Gameboard of the Gods

CHAPTER 19 GRATEFUL TO BE IN THE FOLDS OF CIVILIZATION

Mae wasn’t thrilled that she and Justin were down to their last land-grant investigation: the Nordics. She had no desire to visit her homeland and secretly hoped he’d cancel the trip altogether since he was now caught up in the idea of a vengeful geneticist being behind the murders. He had inquiries out to the various castes, requesting records of any other “genetic indiscretions,” as they were officially called. Although he believed in the geneticist theory, she knew he wasn’t optimistic about getting results. Most patricians were conceived in vitro, meaning there was a wealth of fertility clinics out there that were always coming and going.

He’d also requested information from the various families about the victims’ conceptions but had received muddled answers. Some swore they hadn’t used in vitro. Others provided the names of doctors who didn’t seem to exist. Confusing things further was that many castals resented the RUNA’s prohibitions against genetic research, some of whom worked at high levels of castal government and could help cover up illegal clinics.

In the meantime, Justin still doggedly pursued his religious leads, though Mae suspected it was out of desperation. He kept up his overconfident persona, but she knew he was getting anxious about time. They were more than halfway through the month now, and each day that passed meant they were closer to another murder and his potential return to exile. He claimed he’d gotten a lead from Geraki’s tirade, which surprised her since little of that madman’s ramblings had made sense. She was even more surprised when Justin said they’d be going to the RUNA’s borderlands.

The RUNA had spent a number of decades establishing itself and building its power. Once it felt secure, it had begun to slowly expand its territory on the continent. Some regions—such as the lands southwest of the RUNA—had transitioned more easily. They had formed a loose configuration of city-states after the Decline and eventually welcomed being annexed by their powerful neighbor.

Other regions weren’t so thrilled. The RUNA’s other neighbor, Arcadia, had formed when the southeastern region of the former United States had chosen not to band with the rest of the country and Canada because they opposed the harsh mandates. Mae was familiar enough with Arcadian culture to know that “chosen” wasn’t the word they used in their history. Arcadia claimed it had been abandoned because the early RUNA couldn’t maintain that much territory. The truth lay in the middle of those theories, and despite ravages by Mephistopheles and Cain, Arcadia had managed to pull itself up into a relatively stable country, due largely to an iron-fisted and religion-driven government.

Relations between the countries had been tense, especially because the RUNA had its eye on some of its neighbor’s resource-rich land. Gemman energy favored renewable resources, but oil and natural gas were still in demand. As a result, Arcadia’s western border was constantly in dispute as each country tried to stake its claim. The RUNA possessed superior technology and weapons, but the Arcadian military was vast and had been building up weapons that, while less sophisticated, were still problematic.

Justin’s destination wasn’t in an Arcadian borderland but was instead in a region that had been annexed only within the last five years. Although the Gemman government worked very quickly to bring its new territories into the uniform cultural fold of the rest of the nation, these new territories still had a reputation for recklessness and dissent—nuisances combatted by a very strong military presence.

Mae got the call from Leo about her test results on the way to Justin’s house. She wasn’t surprised to hear she wasn’t a match to the victims. She’d expected that, no matter how much Justin advocated his conspiracy theory.

It was the other results Mae was interested in, the ones she hadn’t told Justin about. When Justin had left to answer a call during their Nipponese lunch, she’d taken a leap of faith and asked Leo for a favor. Their relationship had warmed up enough that it was worth the gamble. She’d handed over the lock of hair that Emil had given her, feeling both terrified and excited over what Leo might uncover. He’d promised discretion and hadn’t asked many questions.

“It’s a hit,” he told her when he called. “Definitely a relative of yours.”

Mae sat on the train, her ego pressed to her ear in voice-only mode. “How close?”

“Twenty-five percent match to you. That’s a grandparent, half sibling, niece or nephew, aunt or uncle.” He paused. “Double first cousins too.”

“I see.” She took a deep breath. “Can you tell which?”

“No, all I can go by is the number of genes that match. Send me some of your immediate family’s stats, and I could get a closer hit.”

Good luck with that. Mae entertained a brief fantasy of stealthily cutting off a lock of her sister’s hair. “I don’t think that’ll be possible.”

“Does it help you at all?”

