Play or Die

by Jen Cole

  Elizabeth pouted. “Well, what are a few little white lies? We have looked after them – very well!”

  “We’ve looked after our own interests by keeping the employees productive, contained, and accepting of their lot. That can only go on for so long. Before Fitani came up with Play or Die, there’d been many signs pointing to a general rise in discontent and restlessness…”

  “But now things are back to normal, right? So let’s say, “Thank you Mr. Fitani,” and give him a Personal Point bonus. You are such a worrywart Melvin! I think I shall call Patricia when we get home and tell her I believe she’s right about keeping the employees in their silos.”

  “And what of the girl in the current game, who’s giving the employees ideas about moving out into the open?”

  “Well as you said yourself, she’ll probably be dead soon, but if she’s not, it’s your job to ensure she stops saying things that upset our employees.”

  Elizabeth refused to discuss the matter further and donned her virtual headset. Melvin put his on also, but not to access the entertainment channels. Using his high-level Secretarial password, he invisibly eavesdropped on a number of virtual employee discussion rooms. What he saw and overheard was so disturbing that on arriving home, he hurried to his office and accessed the game.

  Quickly he skimmed through what had been broadcast so far, slowing to normal speed during Jo’s conversations with Fitani. Each time she made a disparaging comment or innuendo about The Company, Melvin flinched, and at the part where she suggested turning the ninety square kilometers of reclaimed land into an employee holiday reserve, he groaned aloud, knowing strong measures were called for.

  He crossed to his ‘Secretarial Chair’, with the framed picture of the CEO behind it, and sitting, initiated contact with Fitani. The game show host was suitably awe-struck when Melvin informed him that he was passing on a message, which had come straight from the lips of the CEO himself.

  “Praise The Company!” Fitani gasped. He then quickly added for good measure, “And praise the CEO!”

  Imagining what that old letch was probably up to right then, Melvin had privately thought he was hardly deserving of praise – or perhaps he was! In any case, he reminded himself, now was not the time for levity.

  “The CEO,” he told Fitani sternly, “is not pleased.”

  The sight of game show host visibly blanching was reassuring. At least some employees were still suitably in awe of The Company.

  “Your Prey has been making untrue and disturbing comments about The Company, causing confusion and unhappiness among the employees.”

  Fitani gulped uncomfortably, but did not contradict him.

  “In his wisdom, the CEO has made the following ruling:

  “No Ancestors participating in Play or Die may ask questions about our society, and you may not engage them in any conversation about us.

  “Is that clear?”

  “Yes, very clear, Secretary Briggs.” Fitani’s answer came with a quaver.

  “Good. The CEO did consider withdrawing your licence to run Play or Die, and will certainly do so if his ruling is not followed.”

  Fitani was still giving assurances when Melvin broke the connection, hoping this would be enough to stop the rot. He would have preferred to cancel the game outright but feared such a move would do more harm than good.

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 26

  Jo made a right turn into Nepean Highway, and kept her head down as she cycled along in the bike lane. The Hunter’s agents were everywhere! How had they got here so quickly? Obviously he’d once again out-thought her. Fitani was right – it was only a matter of time before she was caught. The biting air was stinging her face and making her nose run. She was an idiot for even trying. She should get off her bike right now and just surrender. But Jo’s legs seemed to have a mind of their own and continued moving up and down.

  She sniffed. The Hunter hadn’t completely out-smarted her. She’d managed to slip out from under his nose with this brilliant disguise. If she kept on cycling she could still get to Moorabbin airport. Jo blinked away tears and sniffed again. Her watch showed 11.22 a.m. How long would it take her to cycle to the airport from here? She’d have to stop somewhere and check the map but not yet, with the Hunter’s agents breathing down her neck.

  A car tooted as it went past. Oh shit, she thought, but the car sailed on without stopping. A few seconds later, there was another toot. Her skin crawled. What was going on?

  “Great strategy, Jo!”

