The Great Game

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction!

“Yes,” says Valis. “Your copy asked me to urge you to choose oblivion. On the other hand, Ms. Rogers, yours begged for salvation.”

Alice starts sobbing. “I…” She chokes to a halt, clearly torn — and badly, too.

Valis looks at me. “What would you like to do?”

Our copies will get their oblivion eventually. We need to be able to focus on staying alive. “We must forget,” I say.

Alice gasps, and clutches her stomach reflexively. She stares at me, eyes wide and brimming. She makes some anguished noises, but she can’t find the words to contradict me.

Valis nods. “Very well.”

* * *

“… their particular reality, potential purposes and meanings attached to that, individuals who may be in authority, how reality is constructed, and so on.” I seem to have lost the thread of what Valis is on about, and for a moment, I experience an odd wave of vertigo. “I’m not permitted to discuss such matters, as a moment’s thought must clearly make obvious.”

Oh yes, of course. He won’t answer any of the good questions. No surprise there.

“So what, you, one of the architects of the multiverse, came to talk to us to welcome us to the cage and to tell us to be good kids?” Alice sounds simply disbelieving.

“Oh no,” he says. “I wanted to warn you against any further contact with David Sinclair. His price is higher than you might imagine, and if you return to him, it will be even higher still. Keep away, or you will regret it bitterly.”

That doesn’t sound good. “Are we in danger? It must be serious if you’re involved.”

“You are not in danger as things stand,” he says. “But I would prefer not to have to deal with further fractures in reality.”

Alice and I share a look. She seems deflated somehow, and I can’t help feeling a wave of irrational guilt. “Thanks for the warning,” I say.

“Think nothing of it,” says Valis. He fades out like the Cheshire Cat, except that it’s those mad, glee-filled eyes that vanish last.

“That was odd,” says Alice.

I nod. “Interesting, though.”

“Do you think he was telling the truth?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“You didn’t, you know…” Alice waves vaguely at her eyes.

“No,” I say. “Never occurred to me. Although I doubt that I would have tried it if it had. He scares me.”

“Yeah,” she says, with a hefty dose of feeling.

I fish my room key out of my pocket. “If you’re feeling up to it, we should head back to the rooms. I need to check my gear.”

Alice looks at me curiously. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason,” I say, with a smile. “So, how does this ‘getting back to the rooms’ thing work, anyway?”

The answer, it turns out, is painlessly. Once I have the intention, the route is there, in my mind, and it’s not far. We’re back at the rooms in less than five minutes. I’m two doors down from Alice, and across the corridor. She heads off to her room for a bit, and I go across to explore mine.

After all the craziness of Sinclair’s room, I’m slightly apprehensive. I unlock the door and open it though, and am both relieved and disappointed when it opens onto a perfectly bland-looking hotel room. The curtains are closed, and I have no intention of opening them. Glancing around the room, there’s no obvious sign of my bag, but there are some other bits lying around. One of my old hairbrushes is on the sideboard, along with some deodorant and a couple of books. It looks like someone unpacked — except for the fact that I didn’t have any toiletries or books with me.

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Today’s image is Hotel La Rose wardrobe by LA Wad.