Game, Set, Deathmatch

by Edwin H Rydberg

  * * *

  Dat had been close! She could almost taste the goal. But no sense dwelling on it; in this game close was only good for rocket shells and flak-grenades. Bodybag stepped from the clone tank and ran down the aisle toward the game-pad, accompanied by the sounds of splashing.

  Sliding to a stop, she looked about. What the hell was going on? Covering the floor of the safe-zone for yards around her was several inches of a green fluid that resembled nutrient broth. Glancing to either side of her, no discernible source for the liquid was visible.

  The rapid burst of pistol fire and the sound of smashing duraglass drew her attention to the far side of the safe-zone.

  Bodybag raced through the liquid and between the rows of clone tanks, winding her way toward the sound. As she turned into the final row, she froze.

  “Geneslicer! Wot da hell are you doin’?”

  The synthoid stood, pistol raised, before a leaking tank, its duraglass plating fragmented and bleeding green broth. A sphere of devastation surrounded him and at least twelve clone tanks had been destroyed; almost an entire sector of the base.

  As she looked closer, Bodybag could see the corpals slumped and lifeless, propped up against the remainder of their tanks. Their skin was grey and dried; some already flaking. Geneslicer looked from the tank to her and raised his pistol.

  “Bodybag,” came the smooth, metallic voice acknowledging her presence. “You were meant for a different purpose. This is an unfortunate waste, but now you must be terminated.”

  She dove right, landing in the nutrient pool behind the nearest clone tank as bullets ripped through the air tearing into another tank behind her. Rolling before scrambling to her feet, she pulled her own pistol and ran across the main corridor and down another aisle of clone tanks on the other side. It stood to reason that if the home-zone safety on Geneslicers weapon was offline, so was hers.

  The sloshing of footprints followed her.

  This entire situation was unbelievable, like something out of an adrenaline-hyped post match nightmare. She pinched herself, feeling the mild sting. It was real; the hunk of blue metal had finally flipped a qubit. He’d always been unreliable but now he’d officially gone over the edge.

  Bodybag tried to stop in the green mess, but slid into the wall at the corridor’s end. She grasped an exposed girder, propelling herself left and down another aisle as bullets ripped into the duracrete behind her.

  “There is no point to your fleeing. You only delay the inevitable and I still have much work to do.”

  Unfortunately, it seemed she was helping him do it. With each dodge she made, each new corridor she entered, his trailing rounds ripped into new clone tanks. All she was succeeding in doing was spreading the destruction over a larger area. There was no choice; she would have to stop him before the entire clone bay was little more than slimy, green rubble.

  She skidded right at the corridor end and raced ahead three rows. Instead of speeding off down the next aisle, Bodybag turned, dropped to a crouch, and raised her pistol. The sloshing grew louder and as Geneslicer entered her view, she unloaded a clip into his torso. He staggered briefly before righting himself and launching his own shells of death at her. But Bodybag was already gone.

  It would take several more attacks like that to bring him down. Neither the synthoid nor, in fact, the inhabited clone bodies, could be finished off so easily.

  * * *

  DaemonS’s heart had skipped a beat seeing Bodybag explode upon entering the red base. Not only had the Cowgirlz been painfully close to scoring, but each time her friend was fragged brought back memories of their recent ordeal.

  DaemonS shook her head. Best to forget about it; stay focused on the match. Pincer, to her left, had the ball and Defcon was covering midfield. Bodybag hadn’t restocked in the blue base yet, but would likely be joining the fray soon. Things were looking good; maybe too good.

  “We’ve got two Bruuz forward, anyone see the others?” she called over the comm.

  “Nothing on the scope,” answered Vorpal.

  “I’m negative in midfield too,” Defcon added.

  Damn.

  Pincer launched the ball forward and spun, opening up with a flak cannon to the chest of one pursuer. DaemonS hit the other in the legs with a rocket. They both went down and Pincer streaked for the ball.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling we’re being set-up. Eyes peeled, trigger fingers itchy,” DaemonS called.

