Game, Set, Deathmatch

by Edwin H Rydberg

  * * *

  There were no streams of light from the sky, no choir of holy angels singing. In all, an event of great anticlimax.

  A few seconds after the button-push, the nutrient broth drained from the tank, sinking slowly into the base of the cylinder; piped away and recycled. As the last of the green left, the door-lock popped open with the hiss of releasing gases and the body leaned forward.

  DaemonS lunged to catch it, but the body stepped out a leg of its own and halted its fall. She stepped back, unsure of what do to, frightened that this attempt may have also failed.

  “Bodybag?” DaemonS whispered.

  The body of her friend lifted its head, a slow uncertain motion. It looked from side to side and then raised a hand to its head before speaking.

  “Wotta trip. ‘Oman, do I ever ‘ave an ‘eadache.”

  She was back! They had succeeded. The four women ran to their friend, hugging her, slapping her back and pinching themselves; anything to convince themselves that it wasn’t a dream.

  “Worst clone-burn ever,” Bodybag said before looking at the four of them crying and hugging her. “Wot’s the fuss for?” she asked. “And would someone at least tell me if we won.”

  DaemonS extracted herself from the tangle of women and looked into her friend’s eyes, “We’ve got a lot to tell you.”

  PART 2

  Genilon and On

  10

  “I’ve died a thousand times, Figment. I thought I’d gotten used to death in all its guises. Now I know, I was wrong.”

  Their meetings had become somewhat regular, with DaemonS sneaking out of the base during the nights, during solo time. She didn’t need to sneak, of course, but she didn’t want to answer the questions — even the good-natured ones. Each time she left the base she felt like a disobedient teenager slipping out to meet a boyfriend her parents didn’t know of. She wondered if Figment had any such feelings.

  “It’s not surprising,” he said, leaning against the railing of the Sky-Plaza and staring into her eyes. “With the well-tested clone system of The Death Match, none of those deaths carried with them any real consequences — until now.”

  His eyes were the deepest brown; large, soft orbs that drew her in, surrounding her. The city faded around her and DaemonS found herself floating, lost in the depths of a warm void. His soft voice comforted her fears, wrapped around her as a welcome blanket on a cold night. It was a long time since she had felt this good with someone. Hell, who was she kidding? She’d never felt this good with anyone.

  He turned back to stare over the railing, breaking the magic moment. She joined him, being sure to keep an arm’s width distant; as per their unvoiced agreement. They stood there, silent, feeling each other’s presence amid the surrounding crowds that engulfed them.

  “What about you?” DaemonS asked finally. “You must have seen death’s cold glare many times as a mercenary.”

  He continued staring out over the city, “Not as many as you might think,” he said, before falling silent again.

  Despite the burgeoning relationship she was sure was real, Figment had not yet opened himself to her. She knew little more of him now than she had when they first met. Why was he so secretive?

  “What...?” she began, but he interrupted with his own question.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, voice hardly above the wind that whipped at the square. “I asked you here for a reason.”

  Her heart was pounding. What could he want? Crazy images of them running across the beaches of Desnaar, hand in hand, flashed through her mind. She was almost giddy with anticipation, yet hated herself for the stupid, childish thoughts. She was getting in too deep.

  “I’ve been tasked by my employer to ensure you’re not Genilon agents.”

  Her heart stopped momentarily as the images exploded, burst like a balloon with a careless pin.

  “What?”

  “Perhaps I’ve become foolish, trusting you so much, but if you tell me ‘no’, I’ll believe you.”

  There was a sudden, deep emptiness in the pit of her stomach. DaemonS could only stare at him for what seemed like an eternity before she found her voice. She began quietly but, like a hurricane, she quickly built in intensity.

  “You ask me if I’m an Genilon agent? I bare my soul to you, share details of my life that I’ve never revealed to anyone else, and you use the opportunity to pry into corporate affairs! You think I’m spying on you? Is everything business with you?!” she yelled, before marching away to the accompanying glances of passing shoppers.

