Survival Game

by Gary Gibson

  If, at this point, a large white rabbit wearing a pocket watch had run by, I don’t think I could have been any more confused or surprised than I already was.

  ‘Let me be clear about this,’ said Blodel, his face like thunder. ‘I’ve had to mollycoddle you assholes enough as it is. The fact of the matter is, we needed every hand available to help deal with what was happening on Delta Twenty-Five, so we sprung Casey on you a little sooner than we intended. But do not think we haven’t thought this through, or that I’m unaware of events prior to my taking over as director.’

  ‘How long, exactly, since you retrieved him?’ asked Yuichi.

  Blodel gave him a furious look. ‘It’s not your business to—’

  ‘We do your dirty work,’ Yuichi snapped. ‘You can damn well talk to us straight.’

  Blodel’s jaw worked. ‘Twelve weeks.’

  Nadia let out a long groan, and then they all started arguing again. I stepped past them and went outside to sit on the grass. After a while I let my head sink down onto my knees, closed my eyes, and tried not to think of anything at all.

  It wasn’t long before a couple of Major Howes’ men came looking for me and Jerry, and they escorted us to the compound’s medical facility. I spent six hours undergoing tests to see whether or not I would, as Vishnevsky put it, grow a mushroom out of my head. If I’d known I would have had to go through such an ordeal before they let me go home, I would have kept my damn respirator on.

  While I was in there, I asked questions, and learned some more about Casey Vishnevsky. I discovered that, like Jerry, Vishnevsky had been a Pathfinder, who died – and was then brought back from the dead. Or, to be more precise, the man who had rescued Jerry and me from Delta Twenty-Five was another Casey Vishnevsky, retrieved from a post-apocalyptic alternate indistinguishable from that on which the first Casey Vishnevsky had been found.

  As used to the idea of alternate realities as I was, contemplating such things tended to produce unpleasant stabbing sensations in the space behind my eyes. I also learned the original Casey had been responsible for the deaths of several other Pathfinders, who had since, in turn, also been replaced by their doppelgängers from identical alternates . . . and then I stopped thinking about it, because the stabbing pains were growing into a terrible headache.

  When they finally let me go, I found Jerry waiting for me outside. He had dark bruises under his eyes that matched my own.

  ‘Stop,’ I said, when he started to open his mouth. ‘Before you tell me anything else, I want to know – how can you be sure you can trust this man Vishnevsky, if he’s the man who . . .’

  ‘Who murdered me?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know whether we can. But then again, he’s not the same Casey, so . . .’ He shrugged his shoulders in apparent defeat. ‘I don’t know. All I can do is play it by ear. Maybe this Casey is different.’

  He looked around, as if to make sure we were alone. ‘Look . . . I’m going to talk to the others about everything you told me back there, when we were lost on Delta Twenty-Five. That’s my priority right now. Can you handle Borodin in the meantime?’

  I nodded. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Just stay low for the next couple of days. And Katya,’ he added, when I made to turn away, ‘I hope for your sake you were telling me the truth.’

  ‘I was,’ I said wearily, then walked over to a row of jeeps parked nearby.

  It was late when I finally pulled up outside the Soviets’ house. Nobody else was around. I showered quickly, then crawled into bed and fell into a dreamless sleep. The next day soldiers fetched me back to the compound, where an interrogator examined me on every detail of my ordeal, a digital recorder by his elbow. I lied when necessary – quite skilfully, I thought. I signed a document and was told to take a few days off work to recover.

  I still had not seen Borodin since my return. At some point, I knew, I would have to, and I dreaded the prospect; so much had changed, after all, and in so very little time.

  That evening I joined the rest of the Soviets for dinner. Damian gave me a hug, as did Illyenna. They were eager to hear about my experiences, of course, and a glass of wine was soon pushed into my hand. Vissarion turned out to have a hidden talent: he had made fresh knish – fried potato dumplings, with blini pancakes and borscht. The meal was quite wonderful, and they did their best to make me feel welcome after a terrible ordeal. There was much talk of Elena, and the evening soon turned into an unofficial wake.

