The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice not fogged with sleep. “What happened?”

  “Apologies,” Leclerc said. “Should have warned you. Will asked me to check something out while we’re here. Something he was curious about. Taking a quarter hour detour. Just look out the windows, tell me what you see.”

  A strange request but one Fagan was willing to comply with. Quickly he put his X7 back together, all but stopping short of reloading the power pack. He took aim, dry fired it twice to check it was all in working condition before slotting the load back in and holstering it. He was the last to the window.

  “Will transmitted these records to Agent Aldiss and I before we left,” Leclerc said. “According to what he had to say, this is where Reims started to get most of the building material from for the Carcaradis Island project.”

  “The desert?” Derenko said. “Interesting. Suggestive I think.”

  Below them, nothing but sand. If there were any people down there, they were too high to make them out. The people weren’t the issue here. Sure, there were nomads down there but they weren’t important. If Okocha wanted them to scout something out, hopefully whatever it was, it’d be noticeable.

  “Aye,” Fagan said quickly. “I think it’d be something like that.”

  He blinked several times, not quite sure what he was seeing was right. Noorland got up and left the co-pilots seat to get a better view of what lay below them, almost as if had been carved out of the desert by some giant knife. He had to blink several times to register what he was seeing.

  “Oh shit!” he said animatedly. “They scar mined the whole thing.”

  “Scar mined it?” Aldiss asked. “I thought that was illegal.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Derenko said. He folded his arms grimly. As far as Fagan could see down below, deep ugly scars had been carved into the ground, the area around them blackened and burnt beyond anything recognisable. They extended out for miles and miles, out in every direction, prominent to the landscape. “If you get caught. And I don’t see many environmental cops out here.”

  “Scar mining?” Fagan asked. “Divines weep!”

  Scar mining had been an illegal process in the five kingdoms for a long time now, it had started back in the day when some bright spark had come up with the idea of fixing a wide range high intensity low power laser to the bottom of a hover jet like this and running it over an area rich in minerals.

  Here it would be ideal, the sand would have been superheated to the point of shattering, whatever was in the ground below exposed and melted in the same way to the point that suction machines could suck it out and it could be transported in liquid form to be reconstituted and then shaped into whatever was needed. It was an easier process than it had once been, due to a new type of nanite designed to help shape it into whatever density was needed while still in liquid form. The scientist who’d created it had made an absolute fortune out of the process.

  Judging by the extent of the scarring on the land, they must have taken easily a couple of hundred tonnes of metal out of the ground. Even that, Fagan realised, might be a conservative estimate.

  “I can’t believe they did this,” Noorland said. He sounded annoyed. “What the hells is wrong with people?”

  “I imagine we could throw this at Reims,” Leclerc said. “This is evidence of clear wrongdoing. Breaking the laws of not just Vazara but the five kingdoms. I don’t think they’d get away with it unscathed.”

  “At the very worst, they’d be fined,” Derenko said wearily. “Maybe some minor custodial sentences. It’s easy for the people really at the top to shout innocence, be that true or not. It always looks like a worse crime than it actually is.” He sighed, lay his head back down on the bench. “No, I think this is only part of a bigger picture. We’ll report this back to command, see what they want to do with it. For now, gentlemen, we have an appointment with Joseph Itandje.”

  “Maybe he’ll have some answers about this whole thing,” Aldiss said. “Somebody has to. Resume course for Cubla Cezri.”

  “Speaking of unsightly scars on the landscape,” Noorland offered. He sounded like he meant it to be a joke. At the same time, his voice carried very little trace of amusement in it.

  He was sort of right, Fagan considered as he glanced out the window as they came in for descent. Comparing Cubla Cezri to a scar on the ground wasn’t as unfair a comparison as it might have once sounded. The stories went that it had once been quite a decent place to live, until undesirable criminal elements had moved into one of the neighbourhoods and slowly started to drag the quality of living down until those once affluent areas had been submerged under the squalor. Mansions had been broken down into shanties, boutiques into brothels, still regular people trying to make enough credits to get out of there toiled down there. By the looks of it from the sky, the town was split into three distinct sections, each an ugly overflow of building spilling out into the desert around it.

