THE RED QUEEN’S GAMBLE
David W. Sherwood
COPYRIGHT 2010 David W. Sherwood
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“Damn you, Wilks.”
Her chest and back tingled in pain from the bullet. No momentum, no push forward, just the feeling of being shot. It hurt every time, no matter what the weapon was.
She took a deep breath. And then another. It would be over soon. Her lungs were slowly filling with her own blood.
Tony brought her to the warehouse a few moment’s before. Just in from the street she was a courier with information they could not trust other couriers with. Identifying herself to the guards they granted her access. They allowed her to cross the cement floor. She was talking with her Don about those in the family lower than herself and their placement throughout the waterfront district. It was an issue that no longer seemed important.
He carried a .38 Long Colt pistol in one hand. The weapon was held down at his side and pointing to the left. However, he was not the one who had shot her.
He bled as well. His face was suddenly slack and expressionless. She saw him blink once. He tried to speak, his lips silently mouthing words.
And he died.
From the way his eyes quickly glazed over, she knew the life was gone. Must have been a heart shot. He slumped forward, the whole of his weight suddenly upon her. She could hold him. For a moment, just a moment, she would still have her strength. Supporting him took almost all of her concentration.
Someone screamed.
The Colt fell to the floor.
Bringing her free hand up, she touched her chest. It was there somewhere. Feeling for the edges of the wound, her fingers worked to find out how badly she was hit. When she brought her hand away, blood and a few chips of bone covered her hand. Regardless, she rubbed her hand on her clothing. This was the last act of a dying person desperately clinging to life.
She went to one knee. The strength of her body was slipping away. She was no longer able to carry the weight of the Don. His lifeless form fell to the bare cement floor. His suit, arrow collar, red silk tie and cummerbund ruined by his own blood. His end had arrived in the same barrage of death that she received.
Her hand was on the floor as she tried to will her elbow to remain locked, but her arm was growing numb. Losing all control, her own life slipping away, she lost the battle. She felt the slight chill of the floor on her cheek as she succumbed to the inevitable.
In death, the world began to disappear. Things that were real and solid about her no longer had existence. The wound, and the pain it caused, were seeping away. Everything was fading to nothing as the streets and warehouses of Chicago turned black. The sounds of the cars just outside the big bay doors grew louder and louder until it was one overwhelming noise, a crescendo, like a rush of wind.
A game was lost. The playing was over. Wilks had won.
Only the memory remained.
* * * * *
She would have to fare better in this next module, or die trying.
There was a flash of light as she passed Limbo and the others, the five hundred odd virtual players testing their skill in the Great Game with her, were given a few minutes of warning before being brought up to speed. Those that still lived in the Chicago Module vanished from that existence. The Great Game reshuffled everyone and thrust them in a new level.
It was nearly dark when they appeared over the map. The full moon gave some light to see by. Stars lit the sky above. As always, with most of the modules of the Great Game, they arrived on the map somewhere between heaven and earth.
The night clouds above them were closer than the ground was below. Here she would hover until she gave the command for descent.
Not as good as the older gamers with numbers or distances, if asked she would have to say that original position was over a thousand feet above the game world. Possibly two thousand. This was how it was always done. It gave the gamers a good look at the lay of the land they were about to enter. If it were daylight, she could see roads, streams, rivers, useful landmarks, as well as her fellow players who appeared with her scattered randomly in the sky. If you knew what to look for the size of the buildings and other structures gave you an idea of the Mod you arrived in.
Already someone started to fall. One of the gamers that jumped in with her, off to her right, began their descent. Catching up to the world in a quick bright arc of light not unlike a falling star.
In this near darkness, she could see is a single river reflecting back the stars above. With a full moon out tonight there was little to see but treetops. Campfires were randomly scattered about, and almost twenty places that could be called villages by the torch-light that illuminated them.
Quickly she raised her hand and brought her HUD* up.
* HUD stands for Heads-Up-Display. In the Great Game it is a transparent screen that appears before the player. Much like a computer and its digital display from the ancient days, a HUD gives the player a wealth of real-time information at the snap of a finger.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The first thing she noticed was the crown rotating in the upper left hand corner. There was the sound of a fanfare which she muted right away.