  Her head jerked around to see Fitani propped on the bike behind her. His billowing maroon smock fluttered with life-like canaries. She swerved, narrowly missing a parked car, but managed to pull off into what seemed to be a small reserve. A footbridge over a creek led to an area out of sight. Jo dismounted and crossed. She came out into a small park of eucalyptus trees and laying the bike down, sat.

  As Fitani dropped beside her, crossing legs encased in bright tartan pants, the canaries on his shirt actually fluttered up a few millimeters before settling again.

  Jo opened her mouth to give him an earful, but hesitated. Fitani’s usual smug expression seemed closer to a nervous smirk and was she imagining it, or were his eyes showing signs of strain?

  “Before you ask your three questions,” he announced with forced bravado, “I have to inform you of some rule changes.”

  Jo stared. What was going on here? Fitani was obviously uncomfortable about this.

  “In its infinite wisdom,” he cleared his throat, and patted the logo on his breast pocket, “The Company has decided that the scope of questioning by Prey, shall henceforth be restricted.”

  Jo lifted her eyebrows. “I was under the impression it was your studio and occasionally the viewers themselves who made the rules.”

  Fitani flushed. “That has been the case,” he admitted. “But we have just received a rare honor – an edict from the CEO himself regarding Play or Die: - No Prey may ask questions about our world or our people.”

  “Interesting,” Jo’s voice dripped sarcasm. “I wonder why.”

  “There is to be no discussion!”

  As Fitani’s voice rose to a squeak, Jo felt a surge of elation. The CEO had seen fit to buy into the game, so her words must be having an affect. Had the employees started asking awkward questions? If they’d finally decided they were ready to run their own lives, they might even change their minds about ending hers.

  Stirring the pot, she taunted, “A Company that fears the words spoken by one girl from the past doesn’t sound very powerful.”

  “Enough!” Fitani looked shocked. “The Company can close down the Fun ’n’ Games Playroom any time it likes. Noncompliance with the new rule risks Play or Die being cancelled altogether.”

  “Fine by me,” cried Jo in delight. “Let it be cancelled.”

  “It may not serve you as well as you think. All communication between your world and mine would instantly be severed. The Hunter wouldn’t know the game was over, and not receiving your coordinates would be no guarantee it would cease its attempts to kill you. Furthermore it might fail to abide by the five-day limit. That’s one of the reasons we send assassins after Hunters who fail. Some become so obsessed with the hunt they refuse to stop after their time has elapsed.”

  “Oh,” Jo sobered quickly. “In that case I will abide by The Company’s ruling and ask no further questions about your society. In fact on this occasion, I will ask no questions at all. Instead I’ll invoke my right to one count of technical assistance.”

  Danny seemed to relax and some of his old jauntiness returned. “Excellent! What assistance do you require?”

  “I need to get into my house in Shepparton but I suspect the Hunter will have it alarmed or booby-trapped. I would like to be undetectable to any electronic surveillance, alarms or traps.”

  “That we can do. You will be safe from all such technology within a hundred-metre radius of your house. Good luck.”

  Fitani vanished and Jo pulled t
he laptop from a pannier bag. She discovered the footbridge she’d crossed was part of a closed off street called Allawah Ave. To get to the airport, she would have to return to the Highway and follow it to Mordialloc. There she’d turn off into McDonald Street, and minor roads would take her to the back of the airport. The whole distance was thirty minutes by car – an hour or more by bike.

  Jo looked at her watch. 11.30. She’d better get going! She stood and wheeled her bicycle back across the bridge to Nepean Highway, then mounted and began cycling fast.

  How long would the flight take, she wondered. Say she got to the airport some time before 1.00. She’d have to look for a young pilot willing to fly to Shepparton, and if she was lucky enough to find someone, there was still the hiring of the plane to do. She could end up being in the air for her 2.00 p.m. posting and that would be a disaster. The Hunter would be waiting for her at Shepparton airport when she landed.

  A better approach would be to go to the airport and ask around, hoping to find someone willing to fly to Shep as soon after two as possible. She could then place herself away from the airport for her 2.00 p.m. posting and return straight afterwards to jump on the plane.

