Match of the Day

by Chris Boucher

  So it was that in the scramble to load up and get out, all that mattered to anyone was that each ‘copter had a full squad on board. No one cared much whether the right squad members were on the right vehicles, let alone whether the right squad members were in the uniforms.

  Sita was hugely relieved when she heard the confirmation that all the squads were airborne and accounted for. She even enjoyed the passes the gun-ship made across the area, strafing methodically, laying down an unsurvivable patchwork of fire.

  She shouted: ‘Eat blast and die screaming you murderous scum,’ and grinned at the gun-ship pilot, who did not appreciate the joke.

  The Shift Controller was less relieved to hear that the squads had found no one while they were on the ground. ‘Maintain operational readiness!’ he yelled over the command control net. ‘Return to base on full stand-by!’ He knew now that it had been a feint, or an exercise, but either way he needed those squads back and ready to scramble.

  ‘I have ignored the fact that the de facto referee had called for a halt,’ the Doctor said, now that he had finally been given the floor. ‘Nobody move was, I think, the phrase he used.’

  In the wall behind him the sacred arena reappeared and the replay of the moment he referred to began its multiversion sequence. ‘Nobody move!’ the voice on the PA ordered. ‘I’m coming to sort this out.’ ‘Do you accept the challenge?’ Jarvis muttered to the Doctor who picked out a green jelly baby, put the bag back into his coat pocket and said round a mouthful of sweet, ‘Aren’t we supposed to wait?’

  The Doctor did not look at the wall as the next version and the next ground on and on. Even Leela had become tired of watching herself. She had sat down in one of the chairs and was staring up at the nine members of the court with undisguised hostility. It had been bothering the Doctor that if her pride got the better of her she might do something suicidally aggressive, like trying to leap up onto the high bench and attack them. He wasn’t sure whether her obvious boredom would make this more or less likely. He was sure that now she was seated he wanted her to stay seated.

  ‘Aren’t we supposed to wait?’ ‘Nobody move!’ Eventually his own impatience got the better of him and he exclaimed loudly, ‘I said I have ignored it!’

  ‘If you do not wish the replay to be replayed for recorded assessment do not make the reference,’ the High Referee instructed mildly. ‘You cannot talk about something you are claiming to ignore.’

  What do they do if there’s no replay, the Doctor wondered.

  How do they judge what’s real? He considered referring back to the moments in the arena before the cameras were deployed, just to see how they would react but decided that this was probably not the best time to indulge his curiosity.

  ‘Let us go instead,’ he said sonorously, hoping he sounded suitably portentous and legalistically heavyweight, ‘to the moment when the referee intervened and terminated the duel.’ He turned to watch the wall. To his surprise nothing happened. Perhaps he hadn’t been specific enough, he thought. ‘I am referring to that moment when the High Referee and Senior Umpire of the Court of Attack, acting as de facto referee for the duel arising from the spot challenge made by Jarvis and accepted by my client, summarily executed Jarvis by shooting him in the head with his own pistol.’ There was still no response from the wall. ‘I think I am right in saying Jarvis asked for his gun back and said something along the lines of: ‘There’s no reason to waste the Court’s time on a chancer; let’s see her outrun a bullet.’ The wall remained simply a plain and stubbornly blank wall with a normal access door in it. The Doctor turned back to look at the members of the court. ‘Is it broken?’ he asked. ‘Or merely selective?’

  ‘Is it possible you are not aware or have perhaps forgotten that the High Referee and Senior Umpire never appears in replay?’ the High Referee and Senior Umpire asked.

  ‘So it’s selective then,’ the Doctor said. ‘And the killing that is central to my case must remain unseen? Is this justice?

  Are we to be held responsible for a death in which we had no direct part?’

  It was some time before Snatch Squad Four found pieces of the man who had been killed by the gun-ship. Sita had been more concerned to make sure that her men did not shoot each other than to supervise a thorough search of the area.