Royalty. She was the one in charge. Top of the heap, MFIC, head honcho. It would be her team against the other. The red border told her that she was on the Red Team. The game shuffled her on Red again. Eh, so be it.
At a glance she checked her stats. Forty-one games so far. Wins were just a bit higher than losses. Always, except for five games, she had been a third area player at the bottom of the heap. She was never making decisions, always on the battlefield, back alley, desert, jungle, or mountain. The five other games she was not commanding, she was not at the top of the heap, but in the top ten.
Scrolling down the list of names she saw Wilks was on Blue. Seeing the crown next to his name made her smile. He activated it already. He was officially king of the Blue. It was a position he was eager for. Being in the top spot it was her solemn duty to bring him down in this Mod before he finished her off.
How fitting. With everything in the games generated at random, what were the odds? This was her first time at the top and odds are it would be her last for a while. With over five hundred players it just never happened that often. Except for Wilks.
For a game based on randomness, it didn't seem very random at all.
She didn’t like the way he won the last game. It felt wrong. She had seen what bullets did to people shot in the back. Not a pleasant thing to do to someone. Turning over these bodies sometimes revealed half their chest tore up to hamburger. Exit wounds were always messy. Hers, and the shot that took out her Don, was neat and clean. It was very precise, almost surgical. She had also seen damage like this. Lasers and tight beamed plasma weapons could do this. With the weapons of Chicago during prohibition, it was just not possible.
A red flag had gone up.
If he was cheating, which, if you believed rumors, had happened from time to time, he was sneaky enough to get it past the Game Officials. If they didn’t know, then she had to show them. She needed proof. Accusations were not handled lightly. She had to have stealth and be as sneaky as he was. Routing out Wilks in this game, before he could move on, would be very difficult.
She had limited options. Being the Red King, actually Red Queen, the game allotted her a few more seconds by the computer to make decisions. She searched through body types. Thousands of the more popular ones raced by, but after three seconds she chose one that was agreeable. So out of character for someone playing a queen even the program asked her twice. She agreed both times.
Her body changed from that of a woman of twenty-five years, the one she commonly played in, to one of a girl much younger. She flexed her arms, new and smaller, ran her fingers through her hair, which was longer and with less curls. She smiled.
Next the armor menu came up and she dismissed it with a flick of her fingers. It was a medieval game. That was known by the crown. When they played in Chicago her Don’s icon was a top hat and a cigar. If the module was in the old west, she would see a set of rifles forming an X. The Ruins of Las Vegas were dice with poker chips. The sands of Egypt would have given her an elaborate head-piece with the cobra and vulture if she was royalty there.
To win this one as a virtual newbie in the eyes of the others, she would need to stay light on her feet. Armor would just weigh her down and hasten the inevitable. Hey, play like you’re going to win, don't regret if you lose. Cowboy up. Except when someone cheats.
Clothing and provisions were easy enough. She chose an unadorned dress and a sturdy set of doe hide boots used by servants of this period. The Computer started to get creative and offered her a puppy, something to tag along with her, and a large picnic basket, but these she refused. She did arm herself. A simple dagger was all she took from the vast inventory. The weapon with its sheath appeared in the air and she strapped it to her side. It cost all of four copper pieces, hardly a dent in her ten thousand gold reserves.
The next thing she armed herself with was a spell. A simple one she took from the list of all the spells suggested. It was one that offered invisibility to an object, a small object. When it appeared before her, she placed it in her mouth and clicked her tongue. That cost her three royal coins.
She keyed a command to give her wealth to the person next in succession. They could build the castle defenses without her assistance. She had all she needed. Why hang on to what is no longer of use?
She keyed the map and in the air before her eyes an overlay of the land appeared and orientated itself. In front of her was the Red castle, moat, drawbridge, towers and such. It was only a day's walk away at a brisk pace. If she clicked on the image, it would enhance to show her more detail. Behind her was the Blue castle. The location of this castle was vague. She knew though, that it was much farther away than hers. If she were to attack it with her fellow gamers, they would have to find its location first. As Red Team explored more, the map parts would fill in.
