But neither Erin or Mikey was trying to win this game. They weren’t trying to find an optimal strategy; they were actively working against themselves, cutting off lanes, blocking their own pieces, doing things that no serious player would ever consider. And they were both pretty good at playing badly.
She didn’t know how long it took, but when Mikey made the last move—jamming a pawn into a circle of pieces surrounding the dark king, ensuring that nothing could get through—the entire board surface flashed. Whatever intelligence was built into it must have been able to tell that no further moves were possible. They had reached a verifiable stalemate condition.
Mikey pulled his arms back and waved them in the air.
Erin said, “Now what?”
Both chamber doors clanged open. Four Quggano guards, looking even bigger and more menacing now that Erin had gotten used to seeing Mikey’s compact form, stomped into the chamber and grabbed Erin and Mikey. Erin didn’t even have time to say good-bye, or offer a handshake to her opponent. She hoped they weren’t both being taken away to be executed. Was not winning the same thing as losing?
Erin shivered as refrigerated oxygen cycled into the Myrmidon’s airlock. She clutched her bundle of clothes against her private parts. The shivering was partly due to the cold air, but mostly because she’d had no idea what the Quggano would do to her for throwing the game, and she had feared the worst.
She had been pleasantly surprised when they escorted her back through the docking tunnel with remarkable grace and used their unexpectedly gentle pincers to nudge her into the airlock, where her clothes were still waiting in a pile on the floor. It would take her a few minutes to get over being scared out of her mind.
Lieutenant Darrow rushed forward as the airlock doors opened and threw a scratchy Fleet-issue gray blanket over Erin’s shoulders. He guided her onto a bench in the corridor. A crewman waiting there handed Erin a cup of something dark and warm. Erin spat out the red capsule under her tongue, sending it skittering across the deck, and watched the crewman race after it.
“You did it,” Darrow said. “I don’t believe it. I mean, it’s great that you won—”
“I didn’t win,” Erin said, pulling the blanket around herself. She felt not just cold, but numb. She gulped down the warm liquid. It might have been coffee, but the important thing was, it was warm.
Darrow frowned and knelt down next to her. “What do you mean, you didn’t win? They let you go.”
“S-stalemate,” Erin stuttered. She took another drink. Her fingertips tingled as feeling returned to them. “Nobody won.”
“That’s—” Darrow stood up, his mouth open. “I’ve never heard of that happening before.”
Erin chuckled. “First time for everything, I guess.”
Darrow’s wristcom chirped. He raised it to his face. “Darrow here.”
“This is the captain,” came Yokota’s voice. “Get Miss Bountain up to the bridge. The Quggano want to talk to her.”
Erin was glad that Darrow delayed the lift long enough for her to put on her clothes. Everyone on the bridge watched as she and Darrow walked out of the lift and over to where the captain stood, in front of the main viewscreen.
The display showed the Quggano bridge, with a similar array of personneclass="underline" the captain, wearing his ceremonial sash, in the middle; next to him, another officer; behind them, Mikey, flanked by his parents; and the rest of the crew at attention. Two dozen alien eyes stared out from the screen, dark orbs rotating back and forth occasionally. The Quggano stood perfectly still otherwise.
“Here she is,” Captain Yokota said, motioning for Erin to stand next to him. “Our champion, Erin Bountain of Earth.”
His eyes flashed a what-the-hell-is-going-on look at her. She shrugged and wondered what to do with her hands while the Quggano translator relayed Captain Yokota’s message. She settled for folding her arms across her chest. No need for everyone on the bridge to see how cold she was.
“Captain FFRRHHHD congratulates both champions on their performance in the contest,” the translator said. “It is an unusual outcome, but surely speaks to the skill of the competitors.”
“Thank you, Captain Fred,” Erin said. She heard someone cough behind her and saw Yokota shooting a dirty look over his shoulder. “I feel honored to have played Ton-Gla-Ben with a challenger as adept as Mikey.”
This time, someone actually laughed out loud. Yokota snapped his fingers and pointed at the lift. Erin heard footsteps behind her.
“As tradition dictates, we will now open peace negotiations,” the translator said.
“What?” Erin said.
“We accept,” Yokota said, stepping forward. “Please let me offer—”
“Excuse me, Captain,” the translator said. “Negotiations will proceed between our two champions.”
“What?” Yokota said.
“They have proven themselves in the contest,” the translator said. “They now represent our respective species in this proceeding. I will translate for Champion MMMAAAKH.” He gestured with one arm, and Mikey’s parents reluctantly released him.
“Get them to a conference table,” Yokota said to Erin, under his breath. “Do not say anything else. You get them to the table, and then you hand off to me. You got that?”
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Erin replied. “I got this.”
She ignored his glare and stepped forward to meet Mikey’s image.
“Good game,” she said.
The translator conveyed her message. Mikey said something in response.
“Champion MMMAAAKH respectfully requests a rematch,” the translator said. “At your convenience, purely for sport.”
Erin smiled. “Tell him I’m ready. Anytime, anywhere. Gaalaann.”
Mikey waved his antennae and made that cawing sound again. The translator seemed confused. “Apologies, Champion Erin, I am not certain I understand your meaning.”
“Gaalaann. It’s what you say when you begin a game of Ton-Gla-Ben, right?”
“That is the tradition,” the translator said. “However, the word itself can convey other nuances.”
Erin glanced at Darrow. “Like what?”
The translator flicked one antenna. “It denotes a challenge, but the specific context can apply other connotations. In the most literal sense, I believe it would translate as: ‘Follow me, if you are able.’ What did you mean to say?”
Erin smiled at the people on the viewscreen. “That’s exactly what I meant.”
Making Waves
Originally published by SNAFU: An Anthology of Military Horror
"You check those corners, sailor?" the Chief of the Boat barked. "Those lines are off by half a degree and our visitor doesn’t materialize!"
"Re-measuring now, Master Chief!"
The COB was exaggerating, but I’d learned early in my naval career not to argue with a superior. If it wasn’t likely to kill me, I just did it.
I placed my protractor on the dowstone panel we had strapped to the deck and re-checked all the angles in the chalked pentagram, then inspected every stroke of every rune around the circle. Then I climbed the ladder and verified the matching dowstone on the ceiling. Satisfied both stones would activate correctly, I stepped back and reported my progress.
"Very well," the COB grumbled. "Rosebud!"
The seaman’s real name was Roseler, but after that Orson Welles flick, everyone called him ‘Rosebud’ as a tease. He jumped forward, holding his clipboard. I did my best to get out of the way. The COB’s quarters weren’t exactly spacious. Roseler and I didn’t both need to be here, but we were apparently the only two sailors on the Bowfin rated for magic, and the Master Chief wanted us to double-check each other.