Challenge of Steel

by James David Victor

  “Sibbi?” he said, still feeling groggy and in pain. His head hurt like it had been kicked by a Mondrauk. Maybe he had.

  “You need to get up. It’s morning!” his deceased daughter urged. She was right, he thought as he fluttered his eyes open, only to close them again against the glare.

  He must have slept in again, the lieutenant thought, reaching over so he could throw his arm over his still-sleeping wife.

  To find nothing but a patch of scrubby reeds.

  Huh?

  His wife wasn’t there because she was dead too. Killed by a gangland bullet many years ago. That meant that his daughter, too, was also dead. That wasn’t a dream, this was reality.

  And Anders was waking up on an alien planet, whose sky was instantly recognizable from the many times he had seen it on the screens. It was a haze of gray, dusted with the pinks and crimsons of the coming morning. But beyond the thin veil of atmosphere, there were still the odd patches of purple and indigo. No matter how they tried to make Hecta 3 look like any other natural world, it just wasn’t. Anders knew that the atmosphere that had accumulated down here from all the organic compounds being released was nowhere near as thick as that of a full-sized, living planet.

  “I’m on Hecta 3. The damn Challenge planet,” he swore, pushing himself into a painful sitting position.

  Around him he could see the oddly whorled trees of this artificial landscape, growing out of sandy-colored soils. Thick, fleshy-leaved plants and shrubs hugged the ground here and there. Even the air smelled different. There was a tang of ozone and humus, and something sickly-sweet. The fragrances of the genetically-engineered species that lived here, at least half of which could kill him in some way or another.

  He wondered why he might be down here for just a moment, and then shook his head at the question. It was obvious. He had been about to apprehend the killer of the—psychic clone?—and someone had attacked him. It was a murder that was being covered up by the Gene Seers themselves, which pointed at high-level corruption.

  And now, it appeared, that corruption had its tendrils even in the Challenge itself. He had powerful enemies out there, someone had found out he was on their trail and had decided to put an end to him, by including him in the Challenge.

  Dalia. She had been with me, he thought, looking around.

  But he couldn’t see the Ilythian. Was she somewhere on the surface of this battle planet as well, just like him? Or had they just killed her?

  “Sir? I am glad to see that you are awake at last,” said a small voice in his ear.

  “Moriarty!” Anders said out loud. It was good to know that the simulated intelligence, at least, had remained with him. Which meant that he must have his personal node.

  Which means that I could contact the captain and tell him what is going on, Anders thought, tapping the small steel-looking bud he had transferred to his lapel.

  “It’s no use, sir,” Moriarty said. “The entire planet of Hecta 3 is shielded from transmissions. Nothing can get in, and nothing can get out. It’s fortunate that I reside as a copy in your node, otherwise even I wouldn’t be talking to you,” the intelligence said in its exact, almost aristocratic tones.

  “What happened?” Anders said.

  “The Challenge guards came to break up the fight, but they appeared more focused on capturing you with the aid of batons—”

  “Hence the headache.” Anders gingerly pressed a hand to the back of his head, where he felt the scab of dried blood and the puff of a large welt.

  “Yes. After which, you were transferred into the facility and brought to the surface in the transporter shuttles as the other contestants were.”

  “Did you see what happened to Dalia?”

  “I’m afraid that I can only utilize your sensing matrix at the moment, sir. I have no access to MPB services, cameras, or satellite privileges.” Moriarty managed to even sound a little chagrined.

  Okay. Fine. Anders tried to breathe through the pain. His side with its cracked ribs felt like a slab of red heat, while his head pounded with every heartbeat. He felt weak and a little nauseous.

  “I’m not going to last five minutes down here, with a dozen or so trained killers on the loose,” Anders muttered.

  “The probabilities of your survival are indeed low,” Moriarty said. “I would currently put them at less than twelve percent, given your current condition.”

  “Wow. Thanks for letting me know,” Anders said irritably. Somehow, this managed to make him feel all that much worse.