There were several towns behind her. Meadowlands was one of several. She made a mental note about this one. Nothing particular, just a hunch, a gut feeling that she relied on.
Over fifteen seconds had passed since she arrived. Others were falling out of the sky all around her. She needed to move.
She placed a lock on her actions. At the highest security allowed in the game she needed to keep her actions secret from all prying eyes. Keyed to her and her alone, it could not be undone by anyone else in the game. She did this with a twinge of regret, but was necessary. Until she removed it, her team mates would not know of her location or the style of body she took. She would surprise them. She would surprise everyone.
Yes, in body, true body, she was a woman. Here, in the games, she could take either sex. That was the beauty of it all; anybody could be anyone. Keeping this secret would make it harder for them to find her. Was the queen a woman in a woman's body, or a woman in a man's body? Let them decide.
Snapping the fingers on both hands, her HUD disappeared like smoke in the wind. The world tugged at her and she began to fall. Terminal velocity reached. Express elevator going down. Others fell from the sky also. No one was near and this pleased her. They would not know her true position. Find one's true position and you can track them if you have the right tools.
Light caught her attention off to the left. A momentary fireball engulfed a hut in a clearing of a far off mountain. She barely made out the shape of a dragon when the fire died away leaving darkness. She almost preferred the Chicago era they just left. She would love to play the position of a Don. Pharaoh would be cool too.
The light of descent surrounded her, protecting her, as it did the other gamers until their bodies came to rest on the earth. This was the arc of light she had seen earlier. Only this time she was the arc. The trees came up fast. With no machinery to guide her, she fell where the game willed her.
Branches hit her and a second later she was in the undergrowth. Her out stretched hands leaving small troths in the vegetation of the forest floor.
She paused, letting the forest become still around her once again.
Something heavy fell beside her knocking leaves off of the trees just as she had done when she had fallen. She heard a sudden thud and the object bounced twice and rolled in the leaves. Coming to stop on a small rock she saw it glow in single a ray of moonlight.
It was her crown. A band of pure gold that was just the right size to fit around her head. A simple thing with none of the ornate jewels or other decorations one came to expect on a crown. If she won this match that would change. The Great Game would place one red jewel right in the center.
She stood. Leaving it where it was, she turned her back on it. If she donned it, the game would declare her queen automatically. A title she wanted, but not yet. Wilks, and his cheating, and she had no doubt he was, was her first priority.
Taking several steps backward, she distanced herself from the thing. Walking off the hill she found a path made by game animals, and began.
* * * * *
It was dark when Qube materialized with the others high above the game board. A moment before he was chatting with his friends in the somber expanse of Limbo. Then the bell rang signaling the end of the Chicago game.
Now, he was here floating in the twilight darkness of the next game. He snapped his fingers and his HUD appeared. He did this almost unthinking, a reflex imbedded in his mind from playing the game for a very, very long time.
Red Team again. Red for the last three, odds were he'd be Blue next time. Blue would be a welcome change.
A tap on the map, and, whoa! The castle was almost right below him. He had a chance this time! Even if he wasn't king, he certainly could serve as second or even third in line.
Armor and sword could wait until he fell. They would cost more after the first moment’s, but right now they would weigh him down.
Scrolling through the body types, he left the bulkier ones and searched through the ones that were thinner. He needed the body of a runner. No, no, no, Yes. Got one, perfect. Eye, hair and skin color he left up to the Game to decide. No tats this time.
He snapped his fingers twice, the HUD vanished and he began his fall. He took a deep breath. It had been a while since he was in the Upper Echelon. He was always in the dang field. Granted it was the meat and bones of the game, but it was much better if you survived long enough to get some game time in.
In the last level a player with a Thompson machine gun killed him just after the start of his fourth week. No time at all to get acquainted. With the game lasting three months longer, he had been left to wait in Limbo until it ended.
He hit the ground running. Landing in the edge of the outer perimeter of the kept lawns of the castle, he had to push his way through the brambles. The thorns grabbed at his clothing and he ducked low getting under their reach.
There was a crash beside him followed by some cursing. Someone else was here. He scrambled on all fours until he was free and felt the cool blades of grass under his hands.
A man was behind him. Normally he would have stopped to help him, but coming in second was not an option. Not this time.
