London Wild

by V. E. Shearman

  As he coasted to the approaching fleet, he thought to himself that this incoming force should belong to the Deathdealers. If word hadn’t reached them that the planet had fallen to the Monarchs, they might attack in force. This might even cause the precarious truce that existed between these two clans to be shattered. If he could pretend to be from the planet’s defense fleet, perhaps he could convince the strike force to attack without checking the clan affiliation of any other craft.

  A quick glance behind him revealed a large cloud of approaching defensive craft; this was going to be one hell of a dogfight. It would be a shame he was going to miss most of it, but unless for some reason this approaching fleet was from his clan he would effectively be alone against them all.

  When he was in what he considered to be weapon range (the weapons in the game being rather stunted on range to force pilots to get closer to engage with each other), he gunned the engines to full speed and started to swerve about, trying to stop any of the approaching fleet from getting a clear lock on him. He hoped they weren’t from his clan. It seemed unlikely that they could be.

  And then they came. Six model RT9s appeared from hangars of the nearest capital ships. The RT9 was also a low-grade fighter craft. It was heavier in armor and shields but nowhere near as maneuverable as Sult’s NS2C. Under normal circumstances, he felt confident—if a little egotistically—that he could use the speed of his little flyer to cut the six of them to pieces. He valued speed and agility much more than any amount of armor or shields, but the presence of the rest of the fleet changed that. These six were just those that had been sent to meet him. There would be many more fighter craft of all shapes and sizes among the fleet, and they might come to help if he started doing well. There was really nothing he could do except weave about trying to dodge them while he found out which clan had brought this fleet. The thought struck him that one hit on his craft, which had been designed for speed and not defense, would end his game pretty quickly. He began to question his wisdom in having come here.

  He dodged and swerved, returning fire occasionally, but mainly he was looking for clues as to which clan these craft belonged to. And there it was on the nose of the fighter craft that was trying to dog his tail: the Forces of Bryan.

  They had been busy nibbling away at all three clans involved in this little war, not actually capturing planets but acting more as pirates, finishing off the survivors of battles and intercepting the occasional freight shipment or two. They had been an irritation, but none of the big three had considered them really dangerous. And now here they were, bearing down on a badly defended Monarchs’ planet. Obviously their tactics had changed; perhaps they felt they were ready to take this thing to the next stage, and the Monarchs were their first target.

  ‘Well,’ thought Sult to himself as he flipped a quick turn and then reversed the direction suddenly, intending to get away now. He opened fire immediately on the RT9 that had been on his tail, hitting it but not destroying it. ‘A war between the Monarchs and Bryan can only be good for the Gnomes.’

  Bang! The RT9 had returned fire. Suddenly one of his wings disintegrated; he punched the eject button with perhaps a second to spare before the rest of his craft joined the wing. Well, that was it. He was going to be a prisoner of the Forces of Bryan for a while. Since his clan wasn’t in open war with them, it might be a week or more before such an exchange would be made. On the plus side, when he was returned he ought to have gained enough points to reach full lieutenant.

  Then one of the RT9s turned about and headed for his escape pod as Sult watched him. The RT9 would reach him and he would be their prisoner, even if the capturing craft was itself destroyed later in the battle. But the RT9 didn’t slow down as capturing craft tended to do in order to grab the escape pod. Instead it opened fire on him.

  Sult, watching, couldn’t believe it. He thrust his arm towards the approaching craft accusingly. ‘You can’t do that,’ he shouted at it; ‘that’s illegal. You’re breaking the…’ His world seemed to shatter into a million shards of glass. He was sitting in front of his holographic computer monitor, and he was livid, his outstretched arm almost touching one of the three hologram generators that helped to create the three-dimensional fantasies.

  ‘I’m gonna complain,’ Sult muttered under his breath. ‘They can’t do that. I was helpless; it’s illegal to…’ he stopped as he realized he was just ranting to himself. He needed to get away from the computer for a few minutes, perhaps fix himself a drink, anything to take his mind off the injustice that had just befallen him.