  Anders sat in the dirt for a moment as the weight of his situation pressed on him. He was a military police officer—a wounded military police officer—on possibly one of the most dangerous planets in the entire throne right now. Everything around him wanted to kill him.

  Everything had been taken from him—his old life, his weapons, his health. Even his family weren’t out there somewhere, wishing him well.

  They were taken from me. Anders felt that spark of outrage and grief in the center of his chest. It was the feeling that he had clung to during the long, dark months that had followed his family’s murder. It was the hatred for the wrongs of this universe that had forced him back to his feet.

  Anders found that he was standing now. And he was angry.

  “Sir?” Moriarty buzzed beside his ear.

  “I’ve already lost everything that mattered to me, Moriarty.” Ander’s eyes squinted into a fierce stare. “And now I’ve got nothing left to lose, right? Somewhere on this planet is the killer Uskol Hecatia, and he has to know who hired him. Who’s behind all of this.”

  Anders looked around for the nearest path. “It’s up to me to find him.”

  “GREETINGS TO THE BATTLE OF BLOOD! THE TEST OF WITS! OF COURAGE! OF STAMINA! WELCOME TO THE CHALLENGE!”

  The words came as a klaxon as they were emitted from slow-moving drones over the jungle surface of Hecta 3. Anders looked up to see where the craft was, but it was far too high for him to see accurately.

  It’s weird to hear that from the other side, Anders thought angrily. He crouched by the side of a fast-moving stream, which Moriarty had analyzed for him as being actual, normal H2O. Nothing poisonous there. With no other provisions or rations or tools, he had settled for taking long gulps from the stream. He felt a little better, but only a pinch.

  “THIS SOLAR YEAR, WE HAVE TWENTY-EIGHT CONTESTANTS FROM ALL PARTS OF THE GALAXY!” The words were beamed to the surface at the same time as being live transmitted to the various satellites. Anders knew that somewhere out there would be hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of spectators, all eagerly awaiting the first clash.

  “YOU CAN FIND DETAILS OF EACH CONTESTANT IN YOUR NODES AND FOLLOW ALONG WITH YOUR CHOSEN FAVORITE!” the smarmy robotic voice went on.

  Anders knew the score. This was the traditional start of the Challenge. From here on out, everything got a heck of a lot worse.

  “THE CONTESTANTS’ FIRST TEST IS TO CLIMB TABLETOP RIDGE, THERE TO FIND THE SUPPLIES NECESSARY TO SURVIVE—AND OF COURSE—WEAPONS!”

  “Tabletop Ridge,” Anders thought. He knew it well from the previous screens, and by looking around, he could see it rising just ahead of him out of the jungle. It was a long semi-circular spur of rocky highland, with multiple flat spaces like platforms at the very top.

  And up there would be caches of food, water, medicines and weapons, Anders thought.

  “Central face,” Moriarty advised.

  “What?” Anders examined the ridge. There were a number of ascents that could be made of course, and each one of them was different, with its own challenges. But the most difficult one had to be the central face. An almost sheer climb up the striated yellow and gray rock.

  “Have you actually gone insane, Moriarty?” Anders breathed. “Do you know that I can barely lift my arms above my head?

  “Admittedly, I am cut off from the MPB Servers, so I am running on my localized logic circuits,” Moriarty said. “And also, I have not had the opportunity to perfor
m dedicated psychological profiling on any of the other contestants…”

  “You’re not filling me with confidence, Moriarty,” Anders stated.

  “However, I can perform broad-spectrum psychological analyses of the sorts of behaviors we might expect in such a situation,” Moriarty continued. The S.I. was very good at ignoring him, as always.

  “At this early stage of the Challenge, most people will be wary of full confrontation with risk. They will choose the easier ascents at the two ends. They will not seek the hardest route. You should be able to climb, free from any interference,” Moriarty said.

  “But it’ll take me hours!” Anders said. “And by the time I get up there, the other contestants will already have gained the ridge! They’ll just walk along the top, killing each other and grabbing up the supplies!”

  “I said that you should be free from interference, not that you could take your time about it,” Moriarty said.