Sprinting, he let his new long legs carry him as quickly as they could. A motion in front of him caught his attention. In the light of a full moon he saw someone else running. Either they had been a few seconds quicker, or the game had placed them just a wee bit closer. This man was running cautiously, possibly he was thinking he had the number one position secure.
The man did not hear Qube approaching until it was too late. Qube whooped and slapped him on the shoulder as he passed. The man, taken clearly by surprise, stumbled.
Qube laughed and pushed himself harder. Hearing more curses behind him, his feet carried him to the gravel road. A few moment’s later he crossed the draw bridge and slapped the cold stone of the castle walls with his bare hand.
“ONE,” said a woman's voice somewhere in the air behind him.
The man caught up and slapped the castle wall. Qube was walking in circles cooling down getting his breathing under control.
“THREE,” said the disembodied voice.
“Dammit! Some else beat me!”
“Qube,” Qube said, extending his hand.
“Thorne, Edelson Thorne,” said the other as he shook his hand. “You won it. Congrats.” The smile was genuine, a true mark of a person who had played awhile. Some of the newer players were often quite ticked when they missed their chance at being first.
Qube snapped his fingers and brought his HUD up. With new honors came new responsibilities. He had to set things up for the others on his team. Once the king arrived he would start welcoming people. A tap here and there brought the perimeter torches on. A few more and the torches on the inside were lit. The walls vibrated slightly as the portcullis raised and they were all welcome to come inside.
There were three distinct towers stretching into the night. Lights were already on in the highest one. Silhouettes could be seen before the windows there. People occupied the place already. A map of the castle showed no notable entrance to this tower and as Qube began to ponder this Thorne spoke. “Did you see much of the Blue land?” he asked.
“No, we'll send some scouts out before we declare war,” Qube looked about.
“Betcha we have a few people who landed near the borders.” There was a notable pause before he spoke next, as if he were weighing the question. “Qube,” he cleared his throat and when he spoke again his voice had deepened somewhat. “Are you the Mad Honker?”
Qube looked at him squarely over the corner of his HUD. Without a hint of a smile he said, “I do not know the Mad Honker and I do know that I am not he.” It was the standard response to said question and Thorne bowed to Qube.
REFERENCE:
Demolition Derby 1983:
While they were waiting for the Game Official to arrive and start the race, someone realized the vehicles came equipped with horns. Soon, horn blowing over took the sound of the engines revving. The GO's arrived and asked for silence. No sooner did they get things quieted down when one horn, one single mad honker, started beeping frantically again. Almost everyone else joined in. Possibly trying to get their beeping heard above all others, possibly trying to get the GO's attention, possibly thinking this was the object of the game. People in the Mod would not stop honking.
Five hundred plus horns in all. This lasted for several hours. Cars ran out of gas or over heated while sitting idle. Always, the noise would subside and from somewhere on the asphalt in the sea of cars, a single solitary beep would be heard starting it all again. Arguments broke out; people would shake their fists and, of course, honk their horns.
The GO's never found out who the Mad Honker was. This individual was a legend to some, folk hero to many, a nuisance to the rest. They all knew he, or she, was out there. They just didn't know where or who. The Mod ended in a draw the next morning.
Qube returned Thorne's bow and went back to surveying the castle.
It was a nice place, very formidable and quite impressive. He could not see the flag, but he heard it snapping in the breeze. They would have to build some walls or other barriers and have them in place by time the fighting began. Trees cleared by previous battles were enough for now, but he would feel safer if they were back some ways further.
The dark water in the moat churned and some bubbles surfaced. Something was there. Something big. He unconsciously stepped back from the edge of the drawbridge and smiled nervously at Thorne.
“Hard to imagine someone crossing that without the bridge,” Thorne said following Qube's gaze on the moat. “If I am Number Three then someone must have crossed a different bridge to become Number Two.”
“Or jumped the moat,” Qube said.
“Or jumped the moat,” Thorne echoed.
“A castle with two bridges is not easy to defend. We'll have to divide the forces.” Three more people appeared. One, a large man, fell out of the briars to the lawn. Odd that someone so close to the castle chose a body so big. The other two were running at a jog along the road. Side by side, they were not racing each other. They looked as if they were villagers out enjoying the late night.