  When enough of the corpse had been collected to identify one of Security’s finest, she began to realise that what had been happening was different from any of the possible scenarios yet considered.

  For the Shift Controller the discovery that they were a man short in the three squads now back at base and on stand-by confirmed his worst suspicion. Somebody had scuffled up a simple head count and left a man on the ground. If this was going to cost somebody their job then by the scuffling gods it was not going to be him.

  He was wrong on both counts.

  Without the replay, which he had quickly come to realise was what the Court of Attack took to be the only incontrovertible evidence, the Doctor found himself at something of a loss.

  Their whole case depended on what the High Referee had done, but if he wasn’t allowed to establish what he had done where did that leave them? Maybe it wasn’t too late to ask for someone who knew what they were doing to represent them.

  Jerro Fanson, say.

  While he was still making up his mind what to do, Leela got to her feet and strode forward to stare up at the High Referee.

  ‘Why are you treated differently from everyone else?’ she demanded. ‘Are you a shaman of the tribe?’

  ‘The High Referee and Senior Umpire represents the Law of Attack,’ the High Referee said solemnly. ‘He is the Law of Attack personified. The Law of Attack may not be questioned or doubted or it is not the Law of Attack. You should have been taught this.’ He looked towards the Doctor. ‘Your client should know this.’

  ‘Leela is a warrior, not a lawyer,’ the Doctor said. ‘May I ask for guidance on the question of admissible evidence?’

  ‘You may not.’

  Leela had not taken her eyes from the face of the High Referee. ‘I do not understand why the wall does not show you as it shows us,’ she said. ‘I knew a shaman who feared such devices threatened his powers. Is that the reason?’

  The High Referee’s hands were drifting towards the guns again. ‘The Law of Attack requires respect,’ he said. ‘The Law of Attack does not require replay confirmation.’

  ‘In that case,’ the Doctor said quickly, ‘or in fact in this case, I shall not be presenting replay confirmation of the actions of the High Referee and Senior Umpire since it is not, of course, available and he has further ruled that it is not required for our purposes. I shall merely be stating what happened for the record.’

  Leela turned on her heel and went back to her chair. She sat down and stifled a yawn. There was a long pause. It seemed likely to the Doctor that the High Referee was having trouble deciding whether to shoot them before or after having their hands and feet chopped off. As the silence stretched on he was sure he could feel the wrist and ankle bands tightening.

  ‘Very well,’ the High Referee and Senior Umpire said. ‘You may state what happened for the record.’

  ‘For the record,’ the Doctor said, ‘there was a cunning plan.’

  Sita Benovides knew that someone had used the snatch squads to cross the security perimeter into Aerospace Main.

  She didn’t know who or why but she intended to find out.

  Strictly speaking, no part of the screw-up was down to her, but she wouldn’t come out of it well. It would do nothing for her rep and it might just damage her career. But more important than that she felt like a fool and above all things she hated to feel like a fool. Whoever pulled this stunt was in all kinds of trouble.

  When the jet-copters landed back at base and the squads had been unloaded Keefer had shed the uniform in one of the shower rooms and quickly got cleaned up. After that he had slipped out and taken the express beltway to the Lunar Flight Concourse, the busiest of the terminals in
Aerospace Main.

  Within the spaceport there was no sign that there had been any sort of security panic out at the perimeter. He knew it was public policy not to alarm people but Keefer was surprised and relieved that the place was a milling throng of normal travellers, the usual number of whom were routinely lost, confused, irritated, late. In the bustling confusion he should have no difficulty moving between the automatic bank tellers to use the cash plates and thumb prints he had taken from the ambushers he had killed.

  At the first machine he took the transaction limit from one plate and transferred it to a second then using the second plate, but a different teller and a different brand of bank cash, he bought a standard round-trip ticket to the Lunar Gaming Resort in the name of a third. At another teller in another trademark currency, he cancelled the Lunar ticket and used the refund and that plate limit to buy a Class C

  round trip to the Barionian Pioneer Experience in the name of a fourth. And so on. By the time he was finished he had a very expensive open ticket carrying Class A personal security and full seat priority, in the name of Norbert Lung, the man whose plate and limited means he started with. He knew this financial juggling would barely delay pursuit, and that there was just a chance his adversary already knew what he had done, but he still felt a small sharp elation as if he were counterattacking.

