Tracking Mine Opponent

Spinning in the chair on the lowest accessible floor of the Empire, I mused on the situation. This new player of our game was clever. They knew everything they needed to if they wanted to do some real damage. But they aren’t doing any. From what the alternative information streams have uncovered and revealed unto mine omniscience, this opponent has shown their hand to no one but my friends. Good on them, I finally get a worthy opponent. I forget, sometimes, how good being a god feels. Having everything, all the knowledge and power in the world, or at least the city, sparking beneath my fingertips. Flashing before mine eyes. ‘Tis truly a beauteous experience.

I look over beside me, to the other terminal, and Che is noticeably absent. Or, unnoticeably, considering I just now saw it and I doubt he left particularly recently. How long has he been absent, I muse as I move across the room to make myself a pot of coffee. I want to be awake and alive for this great game to be played on the field of Newest York. I must prove unto the world that, though I did retire from divinity for a time, a god does not die, and a man, no matter how powerful, is but a gnat in comparison to a god. I decide it matters not that mine awed spare eyes are in place or not, so long as they remain both loyal to and in awe of me. As the coffee brews, I turn my gaze back to the information stream in the corner of my sight. This player knows the game well enough to avoid simple tracking on the messages. Like mine own moves, the source of the messages travels about this isle city and are useless to finding out who does lurk behind these words. Such fun.

With physical access to any part of the moving system, I would be able to track its manufacturing. Find out who made something and when, find out a lot about whoever is using it. Tracking down one of them would be easy enough. From my analysis, I figure there’s a seventy three point eight percent chance that another message will be sent to one of my friends in approximately twenty eight minutes, with a three minute, forty second margin of error. I’ll need someone tracking it from here. Which brings me right back to Che’s absence. Shaking my masked head, I walk back up to the surface floors of the Empire. In all likelihood, I shall find him there, with his youthful compatriots. Spreading awe of their returning god. And, as much as that is of use, I have need of him to halt such activities for the moment.

As I hit the newest main floor, I see him on his phone. I aggressively gesture for him to approach my divine magnificence. Not getting off the phone, he does so. “Yeah, hoss,” he said, holding the bottom of his phone.

I stare at him, cocking my head to one side. The mask’s mechanical eyes twirl, focusing in on his conversation. Tapped in, it’s with his girlfriend. An unnecessary risk. On the phone line, I state, “Che is needed elsewhere, he will return to this call after his duty.”

The woman on the other end starts to ask, bewildered, “Who the -”

Che cuts her off before she damns herself. “Babe, I’ll call you right back.” Hanging up, he looks at me. “That was kinda mean.”

“You will have a task to complete without question. To do so, I require focus from you,” I inform my humble worshiper, then with a gesture towards his phone, I add, “That’s a distraction that can wait for the after.”

Che nodded, and followed me back down the stairs. He knew better than complain in the presence of others. That would make me upset. He will complain in privacy, though he will certainly still do the work. Kids are like that. Once we were in the lair, he sighs and shakes his head. “So,” he asks, “What’s this job that is so important? Want me to read through another shitton of messages?”

I shake my head. “Quite the opposite,” I reply. “It is all set up. In about twenty eight minutes, a notification’ll pop up on that terminal.” I gesture towards the second terminal, the one I am usually working on. “When this happens you will, without reading the message, trace it to its source. While you do so, you will keep in touch with me. When the trace is finished and I am at the location, you can return to your call.”

Che shrugged. “Why without looking at the message?” he asked, as he seated himself in preparation.

“It is a message that will prove useless to your machinations,” I tell the man. When this seems unsatisfactory, I add, “And it is a part of a game which you do not play and which cannot be taught.”

From his reaction, I know he will not look. His curiosity is moved from the specifics to the general. He will ask about the game. But not until after the play is made. If he proves loyal and useful, mayhaps I could…

No. He is but a tool. I cannot start thinking of him otherwise. Remember the other, how that turned out. I touch the deep but fading scar on the side of my throat. Had she truly wanted to kill me, I would be dead. I am fortunate she simply wished to leave, rather than ascend. Never again shall I teach the game to anyone. It is too risky. Especially to one as ambitious as this youth. Heading back up the stairs, I performed a comms check. First, to Lucy. “Luce, anything I need to worry about?”

Lucy, given the time, is likely at her doctor’s office. She sighs. “Are you about to do something stupid?” she asks, “Because I have an appointment in ten minutes, but I can postpone if my roommate is about to try to kill himself.”

“I would never,” I reply smugly, “In any case, this one should be harmless.”

“Well,” she says, “I disagree on both parts, but you’ve heard my problems with this scheme. Other than that, watch your water intake, you seem a tad dehydrated.”

“Thank you for the aid, Luce,” I reply pleasantly as I walk out onto the surface of Newest York.

She groans. “Don’t die, you still owe me your half the rent for the rest of the year.”

Switching over to the local line, I ask, “Che, can you hear me?”

Che replies, “Unfortunately. So this game…”

“You have a task. Inform me when you begin your tracing,” I reply curtly. I can’t afford him losing focus, but telling him too much about the game serves more risk than his lack of complete focus.

Mine eyes dart to the mapping. There are nine different probable locations for the next target. I should be near the ideal of those locales on the loop for speed of access to any one. The loop itself is unfortunately one way, but it is short enough and a loop, so there is no beginning nor end. Anywhere will be a fine starting point. Four of the probable transmission areas are spread around North-Central, one deep in North End, one shallow there, one in the Mob’s territory down in South End, one near the Empire in South-Central, and two in S-C on the artificial shores of the Park.

Because the loop doesn’t stretch into the northern spans of North End, being there will prove ideal, as travelling to the far one would take longer than the span of the loop. I descend into my belly of Newest York, heading to the loop. Climbing into my cage, I zoom around sixty percent of the loop, to the one terminal in North End. Climbing back above ground, I enter one of the stores on the street here. Further north lies almost nothing but open warfare between insignificant attempted warlords. That’s the whole reason I never expanded the loop north from here. It poses too much of a risk. And, from mine omniscience, North End has not changed. The players are all different, but the game they play remains the exact same. Base war. A game for brutes and fools.

The store, as most here that last are, is one for weaponry. The owner gives me a strange look, but he is old enough to recognize his god. He was here before, though not the owner of this establishment. “I take it the old man has retired,” I ask him as I walk to the back room, where the targets lie.

“Yes. Will you be here long, sir?” he asks.

Picking up a brace of knives, I step to the pistol lanes. “In your store, briefly. In town does depend on outside factors,” I answer the man honestly. He nods, then heads back to the front. Those in awe know better than ask too many questions. To relax as I wait for Che, I begin throwing the knives down range.

It takes eight minutes twenty-five seconds for the call. Only one other enters the range in that time, and he is a terrible shot. Che’s voice crackles over the comms. “It’s beeped. Honing in exactly, but it seems to be near the border of the Centrals.”

“Confirmed, Tell me if it is east or west side of the Park as soon as you figure it out.” I say, stepping out of the store with another nod to the new owner. He nods right back, as is right.

Che replies, “On it.”

Heading down into the depths of the platforms, I return to my cage. I start driving, heading for my midpoint on the east side of the Park. Hopefully in the next four minutes Che could determine which side of the Park.

Three and a half minutes later, while I’m flying through the tunnel, Che comes in. “East side, on the beach.” On my display, the location starts to ping.

A minute later, I’m up on the shoreline, looking over the beach beside the Park. It’s a beautiful artificial beach around the lake, but I don’t see where the transmission could possibly have come from. Checking my map again, I realize I’m right over the Park Filtration Unit, which keeps the Park a freshwater reservoir.

Heading below, into the filters, I find the small unit that was used to send the message. It had a series of mechanical switches. I knew how it worked. I’d seen it before. It was sent a message, which it retyped and sent to the addressee, then deleted the initial message. I could bring it back to the hackers. They likely could figure out where it was being sent form. But that is entirely unnecessary. I knew who built this. The craftsmanship, it is undeniable. Only that option, it’s impossible. But it remains the only possibility. Somehow, in spite of its impossibility, it remains the truth. “Che, you may call your friend back,” I inform the kid, then turn off my local comms. I need to focus.

Luce calls on her comms. “Jase, your heart-rate’s spiking. What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you have an appointment,” I ask, hyperventilating.

“Now your breathing’s freaking out too,” she says, then answers, “And it was physical, those take like fifteen minutes max. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how. It’s impossible,” I say slowly, “But she’s back.”

“Really?” she asks, “But, didn’t you lock her up in that…”

“Yeah,” I answer, “And I thought that was the end of it, until now. I’m staring at a mechanized privacy forwarding terminal that is an improved version of her work. Only two people in the world know how to make this, me and her.”

“Well, damn,” Lucy says, sighing. Mostly because this meant my joking refusal to promise survival just became significantly more serious..

“Yeah, that about echoes my thoughts,” I said, finally starting to calm down, “M’s back.”

Lucy sighed. “Well, it was nice knowing you, Jase.”