  “Man, this looks rough as a bear’s arse,” Noorland said, shaking his head. “If this place was hit with an airstrike, it’d cause millions of credits worth of improvement.”

  “Don’t let Okocha hear you say that,” Derenko remarked. “He’d agree with you but he’d still be annoyed. You know how people get. They can insult their homes and their family but if you get involved, they take offence. Especially round here.”

  “I don’t think that’s a solely Vazaran thing, you get that everywhere,” Leclerc said, moving to activate the communication system. “Ah, Cezri Air Traffic Control, this is Unisco HJ1189, requesting permission to land immediately, over.”

  “Never said it was,” Derenko muttered in the background.

  The voice that came back through was heavily accented with thick Vazaran overtones, the language broken.

  “Permission granted, keep in mind you not be too welcome here if you want reception, over.”

  “No reception is necessary, over,” Leclerc said. “Just a place to refuel and restock supplies, as well as check some minor errors in our system. We’ll be gone as soon as possible, over.”

  “Understood, Unisco HJ1189, enjoy your brief stay, over.”

  “Well that was more civilised than I thought it’d be,” Fagan commented.

  “They don’t all scream about the pale infidel,” Aldiss said wryly.

  The larger a settlement tended to be, the more docking stations it usually had. Regulations told that any place over a certain number of people had to have at least one, by order of the Five Kingdoms Senate, not just individual kingdom law. Apparently Cubla Cezri met that standard. It rose up high into the air, almost touching the sky. It was easily the tallest building in the town, Leclerc deftly guided it into one of the allocated landing slots, bringing the hoverjet to a gentle halt. They were the only one there, not another airship in sight for the time being.

  “Easy,” he said. “Okay, shall we get this show on the road, I think.”

  They took the speeder in the back of the ship, Derenko behind the controls with Aldiss riding shotgun, Fagan and Leclerc in the back. All had outfitted themselves with body armour under their shirts, as well as carrying both their mufflers and their personal shields for protection. Fagan and Leclerc had their X7’s hidden about their person, Derenko and Aldiss had a Featherstone each, just in case they were needed.

  They left Noorland in the docking station to oversee the supposed maintenance on the hoverjet, soon speeding out of sight and over the sandy road. The roads were narrow and unmaintained, filled with carts and old speeders that couldn’t have matched their own in speed or durability. Still, Noorland and Pree Khan had taken some special measures to ensure it didn’t stand out too much in the crowd, scuffing the paintwork and spreading liberal measures of dirt and grime and spray on rust across sections of the body to ensure it didn’t look like a Unisco speeder.

  They aimed to get in and out as quickly as possible, no lingering to fight. They needed to talk to Itandje, get him into custody for his own protection i
f need be and survive the trip. The air was hot and stifling, the people looked beaten and sorrowful. Fagan lost track of the number he saw begging at the side of the road. More than once he saw men armed with assault weapons trying to move them on. One woman refused to go, she took the butt of a Vazaran Hornet to the side of her face and went down bleeding, her shattered teeth exposed as she screamed.

  More than once, Derenko had to nudge it around some debris that threatened to block their path. Halfway into their journey, they saw someone being speeder jacked, the driver yanked out at blaster point and tossed into the overflowing gutter, getting up yelling as his speeder vanished off into the distance under new ownership. At that point, Fagan slipped his X7 out of his holster and let it rest on his knees. Just in case.

  “Okay, Control,” Derenko said into his earpiece. “Where are we going here? Do you have us?”

  “Yeah, I see you,” Okocha’s voice came out over the connection, Fagan heard it loud and clear. “Man, I’m glad I’m not with you. That place makes my hometown growing up look like a reward.”

