Authors: Heather Killough-Walden
The computer complied
,
and the
holograms shifted once more. Four distinct red dots throbbed in space, all clumped together in the
s
outh
e
ast quadrant of the
Playing
Field.
One was missing.
“Aside from Red l
eader, all players are
currently located in Room
113
of the TGB,” the computer told him.
The TGB was the Team Gathering Building. It was a neutral ground for the teams; they could visit any one of its recreational rooms or clubs and consider themselves safe from attack by any other team member. Fighting within the TGB was strictly prohibited and, as far as Black could recall, it had never occurred.
Every player on the Field took its safeness quite seriously
. Victor wa
sn’t surprised to find the Red T
eam there this night. The battle had been a trying one
, and the Reds
had barely won. Most likely
,
they were celebrating their victory and the break they’d
well
earned.
The red
-
glowing lights
of the team
were labeled with likewise glowing numbers. Victor’s gaze narrowed on the li
ght labeled “1
.”
Captain Maxwell Blood. Other
wise known as “Bloody Max,” and
to Victoria, just plain “Max.”
He was her captain and closest confidante.
Victor wanted to kill
Maxwell Blood
as he had not wanted to kill any other man in his long life.
But
out-
and
-
out
premeditated murder was forbidden by Game Control. True Death
was a crime punishable by means best left unfathomed.
Victor was not necessarily afraid of Game Control and its punishments.
Team leaders were chosen for their jobs because they were born with
exceptional
abilities
,
and Victor’s were more exceptional than most. Add to that the power that came with being a leader – authority over the entire
Playing
Field and everyone on it – and Victor Black was not a man who had much to fear.
Even from Game Control.
But killing Maxwell Blood would not go over well with Victoria Red. That
and that alone was the
reason Bloody Max continued to live and breathe and gaz
e at his team leader through those
ice blue eyes
that Black so badly wanted to
spoon out of
the captain’s handsome face.
Victor leaned back in his
plush leather chair and brought his gloved hand thoughtfully to his chin.
Inspiration had just
struck him. There was a
buzz and an unsettling at the base of his spine
.
The last
Game had only ended hours ago, b
ut he was
more than
ready for another to begin.
He
smiled and the green in his eyes lit up like
burning
emeralds. He waved his hands expertly over the controls and gave the computer a new
set of commands. It once more complied.
T
he holographic screen went blank, all lights disappearing from its virtual surface.
Let the Game
begin
.
“We’re supposed to be on down time
,
” Victoria muttered under her breath, her hands moving quickly through the computer’s holographic interactive screen. Nothing she did would bring the lights back. And though it should be impossible, a buzzing at the back of her skull told her Victor Black had everything to do with it.
If she was right, then
Black was crossing two
lines, not
just
one.
The Game should have been at a halt at that moment. A battle had just been waged and won and team members needed a break. Game Control had granted a respite and when they did so, the edict was to be taken as law.
No team leader was all
owed to initiate another Game during
that time.
Secondly, if Black had actually found a way to infiltrate
her
system
in order to make it malfunction
, there was no description for his actions other than to
say that he was cheating. It
was downright scary cheating
,
at that. It should
n’t
have been feasible. Team systems were supposed to be secure, hardened by years of
bulletproofing
by trained system
s
techs and their apprentices.
Time to notify
Game Control.
Victoria spun in the control seat and stood, striding across the room to the exit. There was a communications console in the ne
xt room. She straightened her uniform as she came to stand before it.
Contacting Game Control always made her very nervous. She wondered whether the feeling would ever go away. She also wondered whether she would be
t
eam leader long enough to find out.
“Summon GC intermed
iate for Red T
eam
,
”
s
he commanded.
The computer complied. A
few seconds
later,
a face
materialized
within the holographic space between Victoria and the console.
It was not a face she recognized.
She frowned slightly as the image sharpened and the man before her peered at her through scowling, beady eyes. “What seems to be the problem, Red leader?”
h
e asked, his tone bored and more than a touch impatient.
Victoria blinked. “I’m sorry, sir. What happened to MacDougal?” She’d grown accustomed to having the same intermediate contact for Game Control for the last decade.
She’d never seen this man before, and it
was unsettling.
The man blinked lazily and replied, “He has been reassigned. I am yo
ur new contact, Red leader. Now what is it
you want?”
Victoria was surprised and a bit befuddled, but she recovered quickly and managed to hide the bulk of her disappoint
ment. She straightened.