  Anders looked once again at the cliff ahead of him, groaning deeply.

  15

  Tabletop Ridge

  “A fissure at your two o’clock, follow until end,” Moriarty confirmed in Anders’s ear.

  The lieutenant hissed with pain as he reached out with one arm to find that yes, there indeed was the crack in the walls that Moriarty had sensed.

  Wait. Breathe. Anders steeled himself and pulled with all his might.

  “Argh!” It was a pain like he was being slowly torn in half as he dragged himself over to the deep fissure in the rock, panting as he held himself there, his muscles shaking.

  I can’t do this anymore. It’s too painful. The thought flashed through his mind, to be replaced by, I have to do this. I have to keep on going.

  “You have approximately thirty meters still to go, sir,” Moriarty stated.

  Just thirty? Really? Anders almost couldn’t believe it. Had he really climbed that far? But in between the cold gusts of the cliff-edge winds, Anders knew his back had felt warmed by the distant Hecta sun. It must be later on in the morning.

  The lieutenant had dragged himself up the cliff grasp by stuttering grasp. Luckily, Moriarty had been there at every stage to direct him which was the best route that was structurally sound as well as being quickest.

  But even so, Ander’s back and ribs were in constant agony now. His fingers were cracked and bleeding, and his arms and shoulders were on fire. Any amount of the water that he had managed to take in had been sweated out. He felt like he was just a shadow of the man he had once been, paper thin and brittle.

  “Sir! Three o’clock!” Moriarty said just as a low shadow appeared around the corner of the cliffs.

  It was a bird, Anders thought at first, and then realized that no, although the thing had wings, it really wasn’t a bird.

  It was almost the size of Anders himself, and its wings were wide and arching leathery sails. Its body was horribly nude and wrinkled, but the worst part was its head: a maw that was scaled and filled with rows of dagger-sharp teeth.

  But it has no eyes, Anders registered, and instead had two bat-like ears on the side of its head.

  The thing screeched and swooped straight toward him.

  “Drekk!”

  Anders tried to swerve, but there was no choice. He had to let go one of his handholds and spin across the cliff surface, one hand locked into the crevice as he dodged the first strike.

  Anders’s feet scrabbled on the almost sheer rocks, finding the narrowest of ledges to secure himself as the giant bat-like creature screeched and came around for a second attack.

  This time, it flew up toward him from below, seeking to catch him where he couldn’t escape or dodge at all.

  “Go away!” Anders raised one metal-shod service boot to kick at it as it opened its maw…

  His blow connected with the top of the thing’s head, making it fall back just a little before it darted in for another bite.

  This time, Anders’s foot hit it more solidly behind its head, forcing it down and away. But he knew that he couldn’t hold on like this for much longer. His shoulders were a tearing agony. His side was a lance of white-hot pain.

  “Sir! Four o’clock! Five o’clock! Seven o’clock!” Moriarty’s words broke into his ear.

  Even as the one that had been attacking him fluttered back and shook its head, three more of the giant bat things had appeared and were coming for him…

  “Rargh!” Anders roared as he kicked out with his boots. His legs were all that he had, as he had at least managed to get two handholds in the fissure above him.

  But there were now four of the bat-things coming for him. At least they had to take turns in order to get close.

  Crack! He hit another one across the maw, just before having to lift himself up in a crunch to avoid the snap of another. Anders would have thanked all those hours of physical training he had kept up every morning and every night, but right now, he was near beat.

  He needed a plan.

  He had no weapons. He had no guns. He had no way of summoning backup. In short, he had no obvious strengths to call on.

  So I have to rely on their weaknesses, he thought as he managed to boot another of the bat-things in the head.

  They had no eyes. How do they fly?

  In a shiver of realization, he knew precisely what to do. These things were bat-based organisms. They had massive ears, and there were ridges and rills of hardened skin along the top of their maws that must have been how they echolocated him.

  “Moriarty! Prepare to emit the biggest infra-sound wave my node can produce,” Anders hissed, just as the creatures darted away, and then darted in—

  “Now!”