  He stomped angrily into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. He drained it in seconds and poured a second; this he nursed, still fuming about it.

  He returned to the living room and stood in front of the holographic depiction of a mirror on the far wall. For maybe a minute he considered the differences between when the hologram was made and the room as it stood now. He just wanted something to take his mind off of what had just happened, anything to try and calm him down a little.

  ‘A message has just arrived,’ the household computer stated.

  ‘Read it,’ Sult snapped back.

  The computer ignored the inflection of anger in Sult’s voice and asked, ‘please confirm?’

  ‘Confirmed,’ Sult spat out at the machine.

  ‘From General McFee, Third level of Command of the Forces of Bryan: To Sult, second name unknown, erstwhile of the Gnomes of Power:’

  Sult’s attention was caught by now. The Forces of Bryan were calling him? Why, did they intend to apologize, and how did they get his address? He listened closer.

  ‘Sir, under unfortunate circumstances you have become the victim of a brash assault by one of our pilots. The pilot will be disciplined, but of course this won’t bring back your character. A little bit of research has revealed to us that you held the rank of sub-lieutenant and would have been made a full lieutenant when your period in captivity was over. To make amends for this awful incident we wish to offer you a position in our clan with your next character. We are willing to bring you in straight to the rank of flight lieutenant, which, as you are no doubt aware, is one rank above where you would’ve been. Thank you, and again we are sorry.’

  It was a nice offer, Sult thought to himself, a very nice offer. It all sounded too good though, especially considering that it had only been a few short minutes since the incident. It was too close. Sult could almost imagine the Forces of Bryan deliberately killing otherwise helpless pilots and then offering them this or a similar deal. It had to be totally illegal inside the confines of The Game; at the very least it was an abuse of the system.

  No wonder, he thought to himself, fuming, they’d been able to field such a large force. He shook his head. True, he had no proof that they had been doing this to others, but such a thing could unbalance the whole game. It could destroy the very fabric, or at least the spirit, of how The Game was currently played.

  Several thoughts then vied for his attention. The key one was to contact the people that ran The Game and tell them of the dirty tricks that the Forces of Bryan were pulling. However, he feared that those running The Game already knew what the Forces of Bryan were up to and that they were turning a blind eye. Another thought was that he should write back and demand the rank of Colonel at the very least or he would go to the people who ran The Game and tell them what was happening. Again, the thought that those who ran it knew what was happening might be a hiccup here.

  Just yesterday he had been talking to Fredrick about how it was impossible to execute prisoners within the confines of The Game, and then this happened. It was an illegal move. He thought The Game was supposed to stop that sort of thing from even being possible. He began to calm down a little. Perhaps because he hadn’t actually been picked up, he wasn’t literally a prisoner and therefore, even though he was helpless and in an escape pod, he wasn’t protected by that part of The Game’s mechanics.

  ‘Incoming call from Fredrick Hughes,’ the computer intoned, b
reaking his line of thought.

  It always disturbed Sult when that happened, when he was thinking about someone and suddenly there was be a call from them. ‘From who? Oh, er, yes, put it through on the main monitor,’ he replied. His anger had made his voice sound a little shaky.

  ‘Please confirm,’ the computer insisted again.

  ‘Confirmed,’ Sult replied, fuming.

  ‘Hello, Sult.’ Fredrick’s voice was coming through loud and clear, but the visual image of Fredrick’s face seemed a little jumpy, freezing in places and then jumping to a new position, or moving but trailing a ghostlike afterimage.

  ‘Hello Fredrick. I’m afraid there seems to be some interference. What’s up?’

  ‘I thought you’d like to know that we’re on for tomorrow,’ Fredrick told him. ‘I’ve managed to arrange it so I will be traveling in the back. There are three of us to pay off, the driver, my partner, and myself. I’m afraid we’re asking for a million.’

  ‘A million!’ Sult seemed startled.

  ‘Each,’ Fredrick finished.

  ‘I don’t have that sort of money,’ Sult replied. ‘I’ll have to ask Joseph.’