  “You’re smelling an ambush Daem? Want me to pinch further?” Defcon asked.

  “No. If anything, pull back toward base. And yes, it’s the only explanation. We’re missing three Bruuz and we’ve just fragged the two chasers. That means all five are in the base while we’re spread over the entire zone. Classic full-zone press.”

  “Gotta plan?” asked Pincer.

  DaemonS thought a second before answering, “Yeah. Slow up, Pincer, let me catch up. We go in together through the roof. I’ll provide cover and we’ll either score or go down. If we fail, at least we’ll both be back at base to defend.”

  “Sounds good,” Pincer said, slowing up slightly.

  As DaemonS caught up and the two ran toward the red base roof entrance, she called, “Bodybag, hold up in midfield at the ball drop. That way you cover both possibilities.”

  There was no answer, but they were nearing the roof entrance and she had to focus; she and Pincer were about to jump into the ant hill.

  * * *

  Fully a quarter of the base lay in ruin, partially submerged beneath the ankle-deep clone fluid, an innocent victim of the chase. Until now, Bodybag had managed to stay out of the crosshairs of Geneslicer’s pistol, keeping just ahead of him. She could hear his footsteps sloshing in the new swamp, two aisles over; she had some time.

  He was tough, but she was confident she could take him mano-a-mano. She already had the advantage with the last attack; his remaining health couldn’t be more than about seventy percent. But that was the easy problem. More difficult was understanding why he did it. After all, he was their teammate, specifically assigned by their Genilon sponsors. What reason could he have for wanting to kill them?

  Bodybag moved around a tank and into the adjacent aisle as she heard the footfalls of the synthoid nearing. She was careful to slide her feet slowly through the green goop so as to not make too much noise. Her best chance at minimizing the damage would be to lead him back through the already destroyed quadrant. She step-slid down the aisle, toward the far wall.

  This whole situation was strange. She chuckled with the realization that it was almost as strange as turning into a tentacled monster, or having a squad of Halandri techs in an Genilon base. A lot of strangeness had happened lately; but surely this took the health pack. And to make matters worse, the Cowgirlz were one short in the match until she could get back to the zone.

  Geneslicer was nearing the other end of the aisle. Bodybag stepped to the opposite side of the last clone tank in the row and eased herself down into the disgusting green goop, careful to keep her pistol out of the liquid. She lay there waiting, heat signature dulled, for her metallic enemy to come within range.

  He believes Genilon and the Bruuz are working together.

  The memory came to her with a shock. They had laughed when DaemonS relayed the story of her meeting with Flipant, or whatever his name was. Maybe it wasn’t so funny. Could it be coincidence that the Genilon synthoid started playing home-wrecker so soon after?

  Heavy footfalls splashed through the nutrient broth and Bodybag held her breath and prepared herself.

  “Our game is pointless,” Geneslicer said. “You will die, as will the rest of your team. It must be.”

  “Not today, metal-head,” Bodybag answered, leaping up from the the liquid and squeezing off a full clip into his torso. He tagged her arm with return fire but she ignored the sting as the chase renewed.

  * * *

  DaemonS leapt through the ceiling hole, firing off severa
l rockets to the corners of the room as she did so. She was the decoy; Pincer would follow after DaemonS triggered the alpha strike — if they went for it.

  Sure enough, as she touched down on the raised, square platform in the middle of the room, a storm of artillery streaked through the air, exploding around her. It wasn’t as bad as she had expected.

  DaemonS dropped and rolled, shrapnel bursting around her like fireworks. A few pieces tagged her, but nothing serious. Sliding over the edge of the platform, she fell to the ground, pumping off two more rounds of rockets before landing in a crouch on her feet. She immediately dove left and a pulse sphere sped through the now empty air. In the corner of her eye, a shadow dropped into the room from the roof. Pincer.

  The room seemed less crowded than expected and that worried her. She counted only three different attacking angles. Where were the other two Bruuz?