“My controls are malfunctioning. This has never happened before. I suspect Black is at fault
,
and I believe he has initiated a new Game.”
The contact glared down at her over the fat of his cheeks and considered her words. For a half a second. Then he smiled a saccharin smile and sh
ook his head. “I’m afraid that’
s not possible, Red leader.” He seemed to turn away for a moment and appeared to be moving his arms around something that was not visible through the holographic transmission.
“
My
controls show that
yours
are working fine
,
”
h
e told her, his words dripping with unspoken innuendo. He turned back to her, cocking his large head to one side. “Are you certain you are using them correctly?”
It was an insult beyond insults. Victoria had been u
sing those controls for ten years
. She knew them like the back of her hand. This man had to know that. She was the Red leader, for crying out loud.
He was baiting her. Something was wrong….
And then it hit her. If Black had control of her system, then he could control
whom
and what she saw when she attempted to contact her intermediate as well. This w
asn’t real. This was part of his
Game.
Victoria stared back into the stranger’s face and came to a decision.
There was no recourse. What was done was done, and Black was already clearly in the lead. Best to play along.
“You’re probably right,” she sighed, at once affecting a rather tired voice. “That last battle took a lot out of me.” She ran a hand through her hair and pressed her fingers to her temples as if she had a headache. “I apologize, Mr.…”
He smiled an entirely unfriendly smile and supplied, “
Stygian
.”
Well, that confirmed it right there.
Victoria nodded. “Mr.
Stygian
, I bid you goodnight.”
Stygian
did not hesitate. “Goodnight, Red leader.” The connection was broken immediately.
Victoria stared at the blank space where the stranger’s face had been a second before and allowed herself a moment to contemplate the situation.
The Game was the he
art of their world. To a certain degree,
this was an almost literal truth. The
Playing
Field was at the dead center of their realm, sectioned off and separated from the rest of the land by a wall built long, long ago and of materials and means that no one living today fully understood.
What they
did
understand was that
inside of that enormous square wall was a Field – a stretch of land containing mountains and oceans, deserts and valleys, plains and plateaus – upon which a Game had been played since time immemorial.
The Game itself was simple:
One battle after another, waged by team against team. One team would win
by laying claim to a quadrant
, the other would lose, and the Field would be satisfied for a while. Play could stop and the world would not cease to exist as long as play continued before too much time passed.
The Game
had
stopped
once. There
was a tale about that time, passed down from generation to generation.
Victoria turned away from the blank console and paced slowly back toward the control room. It had been so long since she’d heard the tale told
;
she was fuzzy on the details.
But as she recalled it, long ago
the teams of the Playing Field had decided to take a break. The break had gone from one day to a few days. And then
it had
lengthened into a week.
Here
,
the story tended to shift. Depe
nding on which version was told
, one of several things happened next.
People in the outside sectors began to get sick. They came down with fevers no one could break.
The days and nights became longer; noon
was too hot, midnight too cold.
People became angry. Selfish. Commerce crumbled
,
and life as the world knew it simply ceased to exist.
What had changed? What was the one constant that was no longer constant?
Whispers became screams and then became riots and all of the world’s leaders gathered and decided that the Game must go on. It must be
played
once more and it must never falter again.
The tale tells that they formed Game Control to make certain
it would go on, a
nd it has never stopped since.
Victoria thought of the tale now, as she sealed the control room door behind her and took her seat.
She had no idea how old the story was, but it was a
t least as old as the Game, surely. It was what the people of her world lived and breathed by.
Because of the legend
, individuals were tested for Gaming skills at a young age. Those with proven aptitude for certain aspects of the Game were taken from their homes and secluded within the Field – within its otherwise impenetrable walls –
to be trained
and to
ensure that the Game went on f
orever.
To be chosen for the Game was a great honor.
A
Gamer was given much
and had to sacrifice little. Memory loss came with being chosen for the Game. Rumor was that this was done so that the Players would not miss their families and homes.
In exchange, they were given t
he
chance to see the famed Field, t
he ability to he
al from wounds and sicknesses,
and
t
he gift of
eternal youth. I
f you played your cards right, you could
literally
live forever.
Like Victor Black.
No one
knew which sector of the outside world Black had been recruited from all of those years ago
. Whichever it was, his home sector had given him an accent.
A
fter four hundred years,
it
was now so f
aint as to be barely detectable, b
ut it was there. It seemed to grow strong
er when he spoke with emotion, and i
t lent a charismatic quality to the
t
eam leader’s voice.