He was about to say something to Thorne, when a figure from the sky suddenly landed in front of him. A thing of monstrous size blocked out the light. He fell backward and covered his face protectively. Expecting talons to rip him apart, for it was talons that he saw in the blur of scales. He waited.
“Well,” came a voice surprisingly feminine. “You are our leader?”
He stood and dusted himself off. “I'm still jumpy from the Chicago Mod,” he said as an excuse. “An enemy killed me with a Thompson. Those that followed said my demise wasn't pretty. Pleased to met you. I am the first. I'm the leader until the king gets here.” Qube offered his hand in greeting. She just examined her talons nonchalantly and folded her wings behind her.
“Pleased to met you, as well,” said the dragon. “And you are number Three.” It was more of a statement than a question. Thorne was working his foot back in his boot. He only nodded and looked at her form nervously.
“I am Kayse. Do either of you find it odd that when people enter a Mod that has dragons, they always choose a human form? Why run to the castle to get here first when you can glide?” She gave them a quizzical look. Tongue, thin and slender like that of a snake, flicked in and out of her mouth, arms folded across her chest.
“Kayse,” said Thorne. “I have to ask you,” This time he really weighed the question. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Are you, um, well, you know, the Mad Honker?”
The dragon did not favor him with a reply, just rolled her eyes skyward.
“'Cuz me,” said one of the runners as they both reached the drawbridge at the same time.
“What number …are we up to?” said the woman between breaths.
“You two make four and five,” Thorne said as he finished his boot lace and stood. The sudden sight of Kayse in dragon form scared him pretty bad for him to jump out of his boots.
“Choice,” said the male.
“Cool,” said the female.
Kayse moved aside without looking over her shoulder and they slowed to a stop.
“On the count … of three. One, two… ” and they touched the stone together as they stood side by side.
“FOUR and FIVE,” said the voice nearby.
“Ah man! We knew a friend,” said the female between breaths of air, “who said that two people were …once given the same number …in the upper echelon …by touching the stone …at the same time.”
“Hasn't worked …for us yet,” said the male. “Twenty-one tries.”
“You've been in the upper echelon that many times?”
“Yes. Game number four-seventy-one. My name is SharkByte, and this is SixPackSuzi.”
“Qube, Kayse and Thorne,” said Qube introducing each of them in turn.
“Kayse! Girl! You're a Dragon this time. I was with you in the Ruins of Las Vegas. What, four games ago. Almost won that one we did.”
“Is she the one who …?” SharkByte made some chopping motions at different angles in the air. SixPackSuzi nodded. She was going to say more, but the sound of boots on the drawbridge stopped her.
The larger man who had fought the briars with his two-handed broadsword finally made it. Weighted down with chain mail and a sword he was not as fast as the rest. He approached cautiously. One hand was on the pummel of his sword and the other held before him to show that he was empty handed.
“Is this the right castle?” His voice was a deep slow baritone. He inched forward on his tiptoes ready to pounce. White teeth gleamed under his helm.
“What team?” Qube asked.
“Red Team,” he said slowly through clenched teeth, eyes darting from one person to the next as if gauging their strengths and weaknesses. Qube had an impulse to lunge at the man. He was sure if he did it would scare the man out of his boots as Kayse's arrival had done to Thorne. Had someone suddenly broke wind they'd all be hacked to pieces.
“I am first in command, my name is Qube. The king has not yet shown up. Please touch the stone of the castle. When you do, since you're before most others you will be Sixth,” Qube said this all the while trying to ignore gestures from Thorne. He was standing behind the man waving frantically and shaking his head.
“SIX,” said the disembodied voice and the man looked wildly about. His sword was half out of its scabbard.
“Very good,” said Qube. Reaching up he laid a hand on shoulder of the man. “For the record you can give us your name. I was able to magic some food for everyone. There are refreshments in the Common Hall. We'll be there soon enough.”
The smile Qube gave was very broad as the gestures from Thorne grew more erratic. Thankfully, Thorne was behind the man and the gestures still went unnoticed.
