload, DaemonS watched in horror as Bodybag rounded the corner, fragging the Stellar Demon with a point-blank flack cannon to the chest, before chewing on the rocket. The flag dropped as Bodybag hit the floor.

  DaemonS stood frozen in shock for a moment before lunging toward the flag. Seconds later a purple beam erupted from her chest and she fell forward, face down onto the rough stone floor.

  3

  Figment watched the live feeds with interest. After two rounds, twenty-eight teams were already eliminated from the tournament. Another twenty-eight would fall at the conclusion of this round, leaving a dramatically thinned field. So far, there had been no surprises.

  A flag-bearer crossing the central bridge ate the purple beam of a sniper, plummeting into the abyss as the defending team recovered the flag. He switched his feed to follow the forward attacker as she dodged and weaved, slipping through a net of plasma gun bursts before fragging two defenders with a flak cannon-grenade combo. Bodybag was her name if memory served him correctly, and it usually did in these matters. Truly a remarkable player, she had potential to be one of the greats.

  The Apocalypz Cowgirlz had breezed through their first two matches. Despite some obvious difficulties with team coherence, they’d handily beaten their low-seeded competition. Now, in their third contest, they held a 2-1 edge over The Stellar Demons, a squad forty-seven seeds lower.

  As a team, they were gelling nicely, top-fifteen potential, although the captain looked a bit shaky. Perhaps his message to her had been a little more dramatic than he’d thought, but it was all part of the job. If Genilon was up to something at the tournament, it could involve the unusual inclusion of a third team, and a cryptic message might just be enough to nudge the actors into carelessness.

  He selected the sniper feed from his visual sidebar and watched through a scope as Bodybag charged across the central bridge on a full adrenaline rush. Leaping and spinning, she threaded the enemy fire as he watched trailing defenders fall to the sniper’s lethal accuracy. When not able to dodge or frag the attackers, Bodybag accepted the hits without slowing and was quickly out of sight into her team’s own zone.

  “Head shot! Vorpal’s on fire!” announced the dramatic baritone of the commentator.

  As the sniper scope tracked another unfortunate Stellar Demon, Figment couldn’t
help revisiting the last meeting with PS and NIGEL. His mind still hurt from following the mental gymnastics they went through in vilifying their favorite, or rather, least favorite targets. Genilon and the Bruuz? Something just didn’t ring true.

  Still, his was not to question orders from well-paying clients. No, apparently, his was to harass potentially innocent matchers until he could co-opt them into assisting in this mad scheme. Sometimes being a mercenary sucked.

  * * *

  She was shot up bad — again! This wasn’t her match. DaemonS had just barely escaped the crossfire. If the cloned bodies bled like real ones there would be a gory trail behind her. Fortunately, they didn’t so it was harder for her enemies to follow. She took a sharp right down a small passageway where she knew there was an insta-heal med-kit on regularly timed translocator rotation. Luck was with her, and it faded in just as she arrived. She opened the kit and sprayed the contents of the canister over her wounds. Instantly organs regrew, tissue knitted together and skin expanded to cover the raw flesh beneath. It was a small kit, but partial healing was better than no healing.

  One flag-capture left but the Stellar Demons were fighting hard.

  “Comin’ down the middle,” Bodybag called over the comm. She had the blue flag and would end the match if they could provide cover until she got it home. DaemonS turned, racing back toward the central chamber of their zone.

  One translocator hop and she arrived in enough time to get set. Veering toward the middle of the room, she grabbed a newly translocated armor set. Slipping the full complement of protective shards into her suit’s chest pouch, she ran to meet Bodybag as the armor shards automatically dispersed about her body. They protected well against physical attacks, but were almost useless against biologicals such as the toxic phage-gun.

  “Red flag’s gone,” Defcon yelled over the team channel.

  “How long?” asked DaemonS.

  “At least ten seconds, I just translocated back.” That meant it could be anywhere. The Cowgirlz had to retrieve the flag before they could win — you couldn’t score if your flag was en capture.

  “Geneslicer?”

  “He took up the chase, right after fragging me.”

  Blast that metal meatball! DaemonS made a mental note to contact Genilon as soon as the match finished, maybe they could schedule a diagnostic or something.

  “We’ve got the center covered for Bodybag, red flag must be on the way out through a side passage. Vorpal, you’ve got incoming.”

  “Already here Daem. I’ve got my hands fu....”

  The static meant that Vorpal was out. She would respawn in the base, too far to be of help. With everyone near the start points, DaemonS was no longer needed to provide cover for the incoming blue flag.

  “Vorpal, you in?” she asked, activating her translocator gun.

  “Yeah. Quick trip home thanks to our Genilon recruit.”

  “Again? Damn him. Stay home and cover Bodybag, I’ll go after the flag with Geneslicer.”

  “Sure thing, just stay out of his scope.”

  DaemonS pulled the trigger, firing the translocator beacon in a high arc. It landed near the far left doorway and she pulled the secondary trigger in mid-step... finishing the step at the doorway. Passing through the arch, she glanced to the top of the stair, aimed and fired, translocating before the beacon hit the floor.

  This time she was at the start of the left-side pass. The abyss opened far below to her right. Ahead, at the far end of the pass she could just make out Geneslicer firing off several rockets before he disappeared into the enemy zone.

  DaemonS aimed high and launched another round from the translocator, triggering the transport as the beacon hit the ground. The arch flashed past and she called a pulse cannon to her arms. The reasonably powerful weapon fired an unstable energy sphere that could be prematurely detonated with the second trigger. Not her first choice in weapons, but it was her only one with ammo.