  Borodin was there, of course, chatting with Aleksi; he nodded to me on my arrival but otherwise paid me no attention.

  But for all their kindness, the gathering was haunted by Elena’s absence. Once I had finished telling them all my carefully edited story of what had happened, the conversation rapidly dwindled, and they each made their excuses before finally departing. Damian announced he would wash the dishes just as soon as he had finished some paperwork – meaning, I already knew, that it would end up falling to either myself or Illyenna.

  Then, at last, I was alone with Borodin, a sea of dirty plates and dishes scattered across the table between us.

  He couldn’t know how thoroughly I had betrayed him, of course. It would be impossible for him to know. And yet I felt sure he could read the truth in every line of my face, in the set of my lips.

  ‘So,’ he asked, ‘did you get the coordinates?’

  Sudden anger flared deep inside me. ‘Weren’t you listening?’ I shouted. ‘I was too busy being chased by invisible fucking monsters that wanted to tear me apart!’

  He tapped his fingers on the table and studied me, unperturbed. ‘But something did happen between you and the Pathfinder, didn’t it? I can tell.’

  I felt a muscle jump in one cheek.

  He leaned back, nodding to himself in a self-satisfied way. ‘A man, a woman, fleeing danger with no hope of rescue – surely under such circumstances nature could only follow its course, and what better way to gain his trust?’

  ‘Nothing of the kind happened,’ I said levelly, pushing my anger back down. ‘He kept his distance. Even when he slept, he kept the notebook next to his fucking heart. There was no way I could get it without . . .’

  ‘Without killing him?’

  I swallowed and looked away from him.

  His expression became hard. ‘I was right. It was a mistake bringing you here. I thought I could use your scientific expertise and rely on your loyalty to your father. I’m guessing you had numerous opportunities to kill or incapacitate Beche and get the coordinates – and yet here you are, still empty-handed.’

  He got up and stepped around the table until he stood by my side. I felt my body grow rigid, my hands trembling where they pressed down on the table.

  He placed the fingers of one hand under my chin, tipping my head back until I was forced to look up at him. ‘Do you remember everything we’ve discussed since we got here?’

  I fought to keep my voice steady and swallowed. ‘I have not forgotten.’

  He slammed a fist on the table and I jumped. ‘Then why do you not understand what will happen if we do not get those coordinates!’

  ‘And even if I got hold of them, then what?’ I stammered in haste. ‘Would you have us return to Delta Twenty-Five? Borodin, we were attacked. By invisible monsters. They tore everyone apart, and I am very, very lucky to be alive. I saw one of those creatures shot at with a roof-mounted machine gun, and I don’t think it was even wounded. Going back would be suicide for both of us, I promise you.’

  ‘I would say our odds of survival are better or at least equal to those faced by many soldiers on the battlefield,’ Borodin replied, letting go of me. ‘The Authority has been present on Delta Twenty-Five for quite some time, Katya, and the creatures never attacked until now. There is no reason to think they will again. In fact,’ he continued, a note of satisfaction creeping into his voice, ‘all this might be to our advantage. With the Authority having all but abandoned Delta Twenty-Five for the
present, we could go and take what we need without their interference. But only if we act soon.’

  ‘You know Jerry can’t be the only one with those coordinates,’ I said. ‘Why haven’t you—’

  Before I could finish, he reached inside a pocket and pulled out a notebook with a faded leather binding, dropping it on the table before me. ‘But I have,’ he replied. ‘This notebook belongs to Yuichi Ho. He thinks he lost it. I broke into his house one afternoon while you were gone, and stole it. I had no way of knowing if you would ever return, after all.’

  ‘And it doesn’t have the coordinates we need?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Beche, I have learned, is tasked with overseeing the retrieval and transport of artefacts from Delta Twenty-Five. He has a reason to keep a copy of those coordinates on him at all times. Ho, by contrast, rarely visits that alternate.’

  ‘Then perhaps one of the other Pathfinders . . . ?’

  He shook his head. ‘They’re all either a lot more careful than Mr Ho, or aren’t currently on this island. We will focus on Mr Beche because we know for certain he has what we need.’ He leaned down close to me, until I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. ‘So get those fucking coordinates from him, Miss Orlova, and get them soon, or I will.’