  * * *

  Figment watched DaemonS go; watched her retreating figure shrink with the distance until she disappeared completely into the crowd. He turned back to the surrounding abyss, looking out and down to the people and vehicles far below. A whispered, regretful, “Yes,” was taken by the wind.

  * * *

  They’d kept Bodybag under observation in the safe zone for the next two matches. Her talents in the game zone were always welcome but they wanted to make sure nothing had gone wrong with the latest transfer — and the team was a little hesitant to let her play again after everything they’d just been through.

  In the end, they were on such a high just having her back alive that they obliterated the competition, easily beating the odds and qualifying for the Deathball ladder. Even Geneslicer was better behaved, saving most of his frags for their opposition; almost as if he was trying to make them forget about his previous play.

  Still, they couldn’t keep Bodybag out for long and she threatened a one-person mutiny if she wasn’t starting in the next match. With only mild trepidation, she was welcomed back to the game.

  “Ready ‘oman?” came the eager question from her hyperactive teammate. With Bodybag back they felt like a true team again.

  The five women stood by the game translocator pad awaiting countdown. There was an air of excited anticipation.

  “We’re here ladies! We beat the odds. They didn’t think we’d qualify for Deathball, but we proved them wrong.”

  “That’ll show ‘em never ta underestimate the Cowgirlz,” Bodybag said.

  “Apocalypz now!” yelled Defcon, pumping her fist in the air. Her cheer was met by a cacophony of agreeing shouts.

  Klaxons sounded and the red, warning lights began to flash. Two minutes until game time, until the pad went live.

  They had never been more ready. Regardless of who won, the Iron Skull were going to know they had been in a battle.

  * * *

  Even with just the three of them, Pre-emptive Strike, NIGEL and himself, the small cube was crowded, but Figment concurred with the decision realizing the importance of convincing his employers they had made the right choice. That was why they sat on one side of the tiny room while the tri-cast image filled the other half. The match was just about to start.

  This was an excellent opportunity to demonstrate the Cowgirlz’ potential. They were a tightly-knit team playing one of the top ten, in a game favoring teamwork over aggression. For his purposes, they couldn’t have drawn a better opponent than the Iron Skulls. The Skulls had been the top Bruuz team for many years, but had never achieved the necessary cohesion to go all the way. No Bruuz team had until Void and The Nihilators arrived in the last tournament.

  “Deathball is a game of teamwork,” began the familiar female voice. The vid immediately switched to the zone camera of an abandoned industrial complex. A bulky, almost square humanoid in worn green metallic armour, red stripes on its shoulder, raced from a passageway on the right, toward the center of a sunken room below the camera.

  “Ah, VinD,” PS said with the tone of past days fondly remembered.

  VinD turned toward the raised platform on his right as two blue figures rushed into the room from the opposite side.

  “The object of Deathball is simple,” the narrator continued. “Each team attempts to take the ball....”

  VinD had grasped a force-shielded, spherical object
, a deathball, and was running for a doorway on the left of the image.

  “... and put it through the opposite team’s goal.”

  Rockets streaked toward him and shock rifle spheres erupted around him as the camera followed him into the corridor.

  “Remember, a player cannot carry both a weapon and the ball. To score a goal....”

  Two blue figures awaited VinD in the hallway, launching a hail of deadly artillery his way. VinD launched the ball at one before drawing his own rocket launcher, as the enemy fire exploded around him.

  “... each team will use every means at their disposal.”

  He fired a pair of rockets that raced toward the duo, splattering them over the corridor. As VinD ran through the rain of bloody red pieces he bent, without missing a stride, and scooped up the ball. The camera followed him into an oval room with a glowing orange circle at the far end.

  “A team scores three points for throwing the ball through the goal, and....”

  VinD rushed straight for the circle. As beams streaked into the walls around him, he dove though the blue energy field in the middle of the ring.

  “... five points for carrying it through. Fifteen points wins the match.”