  “Look alive, folks,” she yelled into her comm, drawing immediate fire. Another pulse sphere sped toward her, catching her shoulder. She spun and fired off a rocket into the dark, always ensuring she shot away from the goal. Shrapnel careened off the wall, slicing long lines of fire across the side of her face.

  “I’m pinned, Daem,” came Pincer’s whisper over the comm. “Two sitting by the goal entrance, a third around the corner.”

  “Break for the goal, I’ll cover you,” DaemonS whispered back. “On my mark. Ready... Go!” As she yelled the command, she burst from her crouch and sprang down the left side of the wall, moving toward the goal corridor. A shock sphere burst against her, the energy hot on her body, the force staggering her and pushing her back.

  DaemonS called her flak cannon and pumped a grenade toward the source of the energy sphere.

  “They’re on to me Daem, I can’t take them,” Pincer called.

  “Run it off, give ‘em a chase until I take out this one,” she answered as the Bruuz before her jumped from the corner, machine gun blazing.

  DaemonS rolled, firing off the flak cannon twice before sliding behind the edge of the platform. As the sights and sounds of nearby carnage ricocheted from the room’s walls, the Bruuz slumped to the floor before her.

  “One down, two to go,” she whispered, calling a machine gun of her own. “Any signs of the other two?” she asked the team outside.

  “All quiet out here,” Defcon answered. The missing Bruuz still worried her, but first she had Pincer to help.

  Her teammate streaked around the corner chased by two red bugs. DaemonS opened up with the machine gun, filling the first full of lead. Before he dropped forward, lifeless, he managed to trigger a flak cannon burst.

  DaemonS flinched as a small fraction of the shards ripped through her right side. Behind her, she heard a body thump against the cold, metal floor.

  “Ball fumbled,” the announcer intoned.

  She turned, firing behind her as she chased down the bouncing ball. If it remained unclaimed for more than ten seconds it would reset to mid-field and all their work would have been in vain.

  Another burst of flaknel ripped through her arm as she dodged right, speeding around the platform. Her body couldn’t take much more. Another burst and she was done.

  DaemonS called her own flak cannon and dove to the ground, flipping to land on her back. The ball was close behind her, and there wasn’t much time left before it was declared dead. But there was something that needed doing first.

  As the Bruuz rounded the corner she pumped a grenade at him before firing a burst from the cannon. He exploded, showering her with disgusting, bug-flavoured flesh.

  DaemonS rolled to her stomach and jumped to her feet, racing for the ball. It was still live and she scooped it up, rushing down the short corridor to the goal and through the glowing ring.

  “Blue team scores, 9 - 13” the announcer said over the game channel. “Zone reset in 5... 4... 3....”

  They had taken the lead! Only now did DaemonS have time to wonder what had happened. Where were the other two Bruuz? And why hadn’t Bodybag answered? They’d just gotten her back, it was unthinkable that they could lose her again so soon.

  “2....”

  “Vorpal...,” she called over the comm. as she turned — to find herself staring down the barrel of a flakcannon. Her sentence was punctuated by an explosion of shrapnel erupting into her chest.

  * * *

  Bodybag slipped around the cloning tank; she had him in her sites. Geneslicer’s audio sensors finally detected her, but it was too late. One clip to the torso finished him and he collapsed, a heap of junk. Bodybag rushed to the decommissioned drone and prodded the rubble heap with her foot. All tell-tale function displays were offline. He was done for. That was one drone that wouldn’t be bothering anyone again. She holstered his pistol and turned toward the command center.

  And stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Holy blood’ounds of Omaria,” she swore under her breath. Not ten meters in front of her, standing side-by-side-by-side, were three exact replicas of Geneslicer. Somehow, multiple back-ups of the drone had been activated simultaneously; and each was carrying a rocket launcher comfortably under their arm.

  Bodybag knew she was in trouble.

  * * *

  Damn bug, DaemonS thought as the duraglass door of the clone tank slid open. That was low, fragging her seconds before reset. She would be sure to pay him back.

