Heir of G.O'D. Revelations Page 20

  -28-

  I feel like a right silly fracker wearing the archer armour (even though it’s my avatar wearing it, I’m actually blushing realworld). It’s not in any way revealing, it just feels so wrong. The leather trousers are skin-tight–ideal for stealth I guess–but they’re so form-fitting it’s like someone painted my bare legs bottle-green. The too-skimpy trousers are teamed with an equally snug leather vest and soft leather tan ankle boots. Rings of black metal are sewn on the vest and trousers at intervals, so they don’t chink together. To me, my avatar looks like she’s been stripped naked, spray-painted green and is suffering from some form of black-disc-measles. Oh, I’m also wearing a dark green suede hat – I drew a line at putting a feather in it though. With the wooden bow, crafted quiver, and the black-brown striped cloak, I resemble a moronic extra from Robin Hood’s band of very unhappy women.

  If my outfit is understated (in my opinion, it most certainly is not), the next of our team to arrive on Callisto—Bl0nd3Dy3dBl3@ch—is wearing something beyond outrageous. “How’s it hanging, Mate?” she asks in her Australian drawl. She straps on a shimmering silver metal breastplate, hammered in a rough ‘Y’ shape. Mercifully, the arms of the ‘Y’ cover her six-foot-plus avatar’s ample breasts, with the tail barely protecting her unmentionables. Sadly, aside from her ankle boots, that’s the extent of her armour and clothing. Her hair is a mass of blonde which trails down to her knees and seems to float around like Medusa’s snakes.

  “Good thanks, Blonde.”

  “I heard you massacred a third of them COGOD drongos yesterday. Good on ya, Mate.” I think the slap on the back she gives me would actually hurt if we were active in the Arena right now. Musa and Samir arrive together. Samir’s wearing his familiar Arena healer robes, looking a little like a Franciscan monk of yesteryear. He wanders around humming Latin monk-music to himself to complete the image (which is marred just a little by the two-handed longsword strapped to his back). Musa is in full mage-mode, which to her means ‘wear something filmy, flimsy, floaty and transparent’ (thank the Heir she has a one-piece beneath). Standing with these three, and about to join a battle, is why I generally don’t enter the roleplaying Arenas; I’m never sure where to look, or what to do with my awkward self.

  With an event this size, the cluster-zone is vast—as big as an airplane hangar—and filled with teams, sponsors, Sol-Corp wasps and stores selling stuff off cheaply.

  Doing my best to keep my eyes on anything but the other competitors, I focus instead on the event map. This year the Team Arena is a barren wasteland full of streams and waterways, with a host of small islands and a single landmass to the south. According to the details, there are several automated ferries in operation, as well as boats that can be used to move around.

  “I don’t recognise it,” Musa comments, reading the map. “We’ll start somewhere in the top-right there, on one of the islands”.

  “It’s auto-generated,” Samir confirms. “I ran a matching algorithm, and there’s nothing like it on 3arth. It resembles the coastline of the Gulf of Carpentaria, but it’s far too big to be an exact rendering of that region.”

  “If the drongos did use that as a base, stay off the sand. The quicksand there will suck you in faster than an attachment on Ganymede.”

  Unlike Monday, when I had a plan, today I’m just along for the ride. I decided to bring the ghillie suit with me (just in case), the custom bow and the camo blanket. Granted, the blanket’s not usually much use in Team games, but if we get penned in, I might be able to use it to flank or something. As I said, this style is not my bag.

  “All set?” asks Musa, opening a private channel with me. I glance up and see the genuine concern in her eyes, the ripple of her cheeks as she clenches and relaxes her jaw. The other two are chatting quietly, heads ducked and arms waving.

  “Yeah, I guess. Archery’s not really something I’m any good at though.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened. It wasn’t Sol-Corp.”

  “Yeah, Iphy said the same. Do you know who?”

  “Aside from it being a military faction, no.” There are so many military groups: Corps security, city troops, mercenaries like Musa and countless others; knowing that the sniper was part of a pro unit doesn’t really help me much. I draw a deep breath and attempt to relax. There’s nothing I can do now. Regardless of who attacked us, Celal’s still dead. “Did Iphy tell you that whatever we take from this is yours?”