  “Two incoming,” came Defcon’s call from home base. If the Stellar Demon could recover their flag, they could force overtime, but that didn’t seem likely with most of the Cowgirlz defending the home zone.

  Explosions echoed from below and she was met by the crackle of scorched air and a high-pressure concussion wave upon entering the blue team zone. Leaping down the stairs one flight at a time she sped into the corridor after Geneslicer and the fleeing flag.

  He was bouncing around like an Aurigian fire mite. Tracer fire, rockets and a variety of energy beams streaked through his old-space as if targeting a ghost. She took a bead on the nearest Demon, and fired off a pulse, but the group passed out of sight around the far corner.

  Closing the distance with another translocator-hop, DaemonS saw the flag was less than fifty meters ahead, but already near the large doors of the blue base. Two defenders were hounding Geneslicer, but he seemed able to handle himself. In any event, the priority was the flag. She could end the match with a quick take-down. Recovering the flag would translocate back to their base and allow Bodybag the win.

  “Got him.”

  “Two down. That means incoming to you guys, Daem.” Sure enough, as the big doors opened, two more blues came rushing out to cover the flag.

  DaemonS hit the flag-bearer in the back with a pulse. It pushed him forward, causing damage, but not enough to loosen the flag. She launched another sphere of purple energy toward the group, waiting until it was in place before triggering it. The sphere erupted in the midst of the three, killing one and throwing the other two back. DaemonS translocated toward the flag, appearing three meters before it as her opponents recovered.

  She lunged for the flag even as they reoriented their shock rifles, training them on her. Time slowed as DaemonS released hold of her internal adrenaline stores. Exactly like relaxing a muscle, it allowed the excess adrenaline that her cloned body produced in the course of the match to flood her system.

  Twin beams spewed from the rifles slicing their way toward her, but she was already past them. Two meters. In slow motion, the Demons turned, trying but failing to keep their weapons trained on her. One meter. She reached out her arm as another purple beam pierced the air wide of its mark. Half meter. Shells exploded around her, shrapnel spewing from the walls, tearing into her two enemies. The cold metal of the flagpole was in her mind before her hands as her fingertips crawled toward the shaft. Contact.

  Time lurched forward as a rocket slammed her in the back. Cavernous pillars of stone faded from view, to be replaced by the hiss of releasing seals and the soft purring of motors as the nutrient casing of a clone tank slid open. She stepped out of the cylinder with a smile; they were still undefeated.

  * * *

  There were no further messages. Only the regular administrative notes rode her inbox: match results, updated seedings, eliminations and the like. The mysterious ghost hadn’t shown themselves again.

  DaemonS pushed her chair back and stood up before giving a mighty stretch. Usually the excitement of a match helped her ignore the kinks of a new body, but this one was still stiff. She’d learned from the replay that Geneslicer had gotten in one last team-frag after he’d translocated back to their home zone. Bodybag was still furious and the Genilon technician was currently running a diagnostic on him.

  She left the captain’s station, walking a short distance between the clone tanks and turned into the team common room to find everyone staring at her.

  “Ok ‘oman, spill it,” said Bodybag.

  “Spill what?” she asked.

  “Spill what? If you played that badly in qualifying we wouldn’t be here now,” Vorpal said in a preternaturally calm voice that somehow still managed to convey her angst.

  “I was that bad?” Obviously it hadn’t been one of her better matches, but to have had the entire team notice meant she really must have stunk up the arena. She took in each of their faces in turn, the unspoken question passing from eye to eye. She met only subtle nods of affirmation in response.<
br />
  “Ya stank!” said Bodybag, to agreeing laughter. “But ya came through when it mattered,” the squat woman finished, slapping her on the back. The others voiced their agreement.

  “Thanks, guys,” she said, touched by their support.

  “It’s true. But it don’ change nothin’. We still wanna know wat’s up.”

  DaemonS looked around the small room again, meeting the eye of each woman in turn as she weighed the pros and cons. There weren’t many considerations since she didn’t know much. Her only fear was that the message may induce an unconscious paranoia in the team. Their strong, steady gazes suggested otherwise, however. At last, she exhaled in resignation before explaining about the mail.

  They didn’t take it as she expected.

  “Dat’s all?” said Bodybag.

  “Yes....”

  “A message? You stank up the field for a message?” added Vorpal.

  “Well....”

  “One that’s almost meaningless, to boot,” finished Defcon.

  “But, it could be from anyone...,” DaemonS began.

  “Dat’s right. You don’t know, den why worry?” interrupted Bodybag.

  “But what if it’s from Genilon? What if they’re considering pulling the sponsorship?”

  “Unlikely,” said Vorpal. “Any official message would not be sent anonymously.”

  “Or...,” DaemonS started to respond before stopping herself. They were right, of course. She had been distracted for nothing.

  “Thanks guys, it won’t happen again,” was all she said.

  “Don’t mention it. That’s what teammates are for,” said Vorpal with a warm smile.

  “And don’ ya ferget it!” added Bodybag.

  * * *

  Geneslicer stood motionless in the corner of the dimly lit room. Clone tanks stretched into the distance, a matrix of green cylinders. As DaemonS watched, the Genilon technician surveyed a handheld screen connected, through a cluster of dark, finger-width cables, to an uncovered access panel in the android’s head.