  He decided to keep Lung’s ID pack, though as support for the alias it would not bear scrutiny. The rest of the plates he dropped into the medical incinerator in the private-subscription lavatories. Then he bought an off-planet travel kit from an equipment dispenser and made his way towards the OT embarkation booth.

  He intended to take the first flight out to the Orbital Transfer Station and pick up an onward connection to anywhere: a Big Wheel colony, Barion, one of the outer planet hellholes, wherever the first ship was leaving for. But that was later, his immediate problem was to get past the booking hostess without having Lung’s ID scrutinised. He waited for a flight to be called, hung back until the last moment and then strode up to the plate reader and punched in his ticket.

  ‘Do you have ID, Mr Lung?’ The girl smiled at him brightly from behind the glass.

  Keefer looked around furtively. ‘Would you keep your voice down, please.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I’m Norbert Lung,’ he murmured with all the bland confidence he had once seen Jerro use to con his way into a network executive’s office.

  ‘Yes?’ The hostess looked slightly puzzled.

  ‘Norbert Lung!’ he whispered fiercely.

  Now she was unsettled, ‘I’m sorry, sir?’ and beginning to get uncomfortable.

  ‘So you should be. Do you normally announce your Class A passengers like that?’

  ‘I’m sorry sir I didn’t mean to -’

  Keefer interrupted her in the same angry mutter: ‘I told my agent this was a stupid idea. Incognito? How would that work? Do you have any idea what will happen if they realise I’m here? Do you want a riot on your hands?’

  ‘I should say not, sir, no.’

  ‘Then stop wasting valuable time and get me on the flight.’

  Would she have the nerve to admit that she had no idea who he was? Would she insist on seeing Norbert Lung’s ID?

  ‘Well?’

  ‘The flight is full.’

  No she wouldn’t. ‘So?’

  ‘I shall have to stand down a C. If you make your way to the boarding lift, sir, I’ll take care of it.’

  He would have to thank Jerro for that one too...

  If they ever saw him again, the Doctor thought, they would have to thank Jerro Fanson for this.

  ‘In summary then,’ the High Referee continued, ‘you have argued that the de facto referee denied you the opportunity to exploit your client’s full potential thereby intervening in and breaching an already existing agent-fighter privilege. You further claim denial of your first subsection rights under Kill Rule Two and have argued that this was not an unconsummated kill but an involuntarily interrupted contest under Kill Rule Three Subsection Seven. We will vote on these submissions.’

  The Doctor got to his feet again. ‘There is one further argument I wish to make,’ he said.

  ‘We will vote on these submissions,’ the High Referee repeated in exactly the same tone of voice, and small screens and touch panels folded out of the seats and swung round in front of the members of the court.

  The Doctor sat down again. In the chair beside him Leela yawned copiously. ‘This is boring,’ she said to him, not bothering to keep her voice down. ‘Boring and stupid. I do not care what these people decide.’

  ‘I think you’ve made that clear,’ the Doctor said quietly.

  ‘Why are we listening to them?’ Leela persisted. ‘Why are we waiting to hear what they will say? It is a waste of time.’

  ‘It’s difficult to know what will be a waste of time until after the time has been wasted, by which time it is too late,’ the Doctor said. ‘So predicting what will be a waste of time is something of a waste of time. Unless it gives you pleasure of course when it probably doesn’t count as a waste of time.’

  Leela yawned again. ‘I am sorry I did not hear what you said, Doctor.’

  The Doctor smiled. ‘That was a waste of time then,’ he said.

  Above them the screens and panels in front of the members of the court folded away and the High Referee announced,

  ‘The vote is nine. Your submissions are accepted. You are free to go.’

