One on One, Bitch

The Caerleon Imperium was built on the concept of “games,” the idea that social interactions could be reduced to gambits and playful ploys between competing players.

You heard me speaking a few times about Caerleon political games, of which there were many variants. The Royal Game. The Game of Tongues. The Tactician’s Game. Each, while similar to the next, underpinned the manner in which people played for power in the Caerleon hierarchy.

I loved games. Sure, there were those like Prince Arthur who refused to play by the rules, but I blamed the player, not the game. The games had done nothing wrong.

It was child’s play, therefore, baiting the pirate before me into a match at the simulator. I felt delighted as the loser retreated from his seat at the machine and I took his place. I brushed my hand against the keys and familiarized myself with the display. I hadn’t touched the combat sim in years.

“Resource limit of thirty billion credits,” the man across from me growled. “Random system with single star. Any complaints?”

“None.”

The game loaded up. I was prompted to spend up to a maximum of thirty billion credits on ships that I wanted in my fleet. I scrolled through the list, noting that the ship manifest in the catalog was three years out of date.

“So you pillaged this three years ago,” I said under my breath.

I used less than half of my available resources and signaled that I was ready. The man could see that I had only spent around fourteen billion credits and muttered something I couldn’t hear. The display blinked and a star system appeared on my screen, with my ships deployed in a line.

The game showed that my opponent had stationed his forces at the opposite end of the map. His forces also outnumbered mine three to one. I stretched my fingers.

My opponent’s fleet dove in from the system’s edge and covered my screen with overwhelming firepower. But his assault could never touch me. I signaled my fleet to jump to subspace, with each ship assigned a specific endpoint in the solar system. It wasn't as fast as Emiko’s maneuver during Bridge Mode, but each of my ships arrived several seconds later in flanking positions around my opponent’s fleet.

He didn’t even have time to curse. I possessed fewer ships, but their plasma cannons were meant for devastating effect. I eviscerated half of his fleet in the opening salvo. My ships formed a single file, orbiting rotation around the remainder of his fleet like vultures circling the dying. A ring of missile fire and heavy cannons carved up the remaining survivors.

The game was over before two minutes hit the clock. I smiled and folded my hands over my lap. For another minute, nobody around me said a word.

“Maybe you got a little unlucky,” I suggested. “Maybe you’d like to try again.”

The man spat on the floor and walked away. Someone else took his place.

“You and me,” said the next contestant.

I destroyed this next contender and then the following one. And then the next one again. And then one of them came back just to be crushed again. Each game was more humiliating and one-sided than the last as I shook off the rust of having not played the simulator in years. Before I even hit ten wins, nobody else wanted to take the opposing seat.

That’s when I took my stand.

“Maybe think twice the next time you make fun of imperials,” I laughed. “Here you are, using our technology, our weapons, our ships, our people. Who’s the real dog here, the one who goes out and fights for a living, or you who fuck around in the mess hall, waiting for Nightwing to bring victory to the king?”

I kept it short and simple and left my seat at the simulator. I half expected someone to attack me as I brushed past the others to return to my food, but all I heard was defeatism and excuses.

“This game sucks. I don’t think I’ll be playing it anymore. Of course the imperial would be good at it,” and so on and so forth. I didn’t care what they said. I cared that their egos had been bruised enough to say something.

Diane, on the other hand, did not look as pleased as I did.

“And I suppose you think I should be thanking you?” she crossed her arms. “Or did you think that was funny? Or clever even?”

“I did it for myself,” I said. “And yes. I do think it was funny.”

“It’s funny beating on idiots who mess with the simulator for fun?”

“Why are you taking their side?” I asked. “You heard the way the other captains spoke about you all. Even if you can forgive that, what about Kindred Lancer firing near us during combat?”

“Do you think hatred for the Caerleon Imperium rests solely with pirates and brigands?” Diane nodded towards Lucia. “Maybe we just sympathize with the people the imperium abandoned beyond the Imperial Rim?”

“Billions of people live beyond the rim,” I replied. “They don’t all turn to violent plundering, and they don’t instinctively hate someone because of where they were born. So no. I don’t sympathize with them.”

“Well learn then,” Diane sighed. “They don’t hate us because of where we were born, you fool, they hate us because of who we are. Do you know who Nightwing hunted all these years during active service? Let these people vent their otherwise harmless frustrations because they can’t ever beat you at the simulator, let alone challenge you in a proper fight.”

Diane dropped her utensils and pushed her food tray out of the way.

“Besides,” she said. “If you’re going to take up the simulator again, you should at least face a proper opponent.”

She tapped Emiko on the shoulder.

“Yes, captain?”

“Crush her, will you?”