Did it? Mae didn’t know. The only thing it proved for sure was that Emil had obtained some relative’s hair. Of course, there was still that picture, but that wasn’t hard evidence, no matter the family resemblance. Someone like him could’ve combed through archives of children’s pictures to find a Koskinen likeness.

“It helps,” she told Leo. If nothing else, it showed her the extent to which the Brödern was willing to go for a prætorian asset. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

She could sense his discomfort. Their relationship still wasn’t entirely firmed up. “Glad to help.”

“And thanks for not telling Justin…you didn’t, right?”

That brought on a snort of laughter. “If I had, he probably would’ve been at your door this morning demanding answers. This is the kind of mystery he lives for.”

Mae had to concur as they disconnected. She might have been just a conquest, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still try to wheedle information out of her—or anyone else he encountered. Maybe he couldn’t help it, as he’d claimed, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

Unsurprisingly, the borderlands didn’t have many direct flights, and it took them the better part of the day to reach their destination. When they stepped off their plane, Mae caught her breath. Spring had come to Vancouver, but it was nothing compared to the evening warmth of Mazatlán. The ocean had glowed in the setting sun as their flight had descended, and now, with darkness falling, the twinkling lights of buildings could be seen in the distance, where the bulk of the city sat on a hill.

“This could be a vacation,” Justin mused.

“I’m surprised it doesn’t bring back traumatic flashbacks of Panama.”

“Not as humid. That, and it’s safer.”

“You sure about that?” she asked. She’d been in enough borderlands to know that unsavory elements lurked beneath the surface, those who weren’t quite on board with their new government’s policies.

“There are dissidents,” Justin said in agreement. “In fact, we may run into a few when we go out tomorrow, but it won’t be anything major. Once they have more time to adjust, they’ll be grateful to be in the folds of civilization.”

Near the airport, state-funded light-rail tracks were under construction, promising the efficiency the rest of the country enjoyed. Driverless cars had spread to this region, however, and it was easy enough to catch one into the city. There, she found Justin’s vacation comparison might have been more accurate than she’d realized, seeing as they were staying in a beachside resort.

“SCI’s paying for this?” she asked in disbelief. Mazatlán’s buildings were a mix of new and pre-Decline, and this one was one of the new ones, beautiful and filled with modern luxuries. Yet, as they approached the entrance, she couldn’t help but notice the large number of police and regular military patrolling the streets. That certainly wasn’t something you’d see in a posh resort elsewhere in the RUNA.

“Our tax dollars at work,” Justin told her. “Enjoy it, because tomorrow we’re going to see the dredges of this town.”

They spent the night outside in one of the resort’s many restaurants, enjoying dinner and drinks as a local band strummed guitars. Beyond them stretched an expansive beach that gave way to the darkness of the ocean. Mae could just barely make out the sound of the surf.

Justin, naturally, drank heavily the whole time, but at least he didn’t take anything else, hopefully reducing his odds of an overdose. She didn’t want to find out firsthand if Mazatlán’s medical resources were up to normal Gemman standards. He’d said very little about Windsor, but she’d noticed that aside from his morning stimulant, he hadn’t strayed to anything harder than alcohol.

All this time spent together…the hotels, the meals. Sometimes it felt like a parody of dating. Except no date would constantly be checking out other women. His gaze in particular kept going back to a young, red-haired bartender.

“Go tell her you’re an EA diplomat,” Mae said. “I bet that’ll go over well.”

He snapped his attention back to her. “For someone who claims that’s in the past, you sure can’t seem to let it go. You never let me explain.”

“Is there more to it than you using it to get me into bed?”

“Was that what did it?” he retorted.

“No,” she admitted. It had been his wit, his sexiness. The sense that he was interested in what was within her, rather than just the natural-blond exterior that dazzled so many men. It had even been a little of that bravado, something she apparently couldn’t stay away from. Most of all, it had been a sense of connection. She would never give him the satisfaction of telling him, but sometimes, in the rare moments when they weren’t sparring, she still felt it.

“The jacket was my friend’s,” said Justin. “He’d lent it to me, and when you thought I was him…I just went with it. Less depressing to be a diplomat than an exile. I didn’t expect things to pan out like they did.” He laughed softly to himself. “I wonder where Huan is now. He wouldn’t believe this change of fortunes. Aside from Tessa’s dad, he was my only real friend there.”

“Not Cristobal and all those admirers of Gemmans?”