  I let out a shuddering breath as he stepped back around the table and towards the door. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know how to get people to talk,’ he said, pulling the door open, ‘even if you don’t. One way or another, be ready to return to Delta Twenty-Five in no more than a few days from now.’

  ‘Borodin,’ I asked him, as he turned to exit, ‘why is it just the two of us?’

  He stared at me, his gaze hard and flinty. ‘What?’

  ‘You are part of the Imperial Security Services. You must have thousands of men at your disposal. So why are you here and not one of them?’

  ‘One more word,’ he said, ‘and I will not be responsible for what I do.’

  Just for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something like fear in his eyes.

  I sat staring at the table after he left. The very idea of returning to Delta Twenty-Five filled me with absolute terror. That, alone, would be sufficient motivation for me to betray him to the Pathfinders.

  But first, I knew, I had to find Jerry and warn him of Borodin’s threat. And the more I thought about my situation, the more I felt as if I were caught within an enormous steel vice, and it was growing ever tighter.

  FOURTEEN

  To my irritation, Illyenna unexpectedly returned before I could set out to try and find Jerry, offering to wash the many dishes still scattered across the dining-room table. It was the least she could do, she said.

  I wanted only to be rid of her, but she was, unfortunately, quite adamant about cleaning up. Any opportunity to sneak away and warn Jerry entirely evaporated once the real reason for Illyenna’s insistence became clear: she wanted to talk to me about Vissarion, with whom, it appeared, she had entered into a physical relationship. That Vissarion had a wife and two children back home seemed to make little difference to her, and I wondered how someone so vastly intelligent in the field of theoretical physics could simultaneously be so very dim in matters of the heart.

  By the time I finally chased her out, it was long after midnight, and I barely made it to my bed before passing out fully clothed. I woke the next afternoon and, for the first time in many days, thought of the memory beads.

  I sat up with a lurch. I threw myself off the bed and quickly dug the wooden box out from the back of the drawer where I had hidden it.

  Perhaps Borodin had little interest in the beads, but Jerry, surely, would immediately recognize their importance. And since I had no work to do, I would take them with me while I went looking for him.

  Unfortunately, I had no idea about where to look apart from the main compound, nor did I know where he lived. I headed for the hotel bar, where I found Tony Nuyakpuk diligently scrubbing out the drained pool with a long-handled broom.

  ‘He’s probably at the transfer hangar,’ said Tony. ‘They’re taking a look around Delta Twenty-Five to assess the damage.’

  ‘He hasn’t gone back there himself, has he?’ I asked, alarmed.

  He laughed. ‘Hell, no. They’ve been sending drones over. He’s helping with the logistics, I hear.’

  ‘Maybe I should offer my help?’ At least that might give me an opportunity to talk to him.

  The man shook his head. ‘If they need you, they’ll let you know.’

  ‘Maybe if I could catch him at home . . . ?’

  He gave me an appraising look, and I blushed. ‘No guarantees when he’ll be back, though. They’re crazy-busy over at the compound.’ He stepped towards the edge of the pool and pointed. ‘Go back down two blocks, turn left on Policarpo Toro, take the first fork on the left, and his place is at the end of Sebastian Englert Road. Easy to spot. It’s got these fake pink Grecian pillars in the garden.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, turning away.

  ‘Remember what I said!’ he called after me. ‘Crazy-busy.’

  Jerry’s home was easy to locate. Unlike most of the neighbouring houses, it wasn’t on the verge of collapse. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t there.

  I headed back down Pont Avenue and grabbed one of several parked jeeps available for the taking. Fifteen minutes later I pulled up inside the main compound, which was, as Tony put it, crazy-busy. The hangar doors were closed, and from within I heard the faint whoosh and rumble of a stage in operation. Several soldiers were busy unloading two enormous multi-legged drones from the back of a truck parked next to the hangar. Neither they nor the guards stationed outside the hangar doors would tell me anything about what was going on, let alone whether Jerry was inside or not.