  The Doctor got to his feet. ‘Just like that?’ he said. ‘I have another submission to offer. Another argument. I have an important point I wish to make.’

  ‘Irrelevant,’ the High Referee observed. ‘Further arguments and submissions can have no bearing on this case.’

  The Doctor felt his wrist and ankle bands loosen and as he watched they unclasped and curled back on themselves forming small rolls, which then dropped off. He left them where they lay. Leela meanwhile was stamping on hers and kicking them away so that they skittered across the floor and hit the base of the tiered seats on which the High Referee and Senior Umpire of Duel and the Panel of Fight Replay still sat in solemn session.

  ‘My argument,’ the Doctor said, ‘is that the ruling of this court has made it legally possible to win a duel without the necessity of killing.’ The High Referee ignored him and stood up. The Doctor was struck by what a small and undistinguished looking man he was. The other eight members of the court waited for a moment and they too then stood up.

  ‘The session of this Court of Attack is at an end,’ the High Referee announced. ‘By the Rules of Attack we live and we die. Let the Rules of Attack be maintained before all and every one.’

  As the members of the court filed out of a doorway at the end of the elevated tier of seats, the Doctor said, more or less to himself, ‘Well that was bizarre.’

  ‘What was it for?’ Leela asked.

  ‘It was to make murder seem like an acceptable way of life,’

  the Doctor said. ‘We are apparently free to go and I think we should go back to the TARDIS and leave immediately. This is a sick society and we don’t want to catch whatever it’s got.’

  He started towards the door.

  Leela did not follow him. ‘What about the man, Jerro Fanson?’ she demanded of his departing back.

  ‘What about him?’ the Doctor said, striding out of the doorway and disappearing into the corridor.

  ‘You gave him your promise,’ Leela shouted.

  The Doctor stuck his head back round the door.

  ‘Irrelevant,’ he said. ‘He was obviously released before we were.’

  ‘Why is it obvious?’

  The Doctor sighed. She was right of course, he thought.

  Irritating girl. Before they left he should check and make sure. ‘We’ll check and make sure,’ he said. ‘Before we leave.’

  Leela nodded. ‘If your word has no value your life has no meaning,’ she said solemnly.

  The Doctor smiled his wolfi
sh smile. ‘Another quote from the Warrior’s Handbook?’ he teased.

  Leela walked towards the door. ‘A warrior’s trust must be given before it can be taken,’ she said.

  ‘Oh dear I’m sorry I asked,’ he said wryly as they set off down the anonymous white corridor looking for directions and information and, most important of all as far the Doctor was concerned, the way out.

  Chapter Seven

  A spaceplane’s climb to orbit was reputed to be one of the great travel experiences, especially if you could afford a window seat. From his window seat, Keefer watched the sky turn from blue to black, and then craned for a glimpse back at the planet’s surface. Like everyone else he had seen tri-dee footage of this, and he had ridden a simulator, but it turned out that the real thing was different. It was noisier, less comfortable and you couldn’t see as much: and yet it was more satisfying. Maybe it was because you knew it was real, and although you could trick your senses, Keefer understood better than most there was one instinctive response you couldn’t fool. Only real things could really kill you. Deep down the thrill of reality was the chance of dying.

  Before this his experience of off-planet travel was limited to one brief trip to the first moon when he was a kid. It had been paid for by the company orphanage so that he could take the entry tests for the Space Force training college, the Luni-Uni. He passed them all, but then the psych-profiling cost him the place and a better life. There had been a lot of technical jargon but the gist of it was that he was too aggressive. He never got into fights with the other kids, was never insolent to the trainers, never defied the dormitory matrons, but still the machines detected a buried rage, which it was suggested might surface at any time.

  It occurred to Keefer that, but for that evaluation, he might have been flying the spaceplane now instead of hiding in it, running from one of the two most powerful people in the system. And since he didn’t know which of the two most powerful people in the system it was, he might not be running from them at all, he could be running right to them.