  “No. You can’t do that!”

  “’Course we can. As an apology.”

  I reach over and pull Musa into a hug, ignoring the outrageous costume as best as I’m able. “Thank you. What about Blonde?”

  “Oh, she works with us. She runs the Australasia trades out of Darwin. She’s always been a fan.”

  “A fan?”

  “Yes, of you. Although none of us were exactly fans of your Dastarding tactics.” I nod, then catch the glint in her eye. “You took out three-hundred-eighty COGOD on your own. It’s a new Arena record. Did you know that?”

  “Nope, I didn’t realise there was such a thing.”

  “It’s unofficial of course, but you might be up for an award on Saturday or something. Blonde’s not stopped going on about it. She’s in, grouping with you gives her major bragging rights.”

  “Now this is an unexpected meeting if ever I came across one. The Arena fighter who has taken to hunting and hurting little people to make $uns. And the illegal and immoral trader who almost got this one killed not two days ago.” Shuzo strides between us, turning his back on Musa as he stares directly at me. He’s wearing his more familiar Japanese uniform. As he spins, his shouldered black Barrett M82 flashes silver and momentarily seems to swell in size. It only happens for a heartbeat, so quick that I ask myself, was it real or did I imagine it? “Have you changed your mind?”

  “I can’t join. It’s…”

  Before I finish speaking, two things happen at once. Shuzo spins his weapon from his back and aims it at my head. The movement is so fast that I get another glimpse of flashing silver, almost like a render of one item laid over the top of another. As Shuzo pulls his gun out and angles it at my forehead, we are all ported to our starting positions, with five minutes to the claxon.

  “Arrogant fracker. Does he not realise by now that weapons won’t work outside of the Arenas?” says Musa, shaking her head in irony.

  “What was that all about?” Samir asks, leading Blonde over to us.

  “He asked me to join the Church. Showed me the Hub or something earlier.”

  “He did? Which part of it?”

  “You know about the Hub?”

  Samir grins, hinting that he knows about everything. “It’s like a series of backdoors through Sol. G.O’D. created it in the original version, we think for uploading updated versions of Solspace after satellites or shuttles sent back new information. According to reports, COGOD has been adapting it, constructing an upload mechanism for illegal code, amongst other things.”

  “Oh,” I say, not understanding a word. “What was that weapon?”

  “His Barrett?” asks Musa.

  “Yes, but there was something about it. Like it was superimposed on something. I caught a silver flash.”

  “Explain please,” Samir instructs, instantly becoming serious and business-like. I describe what I saw as best I can, and Samir starts to swipe on his HUD. “I’ve never seen one before. It doesn’t register on the inventory logs either.” Samir switches to mute, and his eyes glaze while he speaks realworld. When he returns, Samir confirms, “I’ve asked the team to monitor him. Please be careful.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “It could be nothing. Leave it to the team, G@n@le0. We should prepare.”

  The moment the Arena countdown clock hits zero, we move, heading north by creeping through the undergrowth. The closest team to us is just outside of our small copse of trees. Musa is on the lookout for the team just to our west. Blonde is protecting Samir.


  Using archery in Team is a little like being a sniper so, much as it galls me, I determine to use the fracking Mouse’s tactic. I spot the closest group still preparing to move. Holding my arrow drawn for a moment, I ask myself if I feel bad for shooting a group of halflings. I decide I don’t care because role-players need to die (well, black-screen). I take the warrior in the arm, click little finger to palm—which knocks and draws a second arrow (it turns out the glove macros work with all weapons)—and take the same target in the knee, sighing impatiently as the man drops behind a bush and out of sight. I curse myself for not testing the bow more, and adjust the sights whilst I wait for the toucher to appear. He scurries in, ducking down to avoid my arrows, but for some brainless reason stands up to heal. I take him cleanly in the back and give a thumbs-up to Musa. Two targets and three arrows in six seconds – the new haptic gloves are insanely good, even if my skill with a bow is average at best. I retrieve my arrows, loot a small bracer shield, and wait for the others to choose their loot. Then, as any drilled unit would, we head off in search of prey.