  “Should come on one of these missions sometime,” Aldiss said. “Remind you what you missed out on when you came to work for us.”

  “Yeah I’ll pass,” Okocha replied. “Okay, you need to take the next left, look out for a café named R’achelle.”

  “Strange name for a café,” Fagan offered.

  “Yeah, don’t eat or drink anything from there. Not the smartest thing you could possibly ever do. It’s not the best.”

  “You ever eaten there?”

  “Yeah I’ve eaten somewhere a couple hundred miles away from the only place I ever lived while I was growing up and at the same time have no desire ever to visit.” The sarcasm was palpable. “Nah, I’ve got the reviews of it up here. Even in a scumhole like that, someone still took the time to give it a one-star rating. Anywhere other than Cubla Cezri, it’d probably have been shut down years ago. Since their health system is possibly about as good as everywhere else’s was about seventy years ago, I’d say take care.”

  “Really?” It was Fagan’s turn to be sarcastic. “Looking at this place, I’d never have guessed to do that here.” Leclerc laughed at the comment.

  “Think I’ve been here before,” Derenko said wistfully as he glanced around. “Long time ago. Back before it was this… does it sound harsh to compare it to a shit hole?”

  “Seems about apt for me,” Aldiss said. “Not one of the better places I’ve ever been.”

  “Yeah I’m sure there’s some lovely places to bring the family,” Fagan remarked. “Just beyond that burnt out speeder and up past the next heap of trash.” His voice tailed off as his gaze landed on the building in question, a shabby looking café with the name R’achelle painted above the door. Some of the letters were peeling away from the board, one of the windows had been boarded up and the other held chicken wire threaded through the glass. Underneath the sign, something had been scrawled in the local dialect that Fagan didn’t understand.

  He saw Leclerc glance at it and smirk. He’d forgotten that he could speak a little Vazaran, enough to get by. That infamous Unisco policy. Have all agents fluent in at least two local kingdom languages as well as the united tongue.

  “Something funny?”

  “Says it all,” Leclerc said, jerking his head towards the sign. “Someone does have a sense of humour. Nice place for nice people. Come in and be proved wrong on both counts.”

  “Meaning it’s a dive for scum,” Aldiss said as Derenko brought the speeder to a halt. The two of them looked back, gave their comrades their full attention. “Right, you know the drill. We’ll be in touch all the time. You need any help, give the signal and we’ll be in there with you, weapons blazing.”

  “Keep it in mind there’s a large civilian population in there,” Okocha offered. “Some of them won’t be armed. A lot of them might be.”

  “Just to make it that little bit more bearable,” Derenko said. “You know the drill, you’ve done it before. We need to find out what Itandje knows. Might be nothing. Might be everything.”

  “You read the briefing on him,” Okocha added. “Remember, nobody leaves the Vazaran Suns unless dead. You’re in for life. Might want to remind him of that if he’s being none too cooperative.”

  “Will, we got this,” Fagan said as he got up to leave the speeder, sliding his weapon back into his holster. Both he and Leclerc wore loose fitting button up shirts beneath local tu-yak cloaks that buttoned up around the neck and covered most of the upper body. It did the job of hiding what they had on underneath. “See you on the flip, guys. We’ll be back.”

  “Until the end,” Leclerc added as the two of them sauntered towards the entrance of R’achelle, trying to look casual. It was late evening, not quite night yet and although it was still warm, the heat had died down enough for them to not be uncomfortable. Regardless, he felt a rivulet of sweat streaming down his forehead and Fagan hoped they weren’t here longer than they needed to be. It probably wouldn’t be any hotter here come the peak temperatures than it would be on Carcaradis Island but at the same time, the island bore a much more hospitable surrounding. It was hard to feel at ease here.