  Anders of course couldn’t hear it, but he felt the strange judder of noise hit the back of his teeth and even make his ears pop. It was like being momentarily submerged underwater.

  But the mutated bat-things could clearly hear it. Just as they swooped in to finish him off, the soundwave hit. Anders saw them suddenly shudder and shriek in confusion, falling out of the sky like swatted flies, one of them hitting the cliff wall in confusion, and another plummeting into the forest below as the others soared off, screeching in agony.

  Relief flooded through Anders’s body. But it was short-lived. Now he had to continue.

  “One last pull, sir,” Moriarty counseled him as the officer reached up. He thought that this climb was never going to end. Somehow even the remaining thirty meters had stretched into a marathon. His world had coalesced into a pinpoint of pain.

  And there was only one thought in the middle of his heart. Sibbi. He couldn’t let her see her dad fail. He couldn’t let her memory die with him. There wouldn’t be anyone left after him to remember she had even existed.

  His shaking hand reached up, grabbing nothing but air.

  But then it came down and struck something that wasn’t rock. It was leafy. It had a stem.

  “Mother-of-Stars!” he hissed as a new sort of pain raced up his hand. An itching sort of burn that was nowhere near as painful as his side or his head, but it was another layer of torment to his already addled body.

  “I’m not going to be beaten by a goddam plant!” he growled at himself as he pulled on the branch of the poisonous thing and found that he was no longer moving vertically, but across. There was a layer of sandy, dusty soil under his cheeks and his bare palms as he collapsed.

  “You made it, sir! You’re at the top!”

  “Don’t ever speak to me again, Moriarty,” Anders groaned. He waited to capture his breathe before looking at the state his hand was in, and what had caused it.

  He was indeed at the top of Tabletop Ridge, and he could see the curve of the steep hills rounding on either side of him. At five or six paces, the ridges flattened out to these sandy ‘tabletops’ that were dotted with woody shrubs which were clearly poisonous irritants.

  Anders’s hand was red and blotchy, but aside from the pain, he didn’t think it was life-threatening. He was more worried about the cracked and torn nails he had earned
from the climb.

  Flash! There was a sudden burst of light further up the ridge, and Anders thumped back to the floor instinctively. There was a battle already taking place at one of the tabletops as the other contestants fought for their treasure.

  Speaking of which… Sitting there in the middle of the sandy arena just a few meters away was a white plastic-form crate. He crawled and rolled toward it, slapping a hand on its side, which forced it to open with a smooth automatic whirr.

  None of the other contestants had made it this far, it seemed, so all of the contents inside were still in place.

  “Ha! Moriarty, you’re a starry genius,” Anders whispered. This crate had been set in the middle of the ridge, the most difficult to get to. In the logic of the Challenge, that also meant that it held the best prizes.

  Below him was a variety of objects packed in their own molded foam.

  A utility belt. A simple clip-belt with strap tighteners and a variety of sturdy pouches attached.

  A knife. A large, solid, fat-bladed carbon-metal knife with a serrated edge and holster-sheath.

  Ration packs. A handful of aluminum-wrapped bars that Anders broke into straight away, revealing a delicious fudge-like substance.

  Water tubes. There were almost a dozen of them, and Anders wasted no time drinking two and sliding a handful more into his utility belt. He was reaching for the rest when he paused.

  “You still have room, sir,” Moriarty informed him.

  “I know.” Anders looked at the last remaining five water tubes. What if Dalia came up this way after him? It wasn’t just his Ilythian friend that made him leave the last tubes in place, however. Water was life. Everyone knew that. Was he really about to condemn someone else to death? Dehydration was a terrible, terrible way to go, he knew.

  No. I can’t. Anders left the remaining five tubes and moved to the last of the items.

  A yellow-plastic update-card. These update cards were small rectangles of thin plastic about the size of the man’s palm, with a thin sheet of crystal-wire nano architecture captured inside. They were ubiquitous across the Reach and were ways to upload small bits of programs or apps to a node without having to log into the main server. Street vendors sold them by the dozens, all pre-loaded with gimmicky apps.