“My name is, well it was, Blue Beard. Being on Red is a bit of a disappointment,” his voice was very deep, thick and throaty. He slid his sword home.
“You may leave,” Thorne offered stepping forward. “If you like.”
“Oh, no. No sir. I'll just have to find a new name is all. Red Beard will work, I suppose. Being the first you are the X.O. of this outfit then.”
“Um, no. I am not the executive officer. I would be an X.O. if I was in army fatigues and bombs were dropping. The kings will call us to battle, not the Generals.”
Red Beard clicked his tongue and winked. “Gotcha.”
“Welcome, then. Everyone, food and drinks are below. I'll stay and greet the people as they come. Please help yourselves. I'll let you know the first moment the king arrives. He'll probably want to get his war council up and running ASAP.”
Kayse stood there with her arms crossing her chest, tongue flicking in and out. As second in line from the king she was quite impressive. Undoubtedly there would be other players more like her. She made no move to go.
SharkByte and SixPackSuzi joined arms and walked under the portcullis. Red Beard followed, still with one hand on his sword, and still looking about nervously. Thorne rubbed his hand across his stomach and took up after Red Beard minding to keep his distance.
“Can I ask you all a question?” Thorne said to Red Beard and his voice trailed off as they traveled deeper in the castle.
“I've never been first in line before,” said Qube to Kayse. He rubbed his hands together and paced back and forth after the others were out of sight.
“Not an easy task by any means,” she said.
“Agreed. I will look forward to your council.”
Kayse nodded. “There is much to discuss.”
“SEVEN,” said the voice. Instinctively, they both looked up seeing no one on the drawbridge. Qube searched for dragon wings, but saw none. Something dark and rectangle shaped appeared in the moonlight overhead. Presently a young boy arrived on a black carpet. Sitting cross-legged, he nodded to both.
“Qube, number one, I presume,” said the boy in a crisp manner.
“Yes. Glad you made it.”
“I have played in this Mod over thirty-one times. Each time I was a wizard. I am very familiar with the spells they currently offer. I have been in the U.E. twelve times and of those twelve we lost only twice. The other nineteen times, when I was not in the U.E., I was very helpful in finding loopholes in building construction. We'll fortify the castle so they will have very little luck in entering. In the battlefield I have only died three of those nineteen times. I take it personal if I fail to live to the end.”
Kayse whistled, sounding odd considering her present form. “Very impressive. We look forward to your ideas.”
“My stats are in my file for verification.”
“No need. Your name?”
“Matty MattMatt. You can just call me Matt. Do not call me Ron, or Ronnie”
“You were the one involved in the incident in Station 71 weren't you?” said Kayse extending her talon in comradeship.
“Yes,” said Matt rolling his eyes skyward. “How long does one act haunt a person? I was on Blue then. The Red Team was going to win. Down to only four shots left with my PP12 I shot out the window and the air escaping into the vacuum sucked everyone out over the gas planet Williams One.”
“PP12?” Qube asked.
“Pulse pistol. It was the twelfth one the company designed.”
“Ah, I just called it a laser,” Qube said.
“Because of this you won?” Kayse asked.
“A draw actually, first of its kind. At the time the program was not designed to have that kind of ending. It was a ”shoot 'em up“ Mod, not a ”suck 'em out and implode 'em“ Mod,” said Matt fixing his black pointed hat. “They have fixed that scenario because of me,” he whispered with a wink. “Next time you're in that Mod, try it, the shots will ricochet off the windows something fierce.”
“Very good. We have no Sorcerer yet. You qualify for the position.”
“Whoa, I beg your pardon.” The carpet on which he traveled moved back a bit and he adjusted his cap. “I am not a Sorcerer. I am a Wizard, thank you.”
“The difference is?”
“A Sorcerer is more herbal. My magic comes from remembered spells, written text, and flaming words in the air. It's rare I touch potions, although I do have a few nasty ones,” he finished with a whisper and a thoughtful finger on his chin.
“Ah, so noted. Shall not make the mistake again.”
They stood there talking about the game in the tunnels of Primus Seven when Kayse held up a talon for silence.
“Someone comes,” she whispered. “It's a man; his voice is very light, high-pitched.”
“Wing Nutt?” Matt asked and no one answered.