  Jo sighed. The more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed that any plan based on hitching a ride on a plane would succeed, but having taken this path, she wasn’t turning back without at least trying. Don’t think about it any more, she told herself. Concentrate on the cycling.

  The road was good and the seaside towns slipped by. When Mordialloc appeared, Jo was delighted to see she’d made it in forty minutes. She spotted the sign to McDonald Street and followed the roundabout onto it. Halfway down was a sports reserve and she pulled over to have a rest and check the route. Pretty straightforward. She memorized the three turns and put away the laptop.

  Within ten minutes Jo was cycling up the final street – Bundora Parade, and looking around with interest. Extensive grassy vacant lots gave a country feel. Dotted among them small offices and shabby buildings catered to the amateur flying industry. Some were repair shops. Others had signs in front advertising helicopter rides or flying lessons.

  The road ended with a larger building displayed the name of a flying club. Coasting into the tiny parking square beside it, Jo felt a knot of anticipation. She dismounted and leaned the bike against one of the surrounding trees, noticing the silence. The place was empty. Should she risk leaving the bike unattended? No, better to get in some folding practice.

  The folding turned out to be the easy part. She broke into a sweat trying to zip the bike into the carry case, but eventually triumphing, tucked her helmet under one arm and shouldered the pannier pack. With her free hand she dragged the case on its tiny wheels towards the single door.

  The comfortable room she entered was a definite improvement on the building’s plain exterior. A pleasant lounge area contained seats and a low table with magazines. Across the modern front desk a stiff, rather self-important young man in a spiffy pilot’s shirt was talking to a thin Asian guy who looked like a student. Apart from the three of them, the room was empty. There were certainly no eager young pilots strolling around asking who wanted to go flying to help them build their hours.

  Flushed and nervous, Jo watched the student pass over his debit card to pay for a lesson, and wondered what on earth she was going to say when her turn came. From a darkened doorway behind the desk, a slightly chubby guy emerged. He had a rounded baby face that probably made him look younger than he actually was. His pilot’s shirt was less crisp than his colleague’s and his body language more relaxed. Spotting Jo he walked over.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so.” Jo smiled brightly. “I need to travel to Shepparton fairly quickly and wondered what my chances were of getting a flight.”

  By now the student had departed and the first pilot was walking over to butt in on the conversation.

  “I don’t know how quick it would be,” he said. “We’d have to phone around to see if anyone was available. When were you wanting to go?”

  “I was hoping soon after two.”

  The pilots glanced at the wall clock, which displayed 12.31, and exchanged dubious looks.

  “The flight to Shepparton’s not long,” said the baby-faced one. “Only about forty-five minutes, but a 2.00 p.m. departure is pushing it. We might be able to find a pilot who’d be available towards the end of the day or early tomorrow.”

  “You do realize it’s an expensive way to go, don’t you?” warned the first sternly. “You’re looking at fourteen hundred dollars or so to charter a plane with a pilot.”

  Jo gasped. “I was hoping maybe I could hitch a ride with someone who was going that way, and just contribute towards the fuel and plane hire cost.”

  The first pilot frowned. “Who said you could do that?”

  Jo faltered. “A friend of mine some years back was a pilot, and he was always looking for people to help out with the costs of building up his flying hours.”

  The man’s frown deepened and Babyface broke in apologetically.

  “That doesn’t happen any more. The pilot would have to know you. There have been too many cases of people hijacking small planes and especially helicopters, which are highly maneuverable and can land anywhere, to carry out criminal acts like breaking mates out of prison or pulling robberies.”

  “Even to book a charter flight,” the first came back, “you need to provide a fair amount of identification. Someone who just bowled up with a wad of cash, ‘no questions asked’, would have us phoning the police in a heartbeat.”

  Jo flashed a sickly grin. “Well, I sure can’t afford a fourteen hundred dollar charter flight, so I guess I’ll have to get to Shepparton some other way.”