  ‘I’ve little doubt he’ll be able to find it with his contacts,’ Fredrick replied. The screen went blank but his voice continued, ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to find the money from somewhere. Didn’t you have that number one hit a few years ago?’

  ‘Try number forty-seven,’ Sult replied tersely.

  ‘Forty-seven?’ Fredrick replied, surprised.

  ‘No,’ Sult told him, ‘but you’re getting a lot warmer. And you’d be surprised how little money there is in that sort of thing for the performer these days.’

  ‘Well anyway,’ Fredrick put in, ‘you’ll need three million.’

  ‘Just the three of you, then?’ Sult asked as he approached the blank monitor.

  ‘Yes,’ Fredrick commented, ‘we won’t have to bribe the doctor. They’ve run out of the serum they’ve been using to put the cats down with. It seems the last shipment was intercepted. They think cats were behind it, but it could have been anyone. As a result the cells are at bursting point. The doctor was only too willing to let me take one. “Make sure you make it humane after you’ve finished with her,” he said. What do you suppose he thought I wanted her for? I dread to think. Anyway, that’s all sorted.’

  ‘The papers?’ Sult asked. ‘I mean, everything’s sorted; she won’t be missed?’

  ‘The doctor is organizing everything.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Sult told him. ‘I’ll see you early tomorrow, then. The only question remaining is how we should do this.’

  ‘Johnson doesn’t want to see anyone with you. If you aren’t alone he won’t stop, so be alone. I’d suggest you get Joseph to drop you off en route and pick both you and Amba up after the exchange has been made. If we don’t see you at all, we won’t be stopping either, so if you can’t raise the money, don’t worry about trying to get in touch.’

  ‘Okay,’ agreed Sult, ‘I can arrange all that.’

  ‘And you must have the money with you,’ Fredrick insisted. ‘We aren’t going to be making any exchange unless you can pay for her on the spot. You should disappear after the exchange until we’re sure everything went according to plan.’

  ‘I think we were planning to anyway,’ Sult put in.

  ‘Good,’ Fredrick commented.

  ‘It’s very short notice, though,’ Sult said. The image of Fredrick reappeared on the screen but was still ghosting. ‘What if we can get the money but can’t raise it in time?’

  ‘Then the deal is off,’ Fredrick said calmly. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s how it has to be.’

  ‘I’ll see what we can do, then,’ Sult replied.

  ‘Okay,’ Fredrick continued, ‘there is a pair of old disused cottages, buildings that were listed by the national trust so they weren’t allowed to pull them down when the forest was replanted. They overlook a bend in the road between the Cattery and… ’

  ‘I know them,’ Sult interrupted.

  ‘Good,’ said Fredrick. ‘We stop, make the swap, and part. You get Amba, we get a million each, and hopefully no one else is any the wiser.’

  ‘Good,’ said Sult. ‘What if they keep an eye on you via satellite?’

  ‘Then we got lost for a few minutes,’ Fredrick commented, his images shrugging. ‘That’s part of what you’re paying us for.’

  ‘Good,’ Sult repeated, ‘good, good.’

  ‘You seem a little preoccupied,’ Fredrick sought.

  ‘Just this damn Game,’ Sult replied after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I lost my character today, but they cheated. I was in my escape pod when they took me out. To say I’m angry would be a bit of an understatement. I’m thinking of complaining to the people that run it.’

  ‘Hmm…’ Fredrick commented. His face was still out of sync with his voice, but they were approaching congruity. ‘Sounds like the Forces of Bryan.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Sult replied, now seeming somehow more animated. ‘How’d you know?’

  ‘Dirty tricks are their trademark,’ Fredrick explained. ‘According to the news article I saw a couple of weeks back, the Forces of Bryan is owned by an American businessman called Bryan Harley. He also owns a chain of supermarkets called Bryanland. It seems that as one of the schemes he uses to bring in customers, he offers those that play The Game and join his clan one point towards their next rank for every ten they spend in his shops, exchangeable in lots of five hundred, of course. So long as he doesn’t go over his quotas, this is considered legal within the framework of The Game, but most people think of it as a rather shoddy way to promote his own business while at the same time attract people to his clan.’