“No. Definitely not.” His eyes were piercing as he studied her. “Nordic Nine, you must have been a diamond among ashes growing up. I don’t know how or why you got out, but I know you must’ve been paraded around and put on display. Your family could do nothing less.”

Mae didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of letting him know he was right, but it wasn’t exactly that difficult a conclusion to reach. “Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sometimes,” she answered honestly.

“Did it get tiring? Always having to smile and say polite things? Knowing people were watching and speculating? Knowing they were flocking to what you were and not who you were?”

His ability to so perfectly capture something like that was both amazing and disturbing. But again, she answered with truth. “Yes.”

He spread his hands out. “Then there you go. Welcome to being a Gemman in Panama.”

His words drew her up short. She had never once thought they might have any sort of shared experience like that. With a jolt, she realized that his difficulties in Panama might have extended beyond just being surrounded by provincial primitiveness. There was a social aspect she’d never considered. And with that conclusion, she suddenly drew an even more startling one. The sadness and loneliness she’d sensed from him might not have been faked. That didn’t mean he still hadn’t had ulterior motives—especially if his “second date” speech was any indication. Nonetheless, it cast him in a new light. She couldn’t fully articulate her thoughts and simply stayed silent. She didn’t know what expression she wore, but after several moments of studying her, Justin looked away and downed his drink.

“Well,” he said, getting to his feet. “The night’s not getting any younger, and her shift’ll probably be over soon. I can take it from here, noble defender. Charge anything else to my room.” He gave her a mock salute and sauntered over toward the bartender, wearing an expression very similar to the one he’d used on Mae in their first meeting. The young woman looked interested, but then, who wouldn’t be in the face of those good looks and charm? Angry about her moment of sentimentality, Mae left as well—for her room, alone.

He was in good spirits the next morning but said nothing about what had happened. She certainly wasn’t going to ask. They took another car, this time out to the edges of the city, which became significantly less affluent the farther they went. The military presence also diminished. There were a few new construction projects, but many buildings were pre-Decline or had been hastily thrown up immediately after in an attempt at safety when chaos roamed the streets. The people they saw here were obviously working-class, and even if they now had the same health and education access, it was clear these new citizens were a long ways from their more fashionable counterparts. Signs in Spanish showed many hadn’t yet learned their new national language.

Mae expected they’d go to another church, but instead, the car dropped them off at a tattooist’s shop. “Are you going to immortalize this trip?” she asked.

“Maybe later. Right now we’re visiting the family of Nadia Menari.”

“The woman you asked about back in Apollo’s church.”

He nodded. “Geraki said she was returning to someplace where people still believed. These annexed borderlands are hotbeds of religion. Even after SCI sweeps them, plenty slip through the cracks. Nadia grew up here, and even though I couldn’t find anything on her, some of her family moved back after I shut her down. If I were going to set up a low-profile cult, I’d come here.”

“And Nadia can help us?”

“Maybe. I’m more interested in finding her associate—Callista. She’s the one that’ll help us.”

Mae had a hard time imagining groups that had been busted by servitors wanting to help him. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

They stepped inside, out of the heat, finding no air-conditioning in the empty shop. A dirty glass case displayed potential designs. Mae had had a childhood fantasy of getting a tattoo but was pretty sure she wanted no part of this place’s unhygienic practices.

“Can I help you?” A tall, lanky plebeian man stepped through the door leading to the back of the shop. Justin stepped forward.

“Yes, I’m—”

“Justin March.” The man gave him a slow, long look. “I remember. I was there when you visited.”

Justin forced a smile. “Ah, well…nice to see you again. I’m, uh, here for the same reason as before. I’m trying to find Nadia.”

“Nadia? My cousin? You already disbanded her church.”

“That’s not why I’m here. Do you know if she’s in Mazatlán? I just need to speak to her.”

Mae approached, her wariness triggering the implant’s response. She didn’t like the man’s body language. He was nervous.

“Yes…yes, of course. I just need to get ahold of her.” The man managed a smile. “You know how she is.”

Justin nodded, still smiling but also confused.

The man moved back toward the door he had just come through. “Let me call my brother and see what he knows. It’ll just be a moment. Can I…get you anything while you wait? A chair? Something to drink?”

“We’re fine.”

The man disappeared through the door, which he left ajar, and Mae heard his one-sided conversation in Spanish. The only words she picked out were “Nadia” and “Justin March.”