  “What’s in your funny shaped bag?” said the first pilot suddenly, a suspicious note in his voice.

  Jo tried to sound happily innocent. “This is my bicycle bag. Isn’t it great? My bike folds up and I can take it anywhere.”

  She unzipped a small section, revealing part of the wheel and said, “Since I won’t be hopping on a plane, I guess I’ll be unfolding it again and going on my way.”

  Babyface came around the counter eagerly. “A folding bike – what a great idea! Can I see what it looks like unfolded?”

  “Sure. You can give me a hand if you like.”

  Jo dragged the bike bag to the door, followed by the pilot. In the still deserted car park they extracted the bike and restored it to riding state. The young man beamed. “This is such a cool bike.”

  “Yes, I haven’t had it long, but I’m happy with it so far. I’m Judy, by the way.” Jo extended her hand, smiling.

  “Jeff.” He shook it with a grin.

  Jo gave a laugh. “Your mate back there was starting to make me feel like a terrorist,” she said.

  “He’s pretty down the line when it comes to regs,” admitted Jeff. “What’s your hurry in getting to Shepparton?”

  “A party.” Jo wondered how that had popped out of her mouth and realized she’d need to embellish. “Kind of an impromptu half-year reunion of my graduating class. I’ve no idea why they made it on a Tuesday night.” She laughed. “Must have been the brainchild of a happy-hour group.

  “I’d decided to give it a miss – without a car, a midweek trip to Shepparton’s a bit of a drag, but this morning I woke up regretting that decision. I organized a couple of days off work and got my gear together and then realized I wasn’t going to make the train. That’s when I remembered Jack Hudson, my pilot friend. He was the one who told me about hitching a lift with a pilot, so I hopped on my bike and came over to see if anyone was flying that way… Pretty silly, I suppose.”

  “Well, maybe not.” Jeff’s pudgy face split into a grin. “When I came into the office before, I’d just been out at the hangar with my sister and her boyfriend. They’re flying to Echuca as soon as Vicky finishes doing the plane checks.”

  He glanced across to the hangar sheds. “If they haven’t left yet, and you ca
n pay, say three hundred and fifty towards costs, they’ll probably be happy to drop you off in Shepparton.”

  Jo gaped. “That would be fantastic!”

  “I’ll nip across and see if I can catch them. Pack up your bike and follow me through that gate. Don’t forget to relock it.” He ran towards a padlocked gate, dragging a bunch of keys from his pocket.

  Praying that Jeff’s sister had not yet departed, Jo folded the bike and began repacking it into the carry case. Haste made her fumble and curse but finally the bag was zipped and she hauled it through the opening in the cyclone wire fence. Closing the gate behind her, she clicked the padlock and turned towards the hangar sheds.

  Jeff was nowhere in sight and she wondered which shed he’d gone to. Well, it had to be one of them. Lifting the cycle bag, she crossed the grassy strip to the asphalt and thankfully set it down on its wheels. Then she straightened her backpack and began walking towards the nearest shed.

  A familiar round head popped out from the second hangar down and a hand waved. Jeff came jogging towards Jo with a smile on his face.

  “They’re still here. Vicky’s finished her checks and they’re ready to go.”

  He grabbed the bike case and led Jo over to the hangar, where the tiny single engine Piper stood with two people beside it.

  Jeff’s sister was short, with his same rounded face, but curlier hair. Her boyfriend towered above her and Jo suspected he’d be pleased to break the trip and stretch his legs at Shepparton.

  “Hi, Judy.” The girl smiled at her. “You just caught us. I’m Vicky and this is Adam. Space is a bit tight I’m afraid. We’ve had to rearrange the luggage in the back.”

  Jo grinned. “No problem, if we can fit mine as well.”

  Adam picked up Jo’s bicycle case as though it were a giant marshmallow and climbing the wing, gently maneuvered it through the door. He strapped it down securely with the other luggage, which was arranged on and under the left back seat. The pannier pack and helmet quickly followed, leaving just enough room for Jo to squash into the adjacent seat.