Martin Greenberg - If I Were an Evil Overlord

Jason’s alarm screeched and he slapped at it in protest. His pounding had no effect; the ringing continued unabated. He opened his eyes and his dreams faded. He’d been in another place, with a woman. She’d been telling him stories and dancing. The stark white walls of the bedroom sent the present crashing down around him and drove the last vestiges of the woman’s features from his mind.

A mechanical voice spoke from the speaker in the clock radio.

“Are you ready for level ten, Jason?”

He glared at the clock, but didn’t answer. He sat up, stretched, stood, and looked around for breakfast. Every day of his incarceration he’d been fed a good solid breakfast, with juice and coffee. The coffee was particularly important because once he sat down at the game console the chair would grip him and lock. He would be stuck there until he played through the level to the end, and he needed to be alert. He needed to take a leak.

The clock flashed once, then a second time. The numbers shifted, and suddenly it was a timer, counting down from ten minutes. Every morning he’d had less time to prepare and less warning. Jason dove for the bathroom, splashed cold water in his face, and relieved himself as quickly as his aching bladder would allow.

He staggered out; found two sticky cinnamon buns and half a pot of black coffee, and wolfed it down. The coffee was strong, and it bit his throat and stomach with prickly dry-rotted teeth, but he drank it anyway. There was no time to complain, and no one to hear if he did. He washed it all down with a tall glass of water from the sink, and headed quickly into the next room.

The timer on the bedside table flashed less than one minute remaining.

Jason seated himself in front of a large, flat screen monitor. The controller sat on the desk in front of him. It glowed with neon green brilliance. He picked it up and, despite his situation, he smiled. It was a good controller. For that matter, it was a good game. Played on his own terms, in his room and without so much on the line, he’d have dug it big time. Today wasn’t the day to dwell on it, though. Today he had to kick butt. There were only two levels remaining, and he had to beat them both if he ever wanted to see the outside world again.

The two clamps attached to the sides of the chair rotated so that they circled his waist. He heard the thunk of magnets engaging, and knew he was in for the duration. Whatever it took. The screen blinked, and a woman appeared.

“Welcome to level ten. I am Makeeda.”

Despite his discomfort, Jason sat a bit straighter and stared. The graphics were incredible, and the three-dimensional image facing him was beautiful. She was tall, draped in dark silk robes of many colors, slit along one side, exposing one leg. Her eyes were wide and tinted an odd lavender that fascinated him.

“The rebel attack has been thwarted, but the war is not won,” she intoned. “The rebel leader, Colin, had a lover, and she is angry. The next assault will be a direct attack involving superior forces. Your mission is to thwart that attack and devise a counteroffensive using the assets allotted. If the citadel falls, you will not advance to the final level.

“Am I clear?”

As she spoke this last, Makeeda arched her back and displayed herself lewdly. Jason’s mouth went dry. He nodded, and then realized how stupid it was to nod to a graphic image on a video game screen. As if catching his mistake, the woman threw her head back and laughed uproariously. As her image faded from the screen, she said.

“Begin.”

“I just don’t see how he can know, ” Braden growled. “Every time we make a move, he’s there ahead of us, grinning. Now he’s killed Colin. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Mavin asked voice cold. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and her hand dropped to the hilt of the long, thin blade she carried in the scabbard on her belt. “Maybe we should just turn around and go back to the hills and hide? Maybe Colin should just be left to blow around General Vale’s courtyard, his ashes forgotten and un-avenged? Maybe we should just quit?”

Braden backed away quickly, raising both hands.

“No, of course not,” he said. “But what can we do? He’s proven more clever in every encounter so far.”

Mavin’s frown deepened, but she removed her hand from her weapon. “That is strange, isn’t it?” she said at last. “I’ve known Vale since before father’s death. He was good swordsman, and a strong military man, but he was no tactician. In fact, if anything, I would have said he was too impulsive and rash to be any kind of leader at all.”

“The vent access should have worked,” Braden said. He smacked a fist into his palm. “We spent a year and a half getting our man into a position of trust. He served in the citadel for six months, and they were absolutely unaware of that flaw in their defense.”

“Where is this man now?” Mavis asked.

“If you’re thinking he betrayed us,” Braden said, “forget it. He died with Colin in the vents. They didn’t get word from us-they just knew. It’s probably something that witch Makeeda has managed to conjure.”

“Don’t start any rumors,” Mavis snapped. “Vale and his men are enough for us to deal with. If the men start worrying about spells and hexes, we might as well retreat now.”

“They are already talking,” Braden said. “Some of the men were there. They saw her light their comrades on fire with a shake of her hands. She laughed as good men’s bodies burned and danced like some sort of harlot around Vale-like a victory dance. They’ve been talking since then, and they will keep talking until we do something to silence them.”

Mavin bit her lip, and then nodded. “Assemble the officers. It’s time we were a bit more direct, I think. Let’s take this battle to Vale.”

Braden nodded and hurried off.

Makeeda sat in a room miles away from the rebel camp. In her hand she held a small square with a glowing screen. On the screen, she saw Mavin and heard her words. Makeeda threw her head back and laughed.

The speaker crackled to life, and Jason would have leaped from his seat if he hadn’t been strapped in place.

“The rebel offensive is underway,” said the sultry, seductive, electronic voice. In the corner of the screen, Makeeda’s face appeared. She smiled, but there was little real humor in the expression. Jason shivered at the detail in that CGI sneer. Whoever the model was for this game, he hoped never to meet her in a dark alley.

He weighed his character’s assets against those of the rebel force, now registering on the enemy forces radar at the bottom of his monitor screen. He was outnumbered three to one, but he held the citadel. His defenses were operational. He had a variety of battle engines at his command, a small troop of cavalry soldiers, and about five hundred trained fighters who would do battle on foot if the need arose.

The rebels were armed, for the most part, with conventional siege weapons. They were about fifty percent mounted, but that would pose no threat to the citadel. What worried him were the two large wheeled devices located about halfway back in the ordered columns marching toward his gate. He didn’t know what they were, exactly. Weapons, probably, but how to be sure? And if they were weapons, what did they do? Were they a real threat, or only meant to distract him? It was going to take more than a standard siege to take the citadel, but these rebels would know that. They had to have a plan, and he had to figure out what that plan was.

Jason flipped controls and punched buttons until the screen filled with a map of the area. The rebels appeared as green dots on the far edge of the map. Their current and possible routes to the citadel were displayed as glowing lines in varying shades of red. The brighter the color, the more likely it was that the rebels would take that route. He had one bright red line and two that were only slightly darker to either side.