  Forty minutes in, sixteen other teams annihilated, and our starting island is clear. According to the map, the primary dock is just over the next ridge. We arrive just as a team of COGOD frackers bump their rowing craft against the jetty. I scan for Shuzo, but he’s not amongst them. A sea of swaying heather obscures me as I sneak closer with my bow knocked, the same tactic used for each kill so far. I draw, aim for the leader’s head and let loose. Only, the fracker ducks down, and my arrow flies uselessly past. I shoot a second arrow at the leader who’s still visible. It buries deep into his shoulder but is not enough to kill him. Scanning for the healer, I try to keep watch on the first target too, but no one moves. I sprint in and slide up to a stack of barrels. As one of Blonde’s bolts strikes the leftmost barrel, the target rushes right. I take him in the groin as he flashes past. If it were not for the gold COGOD emblem pinned to the left lapel of his Second World War French soldier uniform, he would pass as normal. He mumbles something as he tries to crawl away. “Yes, it’s her, you were…” His other words are garbled thanks to my arrow feathers decorating his neck, the arrowhead sticking into the ground and pinning his head. I’ve just finished looting my item when the others arrive.

  “They’re hunting me,” I announce.

  “Well, they were,” says Blonde with a smirk. “Until you gave him a case of black-screen to cope with.”

  “Not just this team, COGOD. He was messaging back.”

  “You should be flattered, Mate. I guess they took the Rumble personally.”

  “She’s right,” Samir agrees. “But stay alert.”

  We find a flat-bottomed barge in one of the sheds and launch it. We’re in an exposed position, bobbing along on the sea, but we’re out of range of any weapon. Someone would need to stand on a beach, or sail close, to assault our boat.

  I let Musa steer and take the relative calm of the moment to try and fathom what COGOD are planning. Shuzo was expecting me to decline, so why did he take me into the Hub? And, what the frack is that weapon? Or am I imagining it?

  I hear Musa and Samir talking, so I join them at the tiller to the aft of the barge. “What’s the plan?”

  “The Arena’s closing in. We’re heading for the peninsula. There should be time to sweep around it before the Arena walls come in and close the route off.”

  “If we don’t, we can move to land. We’ll need to eventually anyway.”

  “According to Iphy’s team,” Musa says, her hand clutching my shoulder and her near-purple eyes gazing at me intently, “there’s a small trace coming from Shuzo’s Barrett. They’re scanning the source feeds. Superficially, it appears to be a normal weapon, but the transferring packets are wrong. One thing they are sure of, Shuzo was aiming straight for the island we just left.”

  “What’s more,” Samir adds, “he’s not used that weapon once yet. His kills were made using an M16 he had in his item allowance.”

  “It can’t be that different, surely?”

  “We don’t know. It has a distinct pattern within the trace, but we’ve never seen it before.”

  “Then what is it?” My growing unease is resurfacing.

  Samir shakes his head and his lips purse as if speaking his mind will release a deadly disease into the air. “A virus, or a hack.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes. And we’ve detected three more similar traces too. Two heading north, and the other to the far south. All are with known COGOD faction leaders, part of Ribeiro’s inner circle; none of those weapons have been fired yet.”

  “Who?” I know a few of them from the main Arenas, like Shuzo who’s primarily a soloist like me.

  “Zhong and Jukic are closing on our position, McMillan is south.”

  “All Arena experts. So, what do we do, Mate?” asks Blonde. She’s stood in the bow as we sail east, the sun casting her in shadow.

  “Aim for that headland,” Samir instructs.

  “Their spotters will be watching us.” The nervousness on the boat is growing; perhaps I shouldn’t have spoken. We sail on in silence, the barge bucking roughly on the increasingly turbulent waves, distant gunshots and booms of spells echoing from fights beyond the treeline. I glance at the HUD scoreboard and note that there are a couple of hundred teams left. We’re ranked quite low, outside the top fifty, but our starting position was fairly remote. SCAR is sitting in third, and still fighting, so Denver won’t be coming to my container any time soon. I locked the door regardless. “Steer us to the head of the peninsula. I have a plan.”

