Chapter 15: Interlude: On Earth
“I will not have my daughter shackled to that implanted animal!”
Dr. Tamara Woo-Smith stood from her desk and slapped the French delegate, regret flashing through her immediately. Her hold on these people was tenuous, and losing her composure would only give them another weakness to exploit. The burly Frenchman raised a fist, and for a moment, she thought he might strike her. She hoped he would try. But one look at the guards flanking her desk dissuaded the notion. It was amazing how quickly their veneer of civility had eroded under the threat of alien harvesting. The delegate spun, his nose in the air and the red-soles of his Louboutins clicked against the tiled floor as he stalked away.
She focused on the positives. Stage One and the Round Table episode—hosted by the horrific Priorita—had aired barely an hour earlier. It had proven to be a valuable source of information, as the alien delighted in exposing the contestants’ secrets. Tamara’s feed pinged repeatedly with summaries and observations sent from the drafted viewers. She let them stack up. They could wait until they were compared, compiled and verified. She clicked her tongue and pressed on the lump of bone on her wrist. Such an inefficient process.
She and her team had drafted a million of the most intelligent citizens—ten viewers per contestant—to document anything that might benefit humanity. But their accounts varied significantly, and their interpretations of events were frustratingly inconsistent.
A chime drew her attention to the door, where a small man with a black bowl cut and ludicrously thick glasses waited. He danced from foot to foot. She pressed a button and the door whispered into the ceiling, permitting him entry. He almost ran to her and a bioengineered guard more than three times his weight stepped between them to block his passage. Tamara gestured for him to be let through.
She sat at her desk as he spoke.
“We’ve done it! We cracked the replay function, Doctor.”
Tamara raised an eyebrow, but inside, her heart raced. Hidden by the desk, her leg went into overdrive. “You’re sure this time?”
“Yes, Doctor. Check your feed.”
She held his eye for a moment longer. The department had claimed success twice over the past few days. Twice she had been disappointed. With their civilisation at stake, she would have to make an example of this man if he disappointed her again.
The Priorita allowed anyone to live-stream any contestant, at any time. But only published a few, select replays. If they could replay at will, then they could verify their viewers observations.
Tamara opened the blinking video file. A semi-transparent overlay whisked up over the room and Tamara was treated to a recording of the Round Table that had just aired. She minimised it, and checked the official WARGAMES! feed published by Priorita. No such footage was available. Experimentally, she sped up and rewound the footage, finally settling on the point just before the human representative, Mei Feng was unveiled. A reported pause—a stutter in the footage—had sparked early discussion.
Frame by frame she replayed the moment until she caught it. A flash of crimson ignited within the depths of the green Priorita. The next frame it was gone, and the green cube was several pixels to the left of her original position. She snipped the footage and sent it off for analysis.
She pressed against her wrist, her voice calm. “How?”
The little man bounced on the balls of his feet, almost tap-dancing in excitement.
“We have been trying to hack the source feed.”
“Trying and failing. I know.” Replied Tamara.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“That was our mistake! Their technology is sophisticated and powerful. It uses a different structure to ours.” He sounded defensive. “We had little time and less chance to defeat it.”
“I didn’t ask for excuses, Mr?”
“Wei”
“I didn’t ask for excuses, Mr Wei. I asked how. My time is limited and valuable.”
“Yes, yes, apologies.” He made a little bow. “Hacking their technology was impossible—until I realised that once the data reaches our hybridised implants, it was converted into something we can process. So, I requisitioned prisoners slated for execution. We drugged them, opened their skulls, and attached electrodes to their visual cortex. As long as they live, we can stream their vision directly to our computers. The footage can then be easily saved and transmitted to any other device.”
Tamara pressed hard at her wrist, her mind whirling. The prisoners were already as good as dead. This ensured their deaths had meaning. It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?
“How many?”
“Doctor?”
She clenched her jaw. Why did she always have to repeat herself? “How many prisoners do you have recording footage?”
“We performed the procedure on ten, but three died.”
“I want a recorder online for the top one hundred contestants by the end of the day, Mr Wei. One for every human within the week. And a backup for each within the month.” She signed the authorisation order and pinged his implant. “I have elevated your privileges, reproductive rights and clearance. Good job Mr Wei. See it done.”
The small man bowed and almost ran from the room.
Onto the next agenda item. She sent a meeting invite to the other 12 members of the UE Governance Committee.
While she waited, Tamara pulled up a recording. Priorita had sent it upon the completion of the Round Table. As usual, her honey-sweet tone made Tamara want to pull her hair out.
“Congratulations on surviving Stage One! Wasn’t it just thrilling? We hope you enjoyed it as much as we did! Now, we know you must be itching to see how your contestants fare in Stage Two, but first I have some updates!
The active WARGAMES! population has dropped from an initial 80 Billion to a much more manageable 7 Billion contestants. To all of you kicking up a fuss about the five kill minimum; too bad! If your warriors had been more entertaining, then I wouldn’t have had to eradicate them.”
Tamara brought up the population widget her programming team had developed.
Human Population: 47,222
She remembered when that number had been 100,000. That wasn’t so long ago. It could be worse, she told herself, but the cold comfort didn’t take hold. Considering the 8% or 9% total survival rate other planets had managed, it was incredible.
Priorita burbled on, her words summarised as text in Tamara’s HUD. “Now this is important, so pay attention!
At the end of each stage, points are awarded to each civilisation, depending on your contestants’ performance. But they don’t get the points, you do! This is an opportunity for you to support your warriors in whatever way you think best!
Half the points will be given to the rulers of each civilisation for use at their discretion.
The other half will be available to be used by popular planetary vote!
You can choose to spend these on items in the newly opened WARGAMES! shop. Or you can pay to transport items that you have manufactured from your own world. So feel free to send your favourite contestant some exciting gear or costumes to make them really stand out! But remember! All items will be audited to ensure they don’t run contrary to the spirit of the game!”
Tamara opened a second tab that showed a list of achievements. Humanity had dozens. None had explanations as to why they had been awarded.
War-Points!: 187
The achievements were coded into Gold, Silver, Bronze and White.
They ranged from the obvious;
Protected Civilisation Bonus—25 points.
Round One Survival Bonus—5 points.
40% Survival Bonus—15 points.
To the bizarre;
Omnivore!—5 points.
Mole-WoMeN—1 point.
Kill it with fire!—1 point.
To the concerning;
Is that allowed?—1 point.
Huh, I guess we left that laying about!—1 point.
That looks infected!—1 point.
Mama’s favourite—10 points.
Seeing the white ‘Huh, I guess we left that laying about!—1’ achievement reminded her of Ariel, and the earlier confrontation with her father Jaq Du Bouchard. If the man wasn’t such an asshole, she would have more sympathy for his situation. If that daughter of his hadn’t flagrantly ignored their directions and drawn Priorita’s attention, he might have earned a reward instead of censure. Still, she acknowledged it was inappropriate for the girl, a Grade 1 Citizen to be stuck running around with an implanted Drudge, regardless of the man’s performance in the game.
She eyed humanity’s single golden achievement: Tourist Slayer!—50. That particular mess could wait for another day.
The chatroom icon on her HUD blinked. All members present. She waved the guards from her room, took a long, slow breath and entered the meeting. It was time to choose who would save humanity.