  The demonstration clip ended and the image shifted to an aerial view of a hill in the center of a frozen wasteland. The thick, metallic walls of two Squat fortresses could be seen, one at either end of the small valley. They were both almost submerged beneath snow and ice.

  “That’s right!” The male MC’s voice returned with a vengeance. “It’s time for Deathball! Wasn’t it great seeing VinD in action again? We sure miss you, big guy,” he said, floating high over the zone, in one corner of the tricast display.

  Figment thought he almost heard a whispered ‘he’ll be back’ from PS.

  “We’re down to the round of sixteen. The cream has floated to the top and the rest has been disposed of like yesterday’s news,” the overly energetic announcer continued. “Now we separate the good from the truly great. The top ten are all here, and we’ll be bringing you every gruesome minute of their matches.” He put a hand to his right ear, listening for a moment.

  “I’ve just received word that we’re ready to go. The penultimate ladder, Deathball is about to begin. At the red zone is the Bruuz team everyone loves to hate, the Iron Skull. At the blue end, one of three surprise teams this year. Sponsored by Genilon, we have the Apocalypz Cowgirlz. Now, let’s see these two teams really heat up the Gethen tundra. The zone is live in three... two... one....”

  * * *

  The klaxons turned to a solid whine and the team vanished from the safe-zone translocator pad.

  DaemonS appeared on a narrow catwalk over the main exit of their zone base. She turned, grabbing and slotting the armor shards beside her before crossing to a translocator pad. Reappearing in a small sniper room, she ran to the rocket launcher, gathering it and some extra ammo. Turning, DaemonS equipped her own translocator and fired the target in a high arc through the open window into the dark Gethen sky. Below her, Bodybag was already skipping across the hilly tundra with her own translocator as DaemonS pulled the trigger.

  She reappeared, surrounded by white hills and red translocator blurs approaching fast from her left. A quick relaunch of the translocator toward the largest hill and another squeeze of the trigger.

  On the hill. Bodybag had the ball and was running toward the blue base, as it was impossible to translocate while carrying it. She was being swarmed by large, red bugs. Blast, they were fast. From her vantage point on the hill, DaemonS also saw Pincer moving up to cover mid-zone and Defcon pushing forward but still in defense of the base entrance. A quick glance to the base and the glint of metal from a narrow window confirmed Vorpal in the sniper-hut.

  “Guys, I’m gonna be bug chowda in a minute,” Bodybag’s yell came over the earpiece as DaemonS pulled the trigger on her translocator. Her teammate was already out of range, so rearguard support would have to do.

  DaemonS reappeared behind a mob of red. Calling her rocket launcher, she watched as Bodybag fired the ball in a high arc toward the enemy base and called her own machine gun. Two Bruuz broke off the attack to chase the ball. While Bodybag pelted one of the ball-hounds with a hundred rounds-per-minute of hot lead, DaemonS sent a flury of rockets toward the remaining pair.

  Bodybag went down from the Bruuz onslaught as the rockets hit, taking one of the bugs at the same time.

  The other turned, blasting a pulse sphere straight into her chest and vaporizing her armor. DaemonS fired off another rocket and what was left of the bug fell over backward into the snow, stilled by more than the cold.

  DaemonS ran on, chasing after the red-suited Bruuz with the ball.

  * * *

  “Got yur back, ‘oman,” Bodybag’s voice crackled over the earpiece. “Yur home-free.” That assumed there were no guards near the goal, but the armor shards she was slotting should help resist any crossfire she might meet.

  DaemonS leapt from her roof perch, falling through the open skylight and onto a circular platform. A hail of artillery exploded around her the moment she touched down.

  Without hesitation, she jumped to the floor and sprinted for the goal. Rockets impacted off her back, propelling her forward as purple spheres erupted on the walls to either side, but she reached the narrow corridor and dove through the ring.

  “Blue team scores. Five points,” the female voice announced. “Ball reset in five... four... three... two... one....”