  It only takes a few more minutes before the bottom of the barge scrapes on the submerged sand. I clamber out, my feet sploshing into the clear water, and help to drag the vessel further up the beach, while Samir and Musa relay messages on the COGOD groups. According to Musa’s spotter, the closest team is ten minutes away. We scramble up the dunes and through the tall reeds until we reach the bushes. Musa turns to watch for attackers from the sea, which now surrounds us in all directions, bar south. Blonde takes up her position in the centre of our makeshift camp; her primary aim now is to keep Samir alive. I grab the bow and start to crawl away. About ten metres further south, I swipe the blanket from my inventory and secure it to a couple of bushes, forming a makeshift tunnel. I pull down the two ends to make a temporary surround, then change my archer outfit for the ghillie. Leaving the blanket shelter behind, I crawl west, careful to avoid disturbing the surrounding bushes and reeds. After an arduously slow creep, I nest up in a thicket about five metres east of Samir. Then we wait.

  The first team that finds us is not COGOD, but a troupe of Mossad. Although I’m tempted to engage, it would ruin my plan if COGOD’s spotters learn my new position. I become a spectator and watch as Blonde takes one of the agents in the chest with a crossbow and then hamstrings the healer with a thrown axe. After that, Musa and Samir both contribute, and the Mossad group is toast. Samir rushes up to where I left the blanket, peeks underneath to mimic talking to me and then returns to his position. I can’t see the tactic working, but anything’s worth a try right now.

  Much to my amazement, it actually works.

  Quicker than predicted, DiscipleZhong leads her group–based on Mongol horse archers–into range (who, travelling on foot, look somewhat incongruously like extras from a Monty Python movie). “Target Zhong,” Samir orders, as Zhong’s team settle around her. They halt suddenly, just out of range, not quite close enough for any of us to hit them. The first meter-long barbed arrows they fire from their compact recurve bows all target the blanket. By the lightning reload speed, it’s obvious that they’re using the same haptic glove technique that I only just discovered. The blanket crumples to the ground, pin-cushioned by arrows. I hear an angry, barked command in cut-off Chinese and the COGOD frackers edge closer to target the rest of our group. With a yell of determination, I leap to my feet and return fire from my flank position.

  The first COGOD member falls injured as Blonde takes an arrow in the
thigh. Zhong draws her Barrett and aims it at me. Musa strikes the Disciple in the chest with a fireball, but Zhong gets her arrow away. It strikes me high on my left arm, and the pain is absolutely excruciating. Not regular Sol impact pain, but real pain. I scream and realise my bow has dropped to the ground and I am on my knees. Zhong black-screens and her team wink out with her.

  Samir ignores Blonde, who is on her butt and rubbing her leg from the injury, and instead scurries toward me. A figure rises from the beach to our right, his face etched in stone. Shuzo raises the bugged Barrett and shoots at my head. With the pain still shooting through my arm, somehow I know I’m dead.

  Then Samir stumbles and collapses on top of me.

  Musa screams “Samir! They killed him!” and we all black-screen out.

  I don’t understand what just happened, and I don’t know what that terrifying weapon was. With pain still reverberating through my arm, I do something that I never thought I would do; I rip off my visor and escape Sol for the sanctuary of realworld.

  Wednesday, Halley 24th, 2044

  Remembrance Day - 5 days before Baktun

  The Creator rested, surrounded by his disciples, leaving the chaos in the hands of the men who created it. As The Creator lay in his crib in his meagre dwelling, he whispered his final words, “Forgive me, my child, for I have done what I can, and yet, I have failed you.” And The Creator closed his eyes and ascended from the realm of man.

  The Ordinance: Book of the Lost (14:22)

  -29-

  I don’t know what time it is because my visor’s still on the floor where I threw it. All I can picture in my mind is Samir’s expression as he was shot in the back by that weapon. The pain in my arm took hours to fade, and it still twinges if I move it too fast. Samir’s injury must have been much worse, perhaps it even knocked him unconscious.