  Images of the Bruuz’s ugly face still vivid in her mind, DaemonS stepped from the narrow cylinder in to the safe zone — or what was left of it. She could only stare in shock at the carnage. It looked as if the Death Match championship had been held right in their base.

  Fragments of durasteel fell from around blast holes in the walls, caved in support beams and fragments of smashed clone tanks were scattered over the floor or hanging, stranded, from the ceiling. She waded further into the ankle-deep swamp of green clone nutrient and slowly made her way toward the command station. A few seconds later she heard loud, hurried splashes coming her way.

  “Move boss! Move, move, move, move. Der be some mean gaters in dis swamp and we be looking like two fine appetizers.”

  She turned to the voice as Bodybag pounced on her, carrying them both into the green goop. A rocket shot over their heads to explode against the far wall.

  An instant later she was dragged to her feet as Bodybag forced her down an aisle between a row of intact clone tanks.

  “Keep movin’ boss or we be rocket chowder — and I ain’t never been too tasty!”

  Her shock was quickly lost as the survival instinct, honed through years of Death Match competition, kicked in.

  “What’s the situation?”

  “Geneslicer! It, or radder, dey, are the saboteurs,” Bodybag explained.

  “They?” asked DaemonS as the duo continued to sprint down rows of fragmented clone tanks. The last she remembered there was only one of the blue humanoid drone.

  “Da backups. T’ree o’ dem. Dey activated after I fragged da original tin man.”

  “You fragged Geneslicer!” DaemonS said in disbelief.

  “Yeah.”

  “Here!?”

  “Yeah.”

  “In the safe zone!?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What possessed you to do such a thing?” asked DaemonS.

  “Well....”

  A rocket exploded ahead of them to their left adding a new hole to the durasteel wall and sending a shower of debris their way.

  “Nevermind, it can wait,” said DaemonS, pulling Bodybag to the right as another rocket streaked past them.

  “And how the hell did they get rocket launchers through security?”

  “Well....”

  Another explosion vaporized a viewscreen on the wall behind them.

  “Nevermind, that can wait too. Right now, our priority is to get to the base computer.”

  “Boss?”

  “We don’t know how much damage was done to the clone system. If any of the team buy it out th
ere, they may be buying it permanently. We’ve got to warn them, cancel the match. A forfeit is better than perma-death.”

  Bodybag lunged to her right as a cluster of rockets from the three new drones sped through the space she had occupied moments earlier. Regrouping, the duo sped off through the remaining rows of clone tanks.

  * * *

  Something was wrong. The match had gone from a hectic free-for-all to a wide-open sprint to the goal. Regardless of which camera was shown, neither team could be fully accounted for.

  “Yeah! This is great,” NIGEL yelled. I never dreamed I’d see a Bruuz team beaten so badly.”

  Pre-emptive Strike was more subdued in his cheering, but a smile had definitely crossed his face, “They’re a great team. You were right, Figment. They’ll do nicely.”

  “They are a great young team, but not this great. Something’s happened,” Figment said.

  “Serves the bugs right,” said NIGEL.

  “I mean, something is wrong in the zone. There must be a technical problem. Look. One... two... where are the rest of the Bruuz?” Figment asked.

  PS stared hard at the changing images for a time before answering. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s got to be sabotage. Genilon’s making a move now that all three teams are in position. Are you sure the Cowgirlz are clean?”

  “Background checks and psyche profiles both come to the same conclusion; there’s only a four-point-eight percent chance they’re Genilon agents. Anyway, if Genilon and the Bruuz are allied, why choose this match?”

  “Perhaps the two had a falling out, perhaps Genilon has gotten everything they want, or perhaps to belie suspicion. Who knows? The point is that they’ve made their move. Now we have to make ours — before it’s too late,” PS said. There would be no calling him off this one. For better or worse, Figment new his next options were very limited. The Cowgirlz would be infiltrating Genilon — and soon. Provided they survived this match.

  11