  I returned to Jerry’s house that evening, once again to no avail. Nor, indeed, could I locate any of the other Pathfinders: when I enquired again at the hotel bar, Tony informed me drily that every last one of them was, to his knowledge, carrying out some duty or other on some alternate. This was, I gathered, a frequent occurrence.

  When I returned home, I found Boris sitting in the kitchen. He sourly informed me that Vissarion had decided to shack up next door with Illyenna. With the effective population of our house thereby reduced to just myself and Boris, it felt even emptier than before.

  At dinner, next door in the engineer’s house, I learned that probes had been sent into the deep shafts I and Jerry had stumbled across on Delta Twenty-Five. Dozens more such shafts had since been located, all leading into a single vast underground complex. One of the Soviets pulled out his laptop and showed us a video shot from the point of view of one of the drones I had seen earlier as it explored the complex. The breath caught in my throat when I saw a long row of empty three-legged cradles, identical to the ones that supported the two known Hyperspheres.

  I wondered if Borodin had seen this, and if he had come to the same, obvious, conclusion: there might be more Hyperspheres on Delta Twenty-Five, waiting to be found.

  Borodin, however, was conspicuously absent. I carefully asked where he might be.

  ‘We thought maybe you’d know where he was,’ said Vissarion, sounding surprised. He sat shoulder to shoulder with Illyenna.

  ‘Why would I know his movements?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ he said with a knowing smirk. ‘Anyway, I haven’t seen him since this morning. Perhaps you could go back next door and see if he’s waiting for you in your room?’

  Boris stifled a snicker. I finished my meal in angry silence and returned next door at the first opportunity. It had been two days since my return: how much longer, I wondered, would I have to wait to hear from Jerry?

  As it turned out, not long at all.

  I rose late the next morning, and came downstairs to find Damian chatting with Boris in the kitchen.

  ‘I thought I should let you know,’ said Damian, as I poured myself a coffee, ‘that the Americans have been asking about you.’

  I looked at him over m
y coffee, still fuzzy from lack of sleep. ‘What kind of questions?’

  There was a look on his face I couldn’t quite decipher. Not hostile, but not entirely friendly either. ‘It had something to do with a discussion we took part in, back before your unfortunate experience on Delta Twenty-Five. Some solution you wrote on a whiteboard apparently got their attention enough that they asked me really quite a lot of questions about it.’

  The coffee cup froze at my lips. In an instant, I was transported back in time to the hut where, in a moment of inattention, I had scrawled Heim’s proof on a whiteboard. I had erased it immediately, dismissing it as a mistake and hoping it would be forgotten.

  Clearly, that had been too much to hope for.

  ‘Specifically, Kip Mayer called me to his office this morning,’ Damian continued. ‘He didn’t come right out and make any kind of accusation, but he seemed to think that the only way you could have come up with that solution was if you somehow had access to classified information.’ He paused and took a sip of coffee, studying me over the rim of his mug. ‘Information,’ he added, ‘for which we have not yet been granted clearance.’

  Beside him, Boris had grown very still.

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ I said. ‘He clearly doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’

  ‘Well, the gentleman leading the discussion on the day in question apparently made a point of memorizing what you wrote on that whiteboard even after you had wiped it away. He showed it to me, Katya. I still can’t make up my mind if it’s wrong, or if you’re some kind of supernaturally gifted genius.’

  ‘Then maybe I’m just smarter than you,’ I snapped.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Damian with a forthright stare. ‘Or then again, maybe it’s neither.’

  ‘Are you accusing me of something?’ I said, much more defensively than I intended.

  He leaned forward. ‘Our position here is precarious, Katya. Nina almost got us thrown right back where we came from. Your resourcefulness and bravery on Delta Twenty-Five helped a great deal to redress the balance, but this could tip it back all the other way if the Americans think you’ve been stealing secrets from them, or somehow know more than they do about how the stages work. Moscow says you’re not any kind of spy, but it’s going to take a great deal of work to convince our hosts otherwise. So let me ask you, Katya, as one scientist to another – is there anything the rest of us don’t know about you that we should?’