  They entered the café to a raucous roar, most of the patrons stood circled around a table, a series of ferocious hisses and squawks erupting out from the midst of them all. Fagan and Leclerc looked at each other, shrugged and made to move past the crowd towards the counter. It wasn’t easy, the spectators had packed themselves in tightly, often the best way around them was to weave closer to the action and soon they were close enough for Fagan to spot the source of the amusement. Lizard fighting.

  A tame sidebar, not really a comparison to full on spirit calling but given the place lacked a viewing screen that he could see, they had to do what they could. Vazaran fighting iguanas, if he had it right. Long bodied, squat-built multi-coloured lizards that were scrapping with each other ferociously, each of them trying to overcome the other. Plenty of credits were being thrown around, punters determined to bet on the outcome of which would kill the other first. Maybe somebody would spirit claim the loser, Fagan thought. They didn’t look like spirits. They were too uncoordinated. It wasn’t uncommon for that to happen in places like this, let wild animals go at each other for the sport of it.

  When they were through, he could hear himself think again, as well as the tinny voice of Okocha in his ear.

  “Target is situated towards the back of the room, one of the booths.” Fagan looked up instinctively at the booths, the back of the room was only sparsely filled and running through the faces there didn’t take as long as it might have done if the target was amidst the action. Maybe ten people sat down, showing a morose lack of interest in the entertainment on show. They looked like they’d had enough of life. Living here, he couldn’t blame them.

  He spotted Itandje sat nursing a glass of something amber coloured, the local brew most likely, a heavyset man with a scarred face. He carried himself awkwardly as he sat there, favouring his left side. A cold pack rested against his shoulder, one large hand holding it there. If he was in pain, he was taking tremendous efforts not to show it.

  Leclerc took the lead; a situation he was only too happy to acquiesce to as they approached the table.

  “Mind if we sit here?” Leclerc said. The great dark face looked up at them, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “Fuck off,” he said simply. “Plenty of other tables.”

  “Regardless,” Leclerc said, pulling out a chair and dropping down. “Those lack something. Mainly you.”

  Suspicion turned to dislike in the brown coloured eyes that stared them down. Fagan had to admit, Leclerc’s sense of cool fearlessness did come in handy sometimes.

  “You got some place you want your remains to be posted to?” Itandje demanded. “Because…”

  “Mr Itandje, my associate and I just wish to take up…”

  “How the fuck you know that name?” Itandje almost rose to his feet, would have done if
Fagan hadn’t held out a placating hand.

  “We just want a quick chat,” he said, Unisco ID badge in that hand he’d offered out. Itandje’s eyes met it, he hesitated just for a moment before sitting back down. He clearly was bearing an injury on his left side, Fagan noticed. Something wasn’t right there. “Officially. Talk to us and we’ll let you get back to your drink.”

  Itandje laughed out loud, a sarcastically cruel bray that sounded like a buzz saw making an unfortunate union with something that was still alive. “And why the fuck would I talk to you? Piss off or you get hurt.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ve not done anything wrong,” Leclerc said. “We just want some information about some of your former employers…”

  That laugh again, this time even more derisory than it had been before. “Oh, now I know you joking. I’m not informing on the Suns. There’s not enough credits in the five kingdoms for me to do that.”

  “Good thing we’re not trying to pay you to do it then,” Fagan said. “It’s not about the Suns. We already know they’re an inglorious bunch of bastards. It’s about a contract you might have been involved in.”

  “Nope, rings no bells,” Itandje said stubbornly. He drained the rest of his drink in one gulp and then stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

  “What did you die of?” Leclerc asked.

  “What?!” There was more than a faint hint of outrage in his voice at being asked such an impertinent question.

  “What killed you?” Leclerc repeated, folding his hands over each other on the table in front of him. “I mean, I heard the Suns only let out those who died. The fact you’re here…” He let it hang airily, the corners of his mouth threatening to twitch.

  “It’s true,” Fagan added. “I mean, I heard the Suns don’t have much of an official presence here. They don’t like it. It’s a bit rough for them.” He managed to keep a mocking tone out of his voice. Technically it was true.