  The red base faded, to be replace by their own as the zone reset and all combatants were auto-translocated to their original starting points.

  * * *

  Nine-eight. After three quick field-goals by the Iron Skulls, to take the lead, and one in reply by the Cowgirlz, the match had fallen into a rhythm; the Skulls pressed, the Cowgirlz defended, the ball changed hands and the teams repeated at the other end of the zone. There was the feeling of two balanced forces in opposition. Each probing for the chink in the other’s armor.

  As Figment watched, the tricast image zoomed in and, next to the north canyon wall a Bruuz made an adrenaline-boosted dash for the blue base. She sped past three defenders before plowing, head first, into the snow. A trickle of red blood from a sniper wound soaked into the surrounding white. The ball bounced into the waiting arms of Defcon, who launched it forward to Pincer, who relayed it to DaemonS. The Cowgirlz’ captain caught the ball, turned to fire it at Bodybag and met the intersection of a trio of rockets.

  Despite his many years watching The Death Match, Figment cringed at the sudden eruption of DaemonS’s body and the resulting red rain that fell to the ground.

  But the match went on. The ball rolled into the circle of Bruuz. One picked it up and the four rushed through the mid-field zone, Bodybag hounding them.

  * * *

  DaemonS translocated over the fading red mess, smiling slightly as she did. The Cowgirlz had paid back the quartet that fragged her; of that she was sure. They were great teammates. But the Cowgirlz would also have to be a great team to beat the Iron Skulls. Today they were on their game; but even so, they were only running even with a top ten team.

  “Pincer, with me,” DaemonS called over the comm. “We’ll cover Bodybag. Defcon, push forward to midfield. Vorpal, that means you’ve got primary care of the base.”

  “I’m with you.”

  “Copy that. Taking rearguard flank.”

  “Roger, Daem, home’s all locked up and safe with me.”

  “Aww, ain’t dat sweet,” came Bodybag’s voice. “But if yoos all don’t get here quick dere won’t be much of me to guard.”

  The zone faded in after another skip.

  As the snow and hills reappeared, DaemonS saw the ball lying twenty meters away under a support girder at one side of the red base. A Bruuz was racing toward it while Bodybag was jumping and dodging the attacks of three other Bruuz in a spasm of motion. DaemonS called her pulse cannon and noted the location
of Pincer as she took aim at the mass of bodies.

  Twin spheres of purple raced through the cold Gethen air, vaporizing the bugs. As one, the Bruuz turned to the new threat and Bodybag sped from the group toward the ball.

  Pincer and DaemonS fired again, taking down one Bruuz and seriously wounding the other. If they could buy Bodybag enough time, she could make the Cowgirlz second big score and give them a decisive lead in the match.

  A rocket erupted on her right and DaemonS was blown backward. She rolled quickly left and jumped to her feet as another sped by, detonating in a hillside behind her. Thankfully, Pincer was still up and firing. The small woman had taken down one Bruuz, but the other had realize the threat of Bodybag and had broken off the battle, dodging left and right while giving chase.

  “You got company on your tail Bodybag, watch yourself,” DaemonS called as she and Pincer ran after the remaining Bruuz.

  “That’s why I got yoos guys to look after me, right boss?”

  “We’re doing our best, just don’t get cocky,” she yelled back, smiling.

  “Who, me?” Bodybag answered to multiple laughs over the comm.

  As the convoy, led by a ball-carrying Bodybag, ran up the hill around the north edge of the red base, DaemonS called her rocket launcher, firing off salvo after salvo just ahead of the racing Bruuz. Pincer remained with the pulse rifle, preferring accuracy over power.

  Bodybag topped the hill, disappearing onto the roof of the base just as a sniper round ripped a hole through the Bruuz’s chest. It fell forward and slid back down the snowy hill.

  “You’re clear out here,” DaemonS said as she climbed onto the roof. Pincer turned, moving back to cover midfield with Defcon.

  As she raced across the roof, DaemonS saw Bodybag leaping through the skylight only to explode in midair.