  ‘So he’s using The Game to increase his sales?’ Sult sounded disgusted. ‘I should definitely let the people that run The Game know.’

  ‘There’s no point,’ Fredrick told him. ‘If they don’t know they must be blind to what’s happening in their own game. The suggestion was that Bryan isn’t actually breaking any of the rules of The Game; he’s merely taking advantage of certain loopholes. There was also the suggestion that he might’ve paid a little extra to those that run The Game for them to turn a blind eye to his actions.’

  ‘This sort of thing makes me mad,’ Sult growled.

  ‘I know, I know,’ Fredrick commented. ‘Look, I can’t stay and chat any longer. We’ll see you tomorrow, but I have to get back to duty.’

  ‘Okay, Fred,’ Sult replied, ‘thanks for the info. I’ll get in touch with Joseph straight away; we might need as much time as we can get to gather the money.’

  Naming everything after himself, Sult thought as he watched the screen go blank, that Bryan Harley must have one hell of an ego. He waited until the link with Fredrick had been totally disconnected and then told the computer, ‘Ok, put me through to Joseph.’

  ‘Joseph who?’ the computer asked.

  ‘Joseph Carnes,’ Sult pressed angrily, ‘the only Joseph you should have in my phone book.’

  The computer ignored Sult’s tone and put the call through almost instantly.

  Then there was a bit of a wait; Joseph had obviously been too busy to get to the link on his end immediately.

  ‘Hello,’ came a questioning voice a couple of minutes later. No picture accompanied it.

  ‘Joseph, this is Sult,’ Sult said.

  Joseph’s face appeared on the screen. He was disguised as he normally was and was probably just being cautious. Considering the current vendetta that seemed to be being waged against his people, Sult couldn’t really blame him. ‘Good to see you, what’s the news?’

  ‘We’re to go ahead for tomorrow. Can you collect Judith and come round tonight so I can tell you what we’re going to need to do?’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Joseph, his face seeming greatly relieved, ‘I miss her. Did they say how much?’

  ‘They want three million!’ Sult told him.

  ‘Damn,’ Joseph replied
. ‘Well, it’s good of you to help. It’s a hell of a lot, but I think I might be able to get help from a few friends. We may need a second plan if I can’t raise the money.’

  Sult shook his head and said, ‘I’m not going to backstab a friend of mine over this. If we can’t get the money, then the deal’s off and you’ll just have to live with it.’

  Joseph seemed about to protest, but then his expression changed and he nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll do what I can. Rescuing one of our own must be worth something to those friends of mine.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Sult agreed. He could guess what friends Joseph meant. ‘See you later.’

  ‘See you soon,’ Joseph confirmed.

  Day Six

  Rescue

  The Elite Guard was originally known as the Elite Cattery Guard back when their duties consisted only of protecting the Cattery from all sorts of perceived dangers. In recent years their duties have extended to encompass all things Herbaht-related.

  23

  Money

  Every night since Amba had been taken away from him had been painful to get through. Reaching across to the far side of the bed and then finding it vacant only reminded Jhosatl even more of his loss. This night was no different. Jhosatl had gotten very little sleep; so many things were vying for attention in his mind, and every one of them insisted on keeping him awake. There were a number of things he had to do tomorrow, culminating in the rescue of his wife, knowing he wouldn’t be there to actually influence the outcome.

  Then there was something he needed to do before he would go to meet Judith and Sult. He didn’t foresee any problems with this small errand, but it did require him to be up very early in order to get it done.

  In the end he found himself just looking at the clock, watching the luminous holographic numbers move slowly but effortlessly towards the alarm he had set for three in the morning. No, it was no good. He couldn’t sleep, and at a quarter past two he got up and stopped the alarm with a fatalistic sigh. Since he couldn’t sleep, he might as well get ready to go out. He would get his morning mission over with that much sooner.