“Something’s weird,” she said. “He’s too uneasy.”

“Yes,” Justin agreed. “But he knows what I am. These people are more afraid of federal visits than castals are.”

The tattooist returned, his smile bigger and more natural this time. “My brother knows where she is. He’s going to bring her over.”

“Excellent,” said Justin. “Thank you.”

Justin and Mae milled around the storefront, which saw no customers, for about ten minutes. Then they heard a door open in the back and a low conversation. Their host appeared and beckoned them forward. “Right this way.”

The back room looked like any messy workshop type of area. Assorted tools and outdated readers littered the tables and benches, and a large, wicked-looking metallic contraption hovered over a long pallet where the tattooing most likely took place. A bed suggested the tattooist lived here.

Mae knew immediately there was something wrong, because instead of a woman, she found three men waiting for them—three armed men. She promptly knocked Justin down, so strongly that he cried out in surprise. Her gun was out before he hit the floor, and she unflinchingly shot one of the attackers in the arm. One of his colleagues had the wisdom to drop to the ground also, and another joined him after Mae disarmed him and belted him across the face with the gun. She was on to the one who’d tried to elude her when she heard a voice behind her say, “Easy there. Drop your gun, or Dr. March’s career ends.”

Mae slowly turned toward the speaker. It was the tattooist, and he too was armed—holding a gun to Justin’s head. These damned annexed regions were still able to smuggle guns in. This would never have happened in civilization. She knew she was faster than the tattooist and could save herself, but that didn’t mean Justin would walk out alive. And as she met his eyes, her heart clenched. She felt a terrible, gripping fear—not for the mission, but for the loss of him. A scuffle at the back door told her others were joining them, and gritting her teeth, Mae set her gun down.

The motley Mazatlán cronies were poor excuses for captors, and their detainment was made more embarrassing when Mae thought about the lethal combatants she’d fought over the years. But she’d been stuck with that gun to Justin’s head, leaving her in this predicament. The two of them were kept tied up in the back room until darkness fell outside. That was when their captors decided they were safe to transport.

She studied the men all day and found only one who acted as though he might have had militia training from the region’s pre-RUNA days. He wasn’t adept enough to identify her guns as military issue, nor did he think to check her boot. She couldn’t use the knife while bound anyway, but she felt more secure knowing it was there.

The group led Justin and Mae to a large, worn-down building that might have been an office space in better days. They entered through a side door, and she blinked as bright light shone down from an old incandescent fixture. The room they stood in was small and cramped, and it looked as though it had once been an administrative office of sorts. A door opposite the one she had entered stood firmly closed, but unless she was mistaken, she thought she could hear the sound of people on the other side. A lot of people.

Two plebeian men waited in the office, and they tensed when Mae’s entourage entered. One was older, with graying hair, but the two men shared such a strong resemblance, she assumed they must be father and son. The son looked to be a little younger than she was, but he was built like a tank, with well-defined muscles all over his body.

“Is this him?” demanded the elder, walking over to stand in front of Justin.

“Yes,” said the tattooist.

The older man struck Justin hard across the face, and Mae flinched inside, seething with anger as he staggered backward from the blow. She tried to surge forward, despite her bindings, but two sets of hands jerked her back harshly. The older man’s eyes flickered to her. “Who’s the castal?”

“I don’t know,” the tattooist said. “She was armed to the teeth, though.”

You don’t know the half of it, she thought bitterly. She looked forward to beating these people up once she was free and Justin secure.

The older man eyed her with disinterest and turned back to Justin. “You bastard.” The man’s voice rang icily. “You fucking bastard. Because of you, I lost my daughter!”

Justin made a quick assumption and blanched. “Nadia’s dead?”

“She might as well be! After you shut her down, she came here to start a new life but decided she needed guidance from her goddess. Nadia left to commune with her in the jungle…and crossed the border! She wasn’t allowed back in.”

“She’s a citizen,” said Justin. “They should’ve let her back when they scanned her chip.”

“She removed it for the journey,” said the man mournfully. “She wanted to purify herself and be free of all man-made devices. Now border security won’t let her back, and there’s no way to put it back in out there. We’ve been trying to petition, but in the meantime, she’s stuck. And it’s all your fault for shutting her down!”

It was, quite possibly, one of the stupidest stories Mae had ever heard and furthered all she believed about religion. Everything from the idea of communing with divinity to removing the chip—a major crime—had been foolish.

“Hey, I saved her from a prison sentence,” snapped Justin. “I shut her down for a paperwork error, rather than the fact that she was preaching sedition!”

The man hit Justin again, and this time Mae—prepared for the hands restraining her—skillfully slipped underneath them and managed to place a hard kick in the older man’s stomach. His eyes widened in pain as he fell while many hands now restrained her, shoving her forcefully up against the back wall. Her head hit hard against the surface, and the implant quickly compensated for the pain.

The solidly built younger man lunged at her. “You bitch—”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, wait there, Eugene. Save your strength for the fight,” soothed one of Mae’s captors, moving in front of her.

“Fight?” asked Justin. Half of his face showed an angry red mark from the blows, though he hid any pain he might have felt.

“Yes,” wheezed the older man, allowing one of the others to help him up. “The danza.”

The tattooist, seeing their blank looks, explained, “The danza is a fight used among Clans to settle matters of honor.”

“What kind of fight?” Mae asked.

“What kind of matters?” Justin asked.

“A knife fight,” declared the young man, Eugene.

A knife fight of honor? Clans? Mae was amazed. This place really did have a long way to go.

“Tradition requires it, as does our goddess,” explained Nadia’s father. “We must avenge what you did to her.”

“What are the rules?” Mae looked expectantly between her captors and the grieving father. “You can’t expect him to fight in it without knowing the rules.”

The tattooist shrugged. “The rules are simple. The combatants must stay within the marked boundaries. Each combatant gets two knives that they are allowed to use in any way on the opponent. The winner is the one still standing at the end. The loser is the one who bleeds to death.”

Playing to the death seemed right on par with the rest of this melodrama. It was straight out of a movie: an honor-avenging duel. Crude or not, Justin wouldn’t stand a chance, especially against Eugene. The man could probably win by mass alone.

“How are the combatants chosen?” she asked, trying to puzzle a way out.

The older man made an impatient gesture, clearly annoyed by her questions. “We have no time for this. The crowd is waiting.”

She shifted uneasily and glanced at the door, where she could still hear a low roar. “We have the time.” She forced as much bravado as she could. “If this is really as honorable as you claim. Why him? Why is he fighting and not him?” She gestured to Eugene and the tattooist respectively. “Aren’t you all family? Isn’t the whole family’s honor at stake?”

“Yes,” said the tattooist in agreement. “Anyone could have done it. Eugene was simply the one chosen to represent our side.”

Ah. That was what Mae had been waiting for. Justin might live another day after all, much to the relief of gullible women everywhere. “So the combatants are representatives for the various sides?” she repeated. The men nodded. “Then I want to represent Justin. I’ll fight.”

“What? No.” The older man was livid now. “You’re wasting our time.” A dangerous gleam flared in his eyes. “I want to see March bleed.”

One of Mae’s captors, the scarred man who had originally held the gun to Justin, swallowed uncomfortably. “Uncle Raoul, she has the right. The rules of the danza say—”

“I’m not going to fight her,” said Eugene, his dark eyes running over her with disgust. “I could break her in half. It wouldn’t be right.”

The tattooist and a few of the others who had fought her at the tattoo parlor didn’t look so convinced. She idly wondered what had happened to the guy she shot. “She has the right,” the tattooist insisted. “You have to let her, if March says it’s okay.”

All heads swiveled to Justin. “By all means, go for it,” he said immediately. “Although…if she loses—er, dies, or whatever, what happens to me?”

“Then your side has been proven guilty, and we get to kill you.”

“Great.”

“And if I live,” prompted Mae, “then Justin lives too?”

The tattooist looked at Eugene, who nodded reluctantly.

“Fine,” snapped Raoul. “Let’s just get this over with. If they’re both intent upon dying, so be it. At least this way, I can actually pull the trigger on March myself.”

Justin’s gaze flickered to Mae, and she tried to give him a reassuring look as the whole group began moving toward the door. It opened, revealing a large, vaulted room. It was hard to say, but it might once have been the kind of work space that held cubicles and desks. They’d long since been cleared out, and the dull hum she’d heard earlier strengthened to a roar. At least a hundred people were gathered along the room’s sides. An audience, how perfect. It would be just like a canne tournament.

Passing near her, the scarred captor gave her a curious and almost sympathetic look. “I hope you